A Trip to the New-Old World, Part 3
Running Kampala proper
Continued from A Trip to the New-Old World, Part 2
The rain near the Nile left the dirt paths to the boat dock muddy and slick. The main dirt road was blocked by a large truck, whose driver attempted to drive through the rain, sliding the backend into a perfect horizontal blockade. We were stuck, forced to try our luck on the real back roads.
In the hours before, I stood in a pool, in the rain, connected and triumphant with the rushing Nile in front of me — a pristine view of the shores and adapted, mid-stream water trees absent any signs of humanity.
The back-roads
With the help of 15 or so kids from the nearby village, I pushed our borrowed sedan as James carefully worked the gas to get traction. Once moving, I jumped in, waving thanks to the cheering faces behind us.
“If we stop, its over. It’s everything I can do to keep this thing on the road.”
We wound through remote villages, the residents’ wide eyes followed us as we honked incessentantly to warn those walking — we can’t stop. Goats and a few high-horned cattle skirted the slick trails. We slowed only to ask directions. Each Sibo and Nyabo (Sir and Madam) thanked with a smile as we asked and listened quickly in motion.
Like a road rally, I described upcoming turns and obstacles as James kept the immediate middle and traction-able position in the mud path. I could feel myself steering with the car, leaning and pointing to the ideal angle for each given moment. An hour, 5 unbranded villages, and hundreds of confused and villagers later, we emerged onto a bigger and less-slick dirt road.
We kept vigilent and rolled into Jinja for a meal, a rest, and a fresh start in the morning back to Kampala.
Kampala Moves
1. Maribou storks
scare and fascinate me. They make me question my understanding of biology, evolutionary history, and reality — no exaggeration.
Imagine the final iteration of the Pteradactyl dinosaur bird. They are huge — I’m talking ostrich with bigger wings and shorter legs. Now merge it with an old-man wizard. Now add an acid pouch on the throat.
Even scarier: They fly.
They are everywhere — the “pigeon of East Africa”. You know, if pigeons were 50x bigger, could eat and digest plastic, and shat acidic feces capable of burning through metal.
They are not of this world. Grimm’s fairy tales never contained such radical beasts.
2. The Central Mosque
I lack qualification to comment much on the visit. Listen and watch was my modus operandi.
I washed my feet in silence next to men wearing long-robes. I respectfully performed the rituals of worship when asked, when it seemed expected.
My muslim friends speak little of their actual customs. To see it, to hear it described, and understand the calls to prayer, the phrases we fear and misinterpret in the West — Islam is a little more familiar, more relatable.
Human religions often share the principles order, structure, community. The leader looks the same way as the worshippers. The women pray from the balcony, separate — yet I dared to think it spoke of the weakness of men in general, who may not be able to focus on prayer with any distractions.
We climbed the hundreds of steps to overlook the seven hills of Kampala with an English girl wearing a temporary, longer hijab as the visit required. The ritual of call to prayer from the high tower gained context as discipline, gratitude, practicality.
3. A political sign I liked:
“Vote Issues, not wosolo (gossip)” — Clear and clean — addressing the philosophy of voting, not just an encouragement of the act.
4. No Emissions check
Street pollution in Kampala is rough. I’m overly-sensitive to be sure. Even with the nose filters I can now wear with confidence (biohack), the visible clouds of black and heavy exhaust roll over you and hover. They wait for your pause in breath to inject an acrid filth. Engines designed for durability care not how they look, sound, or what they create beyond power to move.
The creative use of engines is impressive — from Boda Bodas (motorcycles) carrying entire roofing sheets and hundreds of matoke (green plaintains/bananas) to 4+ people. In Asia, they wore breathing masks. Here, its just a toxic smell and contrast of urban life.
