The journey took many weeks.
Through dust, rain, and open plains, the delegation pressed on, carts creaking under supplies, oxen lowing as they crossed the winding rivers and the green folds of the northern lands. By the time the hills of Buganda rose before them, the people of Nuri were weary but filled with wonder.
The road widened into a broad, red path shaded by towering fig trees. Ahead, drums were already echoing across the valley, deep, resonant beats that rolled through the air like thunder announcing rain. As they drew closer, the sound grew louder, layered with the high, rhythmic ululations of women and the sharp bursts of horn calls.
"Buganda welcomes you!" a voice cried from the crowd ahead.
