After beginning the weekend with more UN drama than I had thought possible, I escaped Sunday to Fugley’s, a weird and strange place that seemingly defies both location and time. It is run by a South African veteran named Patrick and Lynne, his Rhodesian wife. During the last LRA offensive a few years back, Patrick was the only non humanitarian expat allowed to stay in the Kitgum region. While unspeakable atrocities engulfed the north, he dug in and waited it out.
Fugley’s is a special meeting place of sorts, a liminal space into which aid workers can escape and converse freely. It is also a bar, a restaurant, and a lodge. If none of this is your thing, you can also pay them to sink you a bore hole or a latrine. Duikers chase small dogs across the lawn, US soldiers play chess in the corner, and owls guard the pool. This is a place where regular patrons will drive many hours on horrendous roads just to get a good bite to eat.
However, you can not come here without an invite. It is in no guide books. Nor does it have any desire to be. But then again, neither is Kitgum.
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