Our onward travel to Uganda involved a small minibus from Bukoba to the border, which was a couple of hours away. We'd got on the required minibus, and then waited for ages for it to leave - I am sure so much of our time in Africa was spent in hot, crammed minibuses, not moving, waiting for them to just go somewhere, anywhere - when after a while there was a growing commotion, and what seemed to be a heated debate, mostly between a policeman who had got on the bus and a crowd of angry-looking people outside the bus. At one point some of them started banging the side of the bus…we weren't really quite sure what was going on and none of our co-passengers spoke enough English to explain, but by now we were getting used to this sort of behaviour whenever we got on a bus. Africans are so physical, and none more so it seemed than at a bus station: we'd always witness people (men) shouting, laughing, hugging, and near punch-ups as competition for business got heated …but as quickly as things heated up they would also simmer down, and they never seemed to be taken too seriously, any friction always accompanied by big smiles. I remember once in Zambia at Lusaka bus station seeing one man trying to calm another (maybe he'd lost business to another ticket tout?) by stroking his head, half restraining, half hugging him. Things were equally heated once we had crossed the Tanzania-Uganda border, and when we had stopped at a small money-changing stall. A fight almost broke out between the money-changer and some guy who had been following us, presumably because we'd gone to the official exchange place instead of changing money with him, and then before we knew it there was lots of shoving, shouting, arms - and sticks - raised while all we were trying to do was change some money! Any such incident always made me think of that Anchorman quote… "Boy, that escalated quickly…I mean that really got out of hand fast".

By early afternoon the next day - and after a lot more minibuses - we had reached our intended destination, the dusty market town of Kabale in south-west Uganda, not far from the Rwandan border. Despite some long and uncomfortable minibus journeys, travelling there was made more enjoyable by watching the beautiful Ugandan scenery pass by - hilly, lush, verdant - and the conversations and curious questions from our co-passengers. We also passed farmers herding the distinctive Ankole long-horned cattle along the road - these cows seem normal in every respect except they have the most massive horns, some stretching to 2.4m in length from tip to tip, and just an amazing sight…unfortunately we never got a good pic of any of them, so we borrowed one from the internet, as they have to be seen to be believed.

Kabale was the rest stop before the 'final' destination of Lake Bunyoni, which was a winding, 9km drive away, and the most beautiful sight awaited us as we drove round the final hill…the sight of the lake, dotted with terraced, lush-looking islands was a refreshing 'ah!' after the last couple of days of mostly sitting on a minibus! Kalebas Camp, where we were staying, had a great spot on the lake with beautifully-manicured gardens and a convenient dock for sunbathing, as well as for watching the kingfishers fish for their supper. Even the simple rooms were a luxury (for us anyway) with a double bed and hot water shower, and we couldn't be happier that we would be spending the next three nights here. For in Kabale we had booked our flights home to the UK, for a week later, so some idle days lazing by a gorgeous lake was perfectly-timed. Perhaps it was also no coincidence that when Simon signed us in to our guesthouse there, under 'occupation' in the register, he mistakenly (?) wrote 'TOURIST' - maybe a good enough sign as any that it was time to come home?!

The next few days were fantastic, as we mixed lazy hours lying in the sun with exploring around the lake and eating lots of crayfish. It is a stunning, stunning place, a freshwater lake situated at almost 2000m, and unusually for a lake in Africa, it doesn't have anything lurking in the waters that might harm you (no hippos/crocodiles/bilharzia parasites). One of the days we walked the 2km walk uphill to a wonderful viewpoint, accompanied by various local youngsters, but mostly three girls, who showed us the way while snacking on sugarcane. From the top you had the most wonderful panoramic view of the lake and some of it 29 islands, which with all the terraced hills and different-sized islands jutting out of the water looked more like a scene from Asia, than Africa. As we made our way back down, we kept hearing shouts of "Mzungu!" ("White person!") and "How are youuuuuu?" from small children waving excitedly at us from the surrounding fields.

On another day we paid a visit to the south part of the lake, about an hour's boat ride away, in order to visit some of the villages at this end of the lake near the Rwandan border. On the boat trip there we passed various islands, one of which was Punishment Island, where up until the 1950's, unmarried, pregnant girls were sent and left there to starve and die, as their punishment for having got pregnant out of wedlock…pretty brutal. Our guide Kato was a great source of information as to some of the traditional local customs, such as a family's first-born child being killed as a sacrifice to the gods; a second-born twin suffering the same fate as it was believed that otherwise either its mother or father would die; the father of a household normally being the first person to sleep with his son's new wife…most practices which have died out. On arrival at the southern end of the lake, it was then about another hour's walk through beautiful terraced hills, and various encounters with very friendly locals and even more cute kids, towards where the border with Rwanda was within sight. As it was a Sunday we passed lots of people smartly dressed for church, and even more striking was the amount of kids in the fields, busy working - no rest day for them - mainly collecting papyrus reeds in order to make rope, mats, walls for houses.

