The Orange Army vs The Kampala Bombers

It had been a fantastic weekend in Kampala. After a night seeing off a couple of very good friends who were going back to Afghanistan, we were all a little delicate on Sunday morning. We spent most of the day eating in the hostel and sitting fully clothed in the tiny pool trying to cure our hangovers in time for the match that night. We had decided to watch the game at the Rugby Club in Kampala as it seemed to be the place to be for locals and internationals alike. However, after a conversation with someone at the hostel, Joyce (who is half dutch) found out that a club in town called Iguana's is Dutch owned and therefore was the Orange Army's base for the evening. In solidarity with her we changed plans and, decked out in various ridiculous orange attires including a builder's hat, we headed out for the night.

Me and the girls dressed up for the match

Iguana's was draped in orange and packed to bursting with revelers. At strategic points hung signs declaring it an "Octopus Free Zone" and orange vuvuzelas, balloons, hats, horns, clogs and socks were everywhere. We squeezed into seats near the front and settled down to watch the match.

Iguana's before the game

At half time, completely unknown to us, a bomb went off inside an Ethiopian Restaurant in southern Kampala. During extra time two bombs were detonated on a packed rugby field about 4km away.

Word must have reached the owners of Iguana's that the bombers were targeting World Cup parties because suddenly the lights went up and drunken Dutch people began pushing us to the exit shouting about bombs. In the total chaos that followed my main thought was that it was a story which had been exaggerated and the evacuation was an over-the-top precautionary measure. Then someone behind me in the crush shouted out from his phone handset that 25 people were already dead.

Totally shell-shocked and with no clue what was going on we called a taxi and arrived back at our hostel at about 1am. The first panicked phone call came minutes later from Joyce's sister who had heard the news back home. Preemptively we all began to call and text home to let them know that we had no idea what was going on but that we were all safe. My Dad called and thanks to his access to the BBC website we began to piece together the night's events. Our shock deepened as we realised that the second bombs had exploded at the Rugby Club we had planned to watch the game at. Only a chance conversation and last minute change of heart had led to us being a couple of miles away and safe.

Ugandan newspapers are not like those at home. The next day pictures of dead bodies and blood stared out at us from every news stand as we learned the death toll had risen to at least 65 (now 74). Accompanied by more phone calls from home we got out of Kampala early in the morning and headed back to Jinja.

Uganda is generally an extremely safe place and this vicious attack has shocked those who call this beautiful country home. It was a cowardly, callous attempt to harm as many people as possible who were doing nothing but watching a football match. These last few days have been full of bomb scares and fear which only worsened when an undetonated bomb was found outside another restaurant the next day. It had been rigged to go off at the same time as the others.

Aside from the shock, and thanking the orange miracle that made us change our minds, we are all genuinely OK and ready to see this through to the end. Its just such a shame that the eight months out here will now always be punctuated with this horrible event. In short: I'm fine...but bloody lucky.