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The Mzungu diaries
I arrive on my first day at the Daily Monitor with my pale legs, white top and diamante sandals covered in mud. The potholes and rainfall have coloured me and my attire orange. As if I have applied some cheap self-tan the night before. The security guard, frowning, looks me up and down. I give an apologetic smile and blame the careless boda-boda driver. Instantly, I feel guilty, because it is really my fault too. In my efforts to read up on the politics of Uganda, I completely forgot to check the weather conditions, not exactly the trademark of a competent traveller. If I had, I would have known it is rain season in Uganda this time of year. I would have reconsidered my packing strategy and exchanged my trench and sandals for a raincoat and some Wellingtons. Silly mzungu!
I came to Kampala to work at the Daily Monitor for a month and gain some experience in African reporting. For some reason, I was mostly attracted to the name of Uganda’s capital, Kampala. It sounds so melodic and tropical. Kampala. Like the name of an exotic cocktail. Kampala, for the lady? Yes, please! With orange juice and no ice. Ugandan people are an absolute delight. Peaceful, friendly and very helpful. Ugandan men seem to think I am very beautiful. The average conversation between the boda-boda driver and myself on my way to and from work is something like this:
Boda: Are you married?
Me: No.
Boda: Can I give you my phone number?
My popularity rates and market value have noticeably increased since coming to Uganda. Maybe I lost some weight on the four hour plane ride from Johannesburg to Entebbe? Although I did take full advantage of the open bar facilities. When I tell my Ugandan friend that I am quite the hit in Kampala, he starts laughing. Compared to South Africa, I feel surprisingly safe in Uganda. In South Africa, crime rates are still terrifyingly high. The nice thing about this place is that the criminals are right where you can see them, sitting in the government.
Admittedly, it is not all love at first sight. Even though, I appreciate the buzz of this lush East African city, I can not help but feel terrified when moving around whether it is on a boda-boda, matatu or 4x4. Everyone seems to have studied a different version of Uganda’s traffic rules, if there are any to begin with. Lack of discipline and consensus can only lead to utter chaos and dangerous manoeuvres. I suppose, for Ugandans, it is also not a real Frisbee to the head when I say the state of Kampala’s roads is appalling.
The traffic in Europe or in South Africa – where I currently live – is hectic as well. And the constant road works make rush hour congestions even worse. But, I don’t see any road works in Kampala. Or am I too busy avoiding the potholes to notice? Minister John Nasasira has been in office for more than 15 years. Clearly, otherwise he might have registered the state of the decaying city and done something about it. Kampala, Kampala, Kampala, you deserve a little more attention.
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