After about an hour we arrived at one of the villages belonging to the Twa (Batwa) people, one of Africa's most ancient tribal groups. The Twa people are a forest-dwelling community, who lived as nomadic hunters and gatherers, but since the early 1990s have been forced out of their ancestral forest homes as they were cleared for agricultural use by neighbouring tribes or the forest turned into national park land. The government has done little to help them, and shunned by other communities, the Twa have become a marginalised group within Ugandan society. They now live in communities where they have been resettled by NGOs.

We were a bit apprehensive about visiting them, worried that it would be a 'human safari' type experience - "ooh let's go and look at these poor people" - however upon our arrival at the little dust track up to this particular community's homes, we were greeted with such an enthusiastic and heart-warming welcome, with lots of singing and dancing up the path as if we were genuinely the only visitors they had ever received…well you couldn't help but be moved. Once we arrived there was more singing and dancing - some beautiful voices from the women, some funky dance moves from the older men, and the little kids hopping up and down. Simon and I were invited to join them, so join them we did, dancing like a dad (step to the left, step to the right, clap your hands) and with stupid grins on our face (the atmosphere was rather infectious) - all of which was unfortunately videoed and which I can't bring myself to publish here! But maybe I'll change my mind ;)

After all the singing and dancing we were 'formally' introduced, and when they found out we were from England, one teenage boy shouted out "Wayne MacRooney!" - maybe he thought Mr Rooney was Scottish? It still amazes me that even in the most primitive and remote areas of Africa, everyone always (almost) knows our Premier League football players…and they always know more about them than we do to be honest. We'd been told that they were grateful for any clothing contributions so as we knew we were heading home soon we decided to bring a few items of clothing that we were happy to give away…this advice included even underwear. Little did we know that when we handed over the bag of clothing, the contents would be emptied out in front of everyone, and then fought over…to the point where an old man was clinging onto a donated bra of mine, trying to stop a woman taking it from him, and then a little boy ran off with Simon's boxer shorts…oops! This probably all sounds a bit odd reading this from the UK/the western world, but I guess when some people have so little, even strangers' (clean) underwear is welcome! It sure puts things in perspective, and it was a great experience (we came, we danced, we gave them our underwear….). Certainly all worth it for the exceedingly warm welcome (they must have heard what exciting clothing items we were bringing) and insight into their plight and their lives now. To cap off the day, on our way back to the boat port, we were accompanied by what seemed a whole village-worth of children, all taking it in turns to hold our hands, even slightly older boys who loved holding Simon's hand, much to my amusement as you can imagine.

Our next and last stop in Uganda was Entebbe, the former capital during the early years of the British protectorate, which we chose as our last port of call, rather than the more hectic capital Kampala, by means of a more relaxed city destination for our last three days before we flew back to the UK…because, the last few days/14 months had been you know, quite stressful (hmm). However it was also a bit of a trip down memory lane on behalf of Simon's father, Peter, who spent some of his childhood growing up in Entebbe, when Simon's grandparents lived there when Peter's father was working for the British Government. We managed to find the location of the old family home (sadly replaced by a newer development), the primary school where Peter went to school and the Kindergarden where Simon's grandmother was headmistress, and then spent a couple of afternoons poolside at the Lake Victoria Hotel - a social hub for well-heeled locals and expats, and as it turned out when we were there, the US Military (cue lots of ridiculously buffed men lounging around the pool). We were later informed by a shopkeeper that the US military have had a presence here since 2011, to train the local military forces in order to tackle the Lord's Resistance Army in the Central African Republic, where the LRA leader (Joseph Kony) is said to be in hiding.

We stayed in a lovely guesthouse, a beautiful Spanish-style villa which was more of a family home with a few extra bedrooms….it would have normally been out of our budget, but then we were given a discount when we asked for one upon booking. We only found out later that apparently this was because the owner thought we were Christian Missionaries! We still have no idea what gave her this idea, but amen to that.

So it was fair to say that our last week in Uganda, and of our trip, was a pretty good one - very relaxing and interesting, and Entebbe, an attractive, verdant city on the waters of Lake Victoria and with the Hartley family connection, was the perfect choice as our last port of call. I still think that at this juncture it hadn't really sunk in yet, that we were coming home after 14 months away….a concept so alien right now, that we probably didn't give it much due thought! And then before we knew it we were home, sitting around the kitchen table at Simon's parents' house, eating crumpets and hot buttered toast (hugely missed) and drinking lots of tea, as if we'd never left. Did the last 14 months really happen?! At least we have the blog and the pictures to prove it… And on that, I still think I have another blog post left in me about this trip, so don't sign off just yet folks, I'm not done with you yet!!