I had to share this one.
The young writer returned to Uganda, home sweet home, after a 13-year hiatus. Left at the age of 6.
...........Lake Victoria stunned me as its deep blue tinge swept past the plane and we swooped low and fast over the breathless hue. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I continued to marvel at the natural beauty sprouting from every hill and valley throughout the month-long trip to my native country, convinced I was on one side of paradise. Except for those times when I was in Kampala.
I described Uganda’s capital city to my friends as "too much reality." I first encountered the chaotic blend between third world poverty and emerging capitalist market on a drive into the city.
I became worried as we reached the city center, a large clock tower directly in front of a "silly English round-a-bout" as my mom called those awful oval intersections scattered throughout the city. Small scooters bearing admirably brave passengers squeezed through the congestion of cars packed into the oval. I could see us going around in circles for hours. Any practical, sane person would have. But the drivers in Kampala are in my opinion far beyond any hope of sanity. Accustomed to the chaos of blind overtaking, large potholes, daring pedestrians and dust attacks, the drivers have become immune to rationality. They just intermittently cut across the oval to reach a side street. Bicycles balanced with large metal rods, bananas and sometimes women clutching babies virtually side-swipe cars, scraping by within a finger’s width of paint.
Everyone has the right of way. So you have to be aggressive and yet cautious. In order to move, you have to follow the rules of defensive driving, but remember that no one else will.
Every inch moved is a near-death experience. My mother confessed after one particularly stressful surge forward that she almost had a nervous breakdown. My uncle, who was driving, simply laughed briefly, then resumed his army drill-like concentration to shift our car slightly to the left.
It’s a wonder how anyone ever gets anywhere, especially with no traffic lights. People just seem to be going in circles, but they eventually reach a destination. I feared their fearlessness. I devised my "don’t look, don’t freak out" policy and lay in the back seat with my eyes shut, reliving my childhood memories, awaiting the moments that would define the next month of my life........
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A small part of the essay, "Ugandan Passport" extracted from 'The Ron Brown Scholar Program Newsletter.
Happy New Year!
FN Lugemwa
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