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On our last day, we want to explore Kampala and visit a souvenir shop. The boat takes us across Lake Victoria to Kampala. There, Charles, a small elderly man, replaces Sam and becomes our driver. We drive into the city. A big word for a very small downtown. The rest is made up of mostly poor houses. We struggle rather than drive through this daily traffic jam. The souvenir shop turns out to be a whole village full of individual small huts and stalls. Everyone tries to get us into their store. Impossible to escape, we give in and visit as many as we can until we can no longer do so. Back in the car, we want to continue with a city tour. Suddenly, I hear someone shouting right next to our Toyo. 3 seconds later, an AK 47 rifle is being loaded. The sound leaves me in shock, with thoughts racing from one horror scenario to the next. Charles stops the car and an army uniform with a young man inside approaches the Toyo. Apparently, we have driven the wrong way on a one-way street, right in front of the French embassy. In the background stands a very nervous and visibly angry soldier with the rifle. The colleague at the window appears calm and tries to explain the situation. The problem arises when the little man next to me becomes loud and upset about the treatment instead of simply apologizing, passing some money through the window, and being done with it. He feels he is in the right, doesn't show his driver's license, doesn't answer any questions, and to make matters worse, he even tries to start the engine. He ignores the threat to stop doing that. It is mentioned that we should come to the police station with them. I try to defuse the situation by speaking calmingly to the little agitator and having a very calm and friendly conversation with the soldier. Apparently, the old man expects the usual generational respect here and doesn't realize that usually, the one with the rifle wins. The calm one also has to placate the one with the rifle. Without the intermediary, the situation would definitely have escalated. Instead, he rides with us all the way to the police station, warns us, and leaves it at that.

The sightseeing tour afterwards goes very awkwardly and silently. Both of us feel a bit nauseous, and we just want to go away.

On the way back, an older gentleman joins us, who spends a night at the Lagoon Lodge. It is supposed to be the most beautiful and lively evening of the trip with interesting and invigorating conversations about his fulfilled life.

I still have to show my new friends at the bar the vacation photos, and we take a memorable photo. Then the three of us Berliners walk with a slightly uncertain step to our accommodation and fall asleep immediately. Tomorrow, we have a 23-hour marathon flight ahead of us. Our flight has been changed, so there will be long waiting times.

An eventful vacation is coming to an end. We have seen everything we wanted to see, much of which we would have gladly done without. An incredibly beautiful country that could be so much more.