About hiking and human skulls.

     I think you can really consider yourself a soft, out-of-shape, sorry excuse for a hiker when a group of heavily-laden Ugandan women shout words of encouragement to you as you ascend a slope that they have been going up and down all day. In my defense, this was no baby slope. We were in the foothills of Mt. Elgon and the last several hundred yards of our hike to "the cave" was one degree shy of vertical (if my mental level is any guide). Imagine my surprise to find that even these unforgiving tracts are still farmed to the gills by the locals. Beans and maize on an 89 degree angle... it was magnificent...to use for foot/handholds (we can discuss the wisdom of cultivating at such a landslide-inducing angle later).


     We finally crested the top and gazed in wonder at our feet while we caught our breaths and congratulated ourselves.
     We took a break that was certainly too long for our high/middle school age guides who, incidentally, spent some of the time deliberating about whether or not we were faster than the 2 fully-habited nuns that they had come up with some time before. It was agreed that we were faster, but I wasn't convinced that they weren't just saying that.


  
     On we went, and soon found ourselves at the base of a small rock. In the small alcove created by this rock there was a pile of human skulls.


     Apparently this is a pile of human skulls with no story, since we tried for rest of the weekend to get the story from someone, anyone, to no avail.
     About halfway down the mountain (let's call it) we discovered why our guides were nervous about our leisurely pace and long breaks. It began to dump rain. Not to be put out, we used the occasion to take another very long break, and under the eaves of a nearby primary school got our fill of being stared at by children and mimicked with that accursed nasal voice. (apparently it's what we sound like, which makes me even madder.)