I fall asleep as the road turns smooth across the border. At five in the morning, when the mist in the window lets the sunrise through, a loud voice wakes me up: “Jinja, we are in Jinja!”.

As I step off the bus, I am left behind in a cloud of rest dust. About four boda-bodas crowd around the makeshift bus stop crammed next to an empty roundabout. In the early morning, the red sand streets of Jinja are as calm as the weather is fresh.

Jinja is pure lush. Streets of crimson sand drawing lines in the intense green vegetation. The town is tidy as most small African villages and the locals, not very used to backpackers, stop and ask if I need directions.
Walking into the village, the smell of brewed coffee and toasted chapattis floods the fresh morning air. I smile in contempt happy with the last-minute idea of stopping here. Jinja sets the mood for one of the most sought experiences in Africa: to go rafting in the Victoria Nile.

“I get into the main Police Station for directions. Three friendly staff ask me where I want to go and I reply nervously: “Some friends of mine in Nairobi recommended me to go to Adrift, but I have no idea of where this is”. They don’t know either, but on the spot, they stop a boda-boda driver who is familiar with the place. We all nod and soon enough, I am riding in the back of a moto taxi through hills of sand and greeneries, potholes and near misses with traffic. I feel the weight of my backpack balancing sideways and the driver struggling to drive straight. We leave town and I have a ten second look at the Nile flowing slowly next to us. The lodge is reached and I am relieved to step off, pay him and shake off the long trip.”

At Adrift, a little stone trail winds through wooden shacks, a small restaurant and a large lounge overhanging like a slim primate over the roaring Nile. My debit card says no to Uganda and declines as I try to be  checked into by a strapping American guy.  Around me, a crowd of twenty Australians are finishing their breakfast and are ready for some action in the longest river in the world.

Time is short and I shake off the trip with a splash of cold water over my face. We are called to a waiting bus and drive into a Jinja in the mid morning busy with street markets and traffic, later diverting into a road leading deep into the dense jungle.

At base camp, we are offered a quick breakfast of tasty sausages, “battered eggs” and some refreshing Ugandan coffee. We don our lifejackets and grab a paddle while we are briefed on basic rafting etiquette and are divided into groups. At nearly midday, the muddy shore disengages and I see myself floating in the mighty Nile. It is refreshing, warm and disgustingly inviting. It is all calm like a glass of milk until we reach the first set of rapids. A daunting Grade five.

Adrenaline inundates my every fibre as I row. The rubber on the side of the boat crashes on a sharp rock and a three-meter straight fall is unveiled right in front of us. “Duck and stop paddling!”, and the fall feels like it takes forever. We hit the bottom and awkwardly bounce in nervous giggles and splashes of water. We watch how other rafts fare as we glide down and float on our lifejackets in a calm Nile. On both shores, villagers play, gather water in plastic buckets and wash their clothes. Kids wave at the ‘crazy gringos on helmets’ and the Pearl of Africa just unfolds.

The four-hour rafting experience follows with four sets of Grade five rapids as the shore turns soft with banana and coffee crops. A tropical thunderstorm forms as we flip for the last time and float in relaxation. Heavy rain droplets fall with a fury only allowed in Africa and turn the air once again fresh with the smell of moist dirt and barbecue.

Beers, fresh fruit, barbecue and pictures. The rain stops and heads grow heavy on the backseats. I wake up to see small villages hidden underneath tall green trees and red sand, and women cooking dinner in rustic bonfires before the sun sets and the night turns starry. At the lodge, the night is bubbly. It is filled with beers, email exchanges, laughter and stories to tell.

Only fifteen per cent of the water flowing underneath the wooden lodge will reach the Mediterranean, yet the memories of this day will flow in my head until the day I die.