Matatu Chronicles: Uganda Edition, Part 2

PS: Read part one here.

The sun and her sisters were already up as we made our way out of the Uganda National Theatre where the Mash bus had parked. As soon as I disembarked from the bus, I felt different. Actually, that is a lie, the only different thing was that I had accidentally switched on the roaming button on my phone, left the data on and Safaricom and/MTN had eaten all my airtime. Great! No chance of posting ‘I have arrived, #vacaythings’ on Instagram. My knees were killing me, and I was definitely sleep deprived, so I couldn’t wait to put my feet up and get a shut eye.

We have a few boda boda bikes in Nairobi; (speaking of which, have you seen this ad on TV, “Boxer inaokoa?” SMH. Story for another day) where was I? Yes. We have a few bodas in Nairobi, but they are in strategic places, you wouldn’t find them everywhere in the capital city. Kampala gave me quite a shocker. It’s as if the ratio of bodas to people is 1:1. You know the way every student is required to bring a hockey stick on the first day of high school? I suspect Ugandans are asked to bring a boda on their first day in town! The number of bodas grew as we made our way to the ‘stage’ (terminal sounds funny) and I was soon whispering a prayer with every turn. We got there alright (thankfully) and paid Ush. 2000 (sigh)

See this life...

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Their Bus Station equivalent is huge! There were all these Nissans with blue lines round their waists and the sign ‘Taxi’ on their heads.  Most of them looked thirsty and beat up. They stood there waiting, as the men next to them advertised them to the masses milling around. I have always wondered, do matatus feel violated, with people hitting on their sides and behinds all the time, having to contend with all manner of humans all up in their space? I think we should stop with all this violence.
Side note: Just in case you are wondering, what the real taxi are called in Uganda, I got you. They are known as 'Special'.

Anyway, turns out the Masajja matatus were moved to another stage and to my absolute horror, I was to endure another bike ride to the other side of town.

At this point, I am just following my cousin’s direction because, well, I am new in this place, and I can’t speak Luganda to save my life. So we hop on and I tell you that ride got me confessing my sins, considering my headstone epitaph and appreciating speed governors all at once. The manner in which we snaked through traffic, always cutting right through seconds before a car whizzed by in top speed or pulling the brakes just in time was terrifying. Please, I hear some of you saying that sounds like fun, exhilarating and that I should loosen up a little and enjoy. Well, my parents are still waiting for a granddaughter (because they have two grandsons already) and I am sure there would be no smile on my face if I end up a ‘Death by Boda’ statistic. Seriously though, I think the ever convenient bodas should somehow be regulated, especially going by the fact that in the biggest referral hospital’s accident wing, 90% of the cases are boda boda related. Again, we got there alright, paid the Ush. 2000 and I quickly got away with my life, phew!

Over the next few days I would notice a few things; like the way the conductors don’t poke at your necks and shoulders saying “Centi hapo mbele”, People power dictates that they pay when they get to their destination. Woe unto the conductor if on a slow day, they are given a Ush. 10, 000 note and the person needs Ush. 9000 in change.  One of the things I appreciated most is the drivers and conductors etiquette, something their Kenyan counterparts could pick up on. The Ssebos know well enough not to bite the hand that feeds them, and that was quite refreshing! One strange thing though, is, apart from the trans-border buses,  there were no, at least I didn’t see any,  big commuter vehicles, just the Nissans. I think they are much smaller than the ones we have here, because my knees and neck were cursing at me for taking them through all this torture. Am I really that tall? Don’t answer that.

I am the one on the left sitting sideways :( the struggle!! 

Generally, all flaws aside, the Kenyan matatu culture is quite cool and unique, the most diverse in the region, I think. We have pimped up rides, (I saw on the news the other day that they now have water dispensers too) that more often than not let a stranger in on what Kenyans value, what music they are listening to and what’s trending. Some are so comfortable we wish we could live in them.  Heck, we even have methali stickers to offer us life lessons. There is none of that in Uganda, or at least in Kampala where I spent most of my time. Kwanza, the gava apparently banned radios, why you ask? Because the drivers couldn’t hear the traffic police officers. Why do traffic police officers need to be heard? Because on their first day at work, the officers are given brand new pure white uniforms and wait for it, a whistle. Yes. So one had to go, and in the end, the radio got quite a blow from the whistle. I hope the officers are paid well. That seems like quite some work.

I had a good time huko,..but if I am going to spend an hour or two in traffic, I better have some good music, WiFi and enough legroom to make it all worth it. So, it feels  good to be back home!

Matatu Chronicles: Uganda Edition

Happy New Year person!!

