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Jinja is moving fast and slow
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The haggling, the sweet endearments, the lugambo...
Stone city. Jinja is better than Uganda, so they say. A hotbed of activity, Jinja is a life and vibe different from the rest of the country. Many call it the Caribbean version of Uganda.
Last weekend, a friend dragged me out of Kampala. If there’s a thing such as Stockholm syndrome, then there must be its brother- Kampala Syndrome. The Kampala Syndrome is comparable to an act where a victim is both loved and oppressed at the same time. Kampala will bite you, then proceed to massage you at the same time. It’s because of the Kampala Syndrome that we developed statements such as ‘KiUganda Kinyuma’ then ‘Kampala esinga Bulaaya.’ We never imagine any life beyond Kampala.
But my friend was not ready to accommodate any of my excuses. I told her I was preparing for the Cindy and Sheebah battle. You know when a university sponsors a battle, then only two things are possible – the best of the best, or the worst of the worst. You can make your bet. Having run out of excuses for cancelling the trip. Yes, in Uganda, there’s always a 99% chance that a group trip will end up as a solo trip. Ugandans just never run out of excuses. At least a neighbour’s husband will swallow a cup, their grandmother in Arua will fall from a tree. Something always happens before a group trip in Uganda. But I wasn’t about to be that Ugandan.
And off we went to Jinja. The great Jinja, the city that never stops loving. The city that welcomes you with open hands. We decided not to book any hotel rooms. The search was meant to be part of the adventure. But life is funny, no one expects two adults, a male and female to travel together and book into different rooms. Can’t someone embrace and just enjoy their friendzone? Is it such a bad zone? Arrgh.
The thing about Jinja is that it’s ‘watery’, everything about Jinja will somehow end up with water. It explains why Jinja is always calm and comforting. If Jinja cannot solve your problems, then your problems are going to kill you. What kind of problems are those that Jinja can’t solve? What kind of demons can’t Jinja exorcise?
There’s no rush in the city of Jinja (there’s never been a rush). You can’t bring your standards of Kampala to Jinja. A rolex here, white faces there, millennials and Gen-zs there, and yours truly here. Unlike most times when I come to Jinja, this time round, I had come to indulge in the activities that my ancestors would never approve of. There’s no way Jajja Walusimbi would have agreed to having me participate in a bungee-jumping activity. Immediately, a family meeting would have been called, and I would choose between ‘suicide’, aka bungee jumping, and retaining my family membership. But then, all our grannies are now on TikTok. They’re consuming all kinds of news, fake and real. If your grandmother hasn’t sent a fake message on the Whatsapp group, then she’s not using her phone right.
We proceeded to the bungee-jumping spot, but not without the massage of the road to Kimaka. It’s such a short distance, but it’s a bumpy ride. If Kasyate comes to learn about this road, we shall not be spared. He will make an argument that would knock out Socrates, Immanuel Kant, and every great philosopher that’s ever lived.
Having suffered with the road, it was now time to face the jump, the thing that wrecks nerves. I thought it was a joke until it was time to release myself into the unknown. Those five minutes were the shortest and fastest minutes of my life. My life came and went, came back, and went out again. The next time I remembered, I had dived into the Nile. I developed amnesia. I lost memory of all my debtors and creditors; I forgot my exes (not that I even remembered them prior). Here I was, the only thing I did remember was the one fact that hasn’t changed since I was born. That Museveni was still President. If someone had told me to the contrary, then I would be nowhere else but in Purgatory.
I have been to the peaks of Rwenzori, Muhavura, Sabyinyo, Kenya, but none had worked me like these few seconds. I was ready to be anything, to face every pothole in this world. I had died and been reborn. And what better way to celebrate this, than with a drink of bitters.
I was then informed that the SHACK league was happening soon. And someone from SMACK chose to wonder; ‘Will this thing be known as TSL?’ No, we shall not suffer, I can confirm that it will be known as ‘SL.’ You SMACK people can keep the ‘T.’ Better still, my own Cohort, the Kaffetelians have been humbling people in the ‘SL.’ If the SMACK guys insist, we shall even change to French and have La Ligue SHACK, aka LLS. You see many options! It must be the jump playing on me. If you find time in your life, rush to Jinja, it’s moving fast and slow! I even hear some say; ‘Jinja is better than Uganda.’
Twitter: ortegatalks
