As we write this, we are sitting in a Matatu (trying best to ignore the live chickens under our seats), listening to "Send Me On My Way" by Rusted Root as we begin the long journey home. This morning we bade a fond farewell to the green rolling hills of Kyaka and to its friendly staff. We are sad to leave; part of us wishes we could stay longer, the other part cannot wait for a real bathroom with running HOT water and something other than rice and beans for breakfast, lunch and dinner...

Last night we met Danny. Danny is a friend of Baracka, one of the three brothers who lead the choir last time I was here. Together they make music as part of "Dynamique". We went up to the rock as the sun set to film a music video for them. Although lacking in musical calibre at points, their poignant lyrics sent across a strong message- "There is no hope for a refugee in a refugee camp". As we were walking down from the rock, Danny told us his story. Two years ago, Danny was 18, in Senior 4, living comfortably in the Congo with his father gainfully employed by the government. One day, his father came into conflict with his colleagues and he was killed. He came home from school to find his mother had fled without telling him. Not knowing what to do, a Pastor helped him by telling him that if he wanted to live, he had to leave the country. The Pastor helped him cross the border and on reaching Uganda, he went to the Office of the Prime Minister in Kampala who sent him to Kyaka II. On arrival, he was, like all new refugees, put into to the reception centre in Sweswe which he described as "arriving in hell". After 6 long months in the reception centre, Danny was given refugee status and given a plot of land to cultivate (as is procedure under UNHCR's self-reliance policy). As Danny was 18, he was classed as an adult and thus not offered any of the support orphans under 18 would normally receive. He quickly had to learn how to cook, build his own house and farm his allocated plot of land. Keen to continue with his education, he went to try and get a scholarship for him to attend the secondary school. However, as he did not have his documents to prove his level of education, he would have to be sent back to P4 (for after all, who wouldn't think to pick up their school certificates when running from home...?). Unable to even afford the little fees of the Primary Schools in camp (most are government sponsored)- "I am as poor as a church mouse"- he gave up hope. Now, two years have passed and he dreams of returning to school and one day pursuing a career in music. In the meantime, he spends his time with Baracka at the Youth Centre- if he wasn't there he would have nothing to do.

As we were saying goodbye to Danny and Baracka, a clearly very distressed young man approached us and began shouting at us in French. Sobbing, he was saying that his documents had been confiscated by the police and that he is going to begin walking back to the Congo right now. He said that he has no hope here and if he has any chance of saving his life he would rather do it in his dangerous and war-afflicted home than here... anywhere but here. The situation was all a bit confusing but he had come to Base Camp for the interviews for one of the 2 highly-competitive university scholarships being offered by the Albert Einstein Foundation. On being told that his Congolese educational documents had not yet been equated into the Ugandan system, I imagine he became thoroughly distressed and he was turned away for being drunk. Drunk or not, the boy had hit rock bottom. Throwing himself against the ground sobbing, he had to face jeers and laughs from stick-brandishing police who called him "a stupid boy... Just a refugee". Afraid he would do something irrational, we gave him the rest of our water and bought him some bananas. He had not eaten or drunk anything since morning. As he calmed down I told him that he should return to Bukere (the village in which he lives) now and sleep. In the morning, when he is calm, come and apologise to the base camp staff he had offended and give his documents back to Windle Trust to restart the translation process. I explained to him that official procedures take a long time in Uganda (we ourselves have been blighted by the infuriatingly slow and multifaceted Ugandan bureaucracy) and if he was wanting to succeed, he would have to go with the system, no matter how frustrating it can be. Thankfully I was able to speak to him in French, leaving the leering police oblivious.

Encountering Danny and this young man certainly have made our time in Kyaka go out with a bang, but not the good sort of bang... We returned to the guest house last night feeling utterly deflated as we realised that the students at Bujubuli Secondary School were a very lucky minority. Perhaps we were, to a certain extent, blinkered by all the good work of the organisations with which we have been spending so much time. This good work, however, inevitably and regrettably cannot reach all of the 18,000 refugees living in Kyaka. JH-J