Kampala, the capital city of Uganda, is very likely Africa’s liveliest growing metropolis. After a decade of destruction during Idi Amin’s reign of terror in the 70’s, and the civil turmoil that followed, Uganda has been on an ascendant road to recovery since 1986, when democracy was restored. The pulse of this city is felt everywhere, with internet cafes, restaurants, and bars sprouting up all over. The citizens have a noticeable glide in their stride, some pep in their step, some grace in their pace, some pimp in their limp. By day, it’s a nest of swarming activity and nightlife throbs til dawn. The enduring image I take away from Kampala is an incongruous scene of huge Maribou Storks hovering over the city center, like buzzards over a feast. These massive birds (ten foot wingspans) should be out on the plains but they are sadly drawn to an easy meal at the garbage dumps in the city center. They perch themselves on rooftops and look like sentinels guarding the fort.
Festering traffic jams have become an institution in Kampala and as such, I’ve been reluctantly forced to risk my limbs on the back of the ubiquitous boda-boda (local motorcycle taxis). These maniacs bomb down the road and weave through traffic with surgical precision and circus recklessness. We collided once with a pedestrian but there was no road rage pleasantries exchanged. They just moved on about their business as if it was perfectly normal. My only other transport option within the city is to ride the minibus, which is a vehicle intended for nine but often holds nineteen and sits stuck in traffic in the equatorial African heat.
Despite the cliché, Ugandans are truly the nicest folk I’ve met thusfar. They are kind, generous, quick to help, and not likely to rip off foreigners or milk them for their worth (as is sadly the case in many other places). The country is physically stunning, lush green landscapes everywhere. For pure scenic natural beauty, Uganda is the Hawaii of Africa. Thanks to misperceptions and inaccurate portrayals in the Western media, it is still relatively undiscovered by the throngs of visitors.
There is a comic whimsical quality about being in a country whose heavyweight boxing champ, Idi Amin, seized power through a military coup and proceeded to go drunk on power and mad on syphilis. One fine morning in 1979, he woke up and, after a cup of tea, decided to invade neighboring Tanzania without provocation. He was quickly defeated and fled to Libya to cower under the wing of Colonel Kaddafi. Libya eventually booted him out and he was exiled to Saudi Arabia, where he died in anonymity two years ago. Despite efforts by his family to repatriate his body for burial services, the current government of Uganda, taking its cue from the public, refused to allow the man responsible for butchering his own citizens back into the country.
The other quintessential sight in Uganda is a vision of locals returning from the fields with huge stalks of bananas stacked high above their head, precariously balanced on the back rack of a rickety old bicycle. Shaky and out of control, they ride along the roadside desperately trying to avoid spilling their cargo. Endless green fields sprawl across the country loaded with bananas and plantains, the staple food of Uganda. They cook the plantains to make a dish called matooke, eaten with nearly every meal and usually accompanied with groundnut sauce. Whenever you see a local on a bike with a machete strapped to his back, you know where he’s going.
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