By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Gary’s Last Hurrah When we decided to go travelling in Uganda during the Christmas break my friends said, “Let's camp on this trip, it'll save us money.” I said, “Sure, sounds good, I like camping.” It became immediately evident that I had never camped on a nature reserve in East Africa before. Monkeys were hanging around the cookhouse waiting for the moment when staff left so they could pounce on the potatoes. Or it could be your lunch bag which you hung from a line in a manner appropriate to protect it from Canadian critters like raccoons but just made you hungry and mocked at in a game park. I imagined a monkey casually walking across a branch and without much thought descending the rope to the magic surprise piñata that it slashed open with its dexterous little hands, releasing treats of my sandwiches and cookies to the ground for the whole neighbourhood to enjoy while screaming in a shrill voice of victory. Paul, Lizzie and I decided to go on safari in Murchison Falls National Park, the largest in Uganda. They had eccentric looking birds, hippos, elephants, baboons, crocodiles, and if you were lucky, lions. Warthogs were also part of the landscape and when I first got there I saw an American couple feeding one. For so many reasons that I lose my patience explaining, it is a very bad idea to feed wild animals. It is them that will end up being hunted and killed when someone loses a hand. These prehistoric looking creatures with moustaches and 8-inch tusks were far too comfortable being around people, so much that I couldn't get one to leave my tent area. Loud sounds did nothing so I did what seemed to make the most sense at the time, I hit one of them in the snout with my water bottle. He didn't do much except snort and look back at me like a drunken football player named Moose at a frat party. One night I was with two Danes watching them set up their fishing poles to catch 90 kilo Nile Perch, the whole time gratefully drinking their assortment of Kenyan beers. Anders had left his tent door open while we were standing beside it with all their gear leaning against the picnic table. A warthog, let's call him Gary, (I think he needs a name) was standing near the tent sniffing around. Anders didn't like this so he yelled at Gary, no response. He yelled again, no response. Taking his right foot from where it was on the ground he raised it 90 degrees to connect squarely and solidly with the animal's butt. Considering where Gary was situated in regards to the opening of the tent this pushed him straight in. Then, as these things happen, the tent door closed behind him. What was Gary doing in there was the question on everyone's mind. The tent started bustling around as if, as if, well as if there was a confused and frightened warthog stuck in there trying to get out. At this point Anders said, “Ok, this isn't funny anymore”, unfortunately the rest of us could not have disagreed more. We were able to keep it together for the moment but there was no guarantee how long that moment would last. What was happening in the tent looked like a bag of microwave popcorn bouncing around from side to side so fast it was about to explode. Finally Gary, being the ingenious garbage eater he is, made a way out for himself by tearing what we then called the emergency exit. Anders started to laugh and as soon as he did I released the valve of self-control, the nearby savannah was hit with unknown sound waves that frightened animals and created a safe perimeter for us to sleep. Anders taped up the awkward tear and the tent was not at all as good as new. It was however good enough to have water leak through in the middle of the night during a flash rain forcing a naked white man to freak out cursing in his Nordic language leaving Ugandans to say once more, “What is that foreigner doing?”