I hope you are having a great one so far!

2015 was a good year for My Matatu Chronicles and the team here (urrrm, that’s just me) is ready for a bigger and better one! Amen?

We start on a Diaspora note this new year. I spent the first few days of 2016 in Uganda, and came back with a few stories for your pleasure (if you like :) ) It is going to be a two part series, I hope you enjoy it! If you have been on this route and experienced it differently, let me know! Now dig in!

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The journey started at 10:30PM. I boarded the Mash cool bus, but was utterly disappointed that the leg room would give me nothing but misery for the over 10 hour trip, and it did. I made a mental note to save for a flight next time, but then, we wouldn’t have a matatu chronicles article, would we? It was too dark to scrutinize the passengers, except the 7 foot man who just laid out a mattress on the aisle and slept. I counted my blessings then, at least I fit into that limited leg room! We had a pretty uneventful trip to the Kenya-Busia border, getting there at 4:30 AM. My cousin wakes me up and tells me, “Hapa ni masaa! I hope uko na biro.” Lol! I always have a biro (pen) with me.

The border was quite a buzz. Buses were offloading passengers and getting checked. We had to go queue up at the office to get our passes. Those who had passports only had to get it stamped and they were on their way. The rest had to fill a form to get a temporary pass. My cousin then goes, “Hakuna haja ya kuchafua passport na stamp za E.Africa! Let’s get a temporary pass.” But alas! There was a form missing, so we had to buy an alternative one that would cost us Ksh. 300. The excuse: Nairobi had not sent or done photocopies, something… Hapo naona ni kama tulichezwa. Haidhuru.

Once we had gotten hold of the forms, some guy directs and accompanies us to a place where we would get a photocopy of the ID and some passport photos taken. I was impressed at how helpful everyone was at 4AM. We get there and there is already a bunch of people awaiting the service. I overhear someone ask, “Ni how much?”

“Four hundred bob!” came the reply.

What? Four hundred Kenya shillings for four copies that will be taken at 4am with cobwebs around my red swollen eyes?  Come on! No wonder we were literally chauffeured to this place. Brokers had to get their share! My cousin tells me to pay up, but I swore I was not going to pay four hundred bob! Asi! I took the photo then handed the guy a five hundred shilling note and firmly said, “Usitoe more than two hundred kwa hiyo pesa.” Now, on a normal easy day, I am told I have a serious RBF (Resting Bitch Face). You can imagine how menacing I looked then, my 6 foot self, sleepy and stressed. Hehe! It worked! I was given back my three hundred bob change and I galloped away before they realized I was bluffing, because I wouldn’t have done anything if they had charged me four hundred. Time was of the essence, and it wasn’t like I would walk to Kampala if the bus left me cos’ of four hundred bob.

Back at the office, I look at the photos and again, make a mental note (seems like I’ll be making lots of these) to have passport photos and photocopies of my ID in every purse I own. Turns out I only needed two photos, what a waste! I am keeping the other two as souvenirs though. I have often heard that there is always drama at the border, and sure as daylight, there was! At one corner a high-pitched voice was summoning two ladies who had tried to sneak into Uganda. The border official they had tried to cheat was bad news. She was short (they always have a temper :D ) and had legwarmers on that somehow made her look even more brutal. She bundled them into the office, sat them down and gave them an earful, telling them watalala ndani if they didn’t explain what mischief they were up to.

By the time I was getting my first stamp, they were nowhere near resolving the issue. Their bus conductor had come to check on his clients and was now in the mix trying to help sort this out so they could move along. Kampala was another 3 hours away.

I crossed over to the Uganda office, where I had to fill up another form and get an entry stamp. `I then realized that I had left my pen at the photo booth. Yaani my first action in Uganda was to borrow a pen. This Indian like character ahead of me bailed me out. I’ll need another blog post to describe him though (chuckle)! I finally got my entry stamp and started back to the bus. My cousin advices me to change some of the Kenya shillings I had to Ugandan shillings to save us time once we got to Kampala. I decided on Ksh. 2000 and asked him what the rate was. 32 bob. You should have seen the smile on my face once I was handed 64,000 Ugandan shillings! Sema kuwa baller! That lifted my spirits immediately! I stuffed them into my wallet and walked back to the bus. I drifted back to sleep soon after and was only awakened by my cousin when we got to Jinja, to see the River Nile at dawn. I almost shed a tear. It was the most beautiful thing I had laid my eyes on in a while. I made a mental note (again) to travel at the same time next time so I can behold the sight again.

The first thing I saw when I woke up again was a pick up full of green bananas. I smiled. We were in Uganda alright. It was 8:30AM.