Every thing You Have Heard About That Small Country Is True — Part II
Small nations have no time for small goals — they have to think big in order to become contributors — Kersti Kaljulaid
Time check: 0500hrs: Touchdown in foreign capital (is it said like that even for bus rides?) Well, I won’t linger on minors. The sun has long been up already. By contrast, it is 6:00 am back home. Nothing could have passed for a more severe welcome. Jet lag? There I go again, using words loosely. You can never be prepared enough for these things, the stories and perspectives you have read and heard notwithstanding.
Stranger things begun to occur just as I attempted — albeit to minimal success — to come to terms with the stunning spectacle of full-blown daylight in the morning’s wee hours.
The cab ride set off to our home for the next six nights. To say that I was rather uncomfortable at the back of the Corolla is to put it quite lightly. It must have been one of those 90s models. But that wasn’t the problem at all.
Remember the movie Inception? exactly. It all felt like augmented reality. Never had I been to a country where traffic flows on the right side of the road. At every junction we negotiated, I got tense in anticipation of a head-on collision with oncoming traffic.
Again, you had to have been there to fully appreciate my narration. I am not even exaggerating. It was a lateral inversion of all that I knew about traffic flow. Felt as though I now lived inside a mirror. An entire week later, I still wasn’t used.
The cab came to a complete halt in the middle of the road, no traffic lights, and no police officers. I was confused. Only the language barrier kept me from asking the driver why we had suddenly stopped. We shortly got on our way again and I noticed we had stopped in compliance to a zebra crossing. As a Ugandan, I was really having culture shock after culture shock right from the get-go.
The streets were clean, the members of the fairer sex, fine, just “as advertised.”
Time check: 1700hrs: The sun has set and darkness has fallen. What? Are you kidding me? Darkness at 5 pm? The beauty side though, the streets are well-lit and the roads are smooth. I did not see a single pothole and trust me, I looked really hard. I hoped to prove the reports wrong. The joke was on me.
I am no basketball player. I wouldn’t sustain 5 mins on the court to save my life without grossly embarrassing myself. But my boys, oh they love basketball. They love the game more than Amin loved to hate Asians.
It wasn’t long before I found myself at the basketball court. A show of power was on full display.
First and more obviously, because the first son and his brother-in-law happen to also play basketball at this same court which belongs to a school, that a little fly on the wall whispered to me, is of great interest to the first lady.
Stay with me.
As one who lives in Kampala and every so often encounters green trucks and blocked roads, I understand security protocols and sweeps only too well. The vigorous frisking and identification verifications at the entrance were a familiar discomfort. There was enough deployment of boots and ammo on the ground to fight a small war. — “Entebbe ewooma”- Lukongwa.
Secondly, men will always size each other up and the testosterone in us pushes us to protect whatever we consider to be our territories. Getting minutes of playtime on the court was a rigorous process involving negotiations, deal-making, and veiled betrayal — It’s just basketball court politics in a foreign land, nothing personal.
Egos were flexed and it was game down. After a brief stop at the house, dinner was sought and had. An eventful day 1 was finally brought to a close.
Days went by, old friends were met, old and fond stories were told with generous doses of nostalgia and hearty laughter. All punctuated with periodic raising of glasses and toasting. I was taught that toasting with water brings bad luck and that during a toast, there should be eye contact lest some bad things happen. Things I do not wish to reiterate here.
A couple of days before the return, we journeyed about 8 km outside the capital, to a Clubhouse. Horseback rides, archery, zip lining, and quad biking. Need I add that archery was the highlight? Your boy had a more than decent running. Some people might contest but I know I carried the day, don’t listen to the detractors.
As a signature shot, yours truly took a picture in front of the dome-shaped conference hall.
So, what is a week-long trip across the border without a thorough examination of the evening life? The 1 am curfew notwithstanding.
The attempt coincided with the meeting of the stranger that I introduced last week: https://medium.com/@omunyokol/everything-you-have-heard-about-that-small-country-is-true-part-i-5dac617f069f She caused quite the stir on these streets.
It all went down at a brunch. A novel idea in that part of the region.
Of course I bumped into a few Ugandans or at least those that went to school here. There will always be Ugandans at a party within the region. We are the cool kids of the region. Not so much planned (rich) but definitely cool. There were enough of us to survive in case a brawl broke out.
My proudest moment on the entire trip was when Ugandan music was played, song after song, and these beautiful humans sang along: word for word. It really got me thinking, the British didn’t have to brutally colonise more than half the world so that they could transplant their culture and way of life. Good music casts the magic spell. whom am I kidding anyway, music has never been a strong suit of the Brits.
A splendid time was had, so who knows? That destination just might become an annual fixture.
If I make a follow-up visit (which is very likely to happen)I promise to tell you all more about our new mutual friend across the border, with a beautiful Roman — Latin name.
Au revoir mesdames et messieurs. Until next week.
ThE LAst TeSO cHieF
