The white gabled house, nestled at the end of a street of similar homes, is just a few kilometres from the dusty teeming centre of Kampala, Uganda, but it feels like an oasis of peace and calm. Flowering trees and blue cape lilies spill over the high walls of the affluent community providing shade from the hot African sun.

The security man at the barbed-wire-topped gate of our destination refuses entry until identity is produced and validated. His reluctance is understandable given that this is the home of Goal worker Hilda Kawuki (42) who was last weekend released along with Sharon Commins (32) after four months' captivity in war-torn Darfur.

Hilda, smiling and vivacious in a warm pink top and black skirt, makes us welcome in the family's comfortable sitting room while her mother serves us cool bottled water. Ann Kawuki, who cared for Hilda's son Amunu (4) through the kidnap ordeal, blushes and laughs when we explain that her radio interview on Morning Ireland earlier in the week was heard by over 400,000 people. She is thrilled to have Hilda home. Ann, a devout Catholic, along with her 90-year-old mother, never stopped praying for the safe return of her daughter and her friend.

"Sharon is as close to me as my three sisters," says Hilda. "She is my sister now. We got on well before this happened, but I couldn't have come through this ordeal with a better person. She's a strong character, a great character. We have such mutual respect. We didn't drive each other crazy. We got each other through."

Prayer, Hilda explains, was also a significant factor in the harrowing experience they endured. "Sharon and I would wake up each morning and say, 'Thank God we are still alive'. "We knew every day that passed. We remembered everything we were missing at home. I missed my sister's wedding and my son's first day at school. Sharon missed important events too. You have to make peace with yourself or you will go nuts. We prayed the rosary and we called on every saint from Jude to Michael who protects against evil."

Hilda, whose sunny demeanour belies the ordeal that ended just days before, has been catching up with her young son since her return. Amunu is used to his aid-worker mother's frequent travels for field operations, but Hilda has never before been away for longer than six or eight weeks. "He knows he can always get me on the phone, but this time it was different. It was very hard for him. My mum said to him you've got to pray to the Blessed Mary for her safe return and he said 'She didn't come back when I prayed so I'm not praying anymore.'"

Now Hilda says he is embarrassed by all the attention his mum is getting and is anxious if she is out of his sight for even a short period. "Just yesterday I was at the dentist to get a crown for a tooth I chipped and he rang because he wanted me back."

When probed, Hilda's matter-of-fact explanation for her injury is a bad fall in pitch black coming down a mountain on the Chad/Sudan border. So treacherous were the climbs in darkness that Hilda and Sharon often refused the wash they longed for because it entailed a half-hour terrifying descent over rough territory to the river. As time stretched out the women, weakened by poor food and dehydration, found the going too tough and opted not to go.

Their ordeal began on 2 July after a relaxed day off. They had visited friends and returned to their compound before the 6.30pm curfew.

"Around eight I asked one of our two guards to get us a sandwich before bed. And then at about 8.15pm there was a noise at the gate. It was our other guard being led in by gunmen. They had Kalashnikovs, though I didn't know what they were then," Hilda recalls. The women were led outside to a pick-up at gunpoint and covered with blankets in the back. And that night began the pattern for 106 terrifying more nights.

Disbelief

"We were in shock. There was disbelief but we were calm. They spoke in Arabic but they kept saying it's 'strictly business' in English. Just like that: 'strictly business'," says Hilda. They were moved frequently around four different mountains and guarded by 18-20 men working in shifts of two.

By far the worst moment came on Day 6, when a gang member staged the first of a number of mock executions. "He made us kneel down in front of him. It was like, let's get them really scared. I have a fear of really loud noises already and he started firing off shots all around us. I thought, 'Jesus, now we are done for'. It was psychotic, You don't know what will set someone off."

The women had no idea what was going on in the outside world to secure their release but felt that the longer time went on the greater their chances of survival. After getting the opportunity to make a phone call to confirm their kidnap on Day 10, it took until Day 70 before Sharon was allowed to call home and Day 75 before Hilda could ring her mother. "If I'd known on Day 20 that I'd still be there on Day 70 I'd have given up," Hilda says. "I just thought, 'I've got a son, I need to get out of here. Even if I have to crawl out of here at least he can see my face before I drop dead.'"

Hilda, who is very grateful for the support from Ireland, hopes to visit fellow Goalie Sharon and share a celebratory drink. For now she wants to continue development work. "This experience wouldn't put me off working in an environment like that again, but I think I'd like a nice office job. My field work is done."

And she reveals that in the dark days of captivity the women struck a deal to celebrate the anniversary of their release. "We're going somewhere really nice. Somewhere there is no fighting, no rebels, no military. After I've come to Ireland, of course…" And Hilda Kawuki laughs uproariously at the prospect of future fun and adventures with the woman she calls her new sister.