How to win on Kampala roads at all costs

It almost seems like Kampala City has an invisible bell to guide the lives of its inhabitants. At exactly five minutes to the hour of 5pm, many drop what they are doing and make a mad dash for their vehicles; from then on it is madness and mayhem more suitable to the jungle than city life.

You need the constitution of a rhino to drive in Kampala; fearless, aggressive and willing to fight to the death. If you have any pent-up frustrations, consider yourself primed and ready for conflict on the road.

Like hornets out of a burning nest, cars emerge from all corners and cul-de-sacs as their occupants escape the confines of the city. You would think we are fleeing a hellish disaster, a toxic invisible Gomorrah that we must leave far behind.

Alongside the cars, pedestrians pore out of secret pockets where they have been ensconced all day, and trek determinedly towards various horizons. Any spaces between the two are packed tightly with bodas, their passengers hanging on for dear life as the nonchalant riders weave dangerously between manic drivers.

There is no room for courtesy, consideration or common sense. In the fight of every human for themselves, we might as well be wildebeest crossing a river. You trample everything in your way; you train your eyes on the rump in front of you and focus all your being on inching forward.

At all times, maintain hyper-vigilance because there is somebody trying to force you out of line, to join in from the side roads and shortcuts, to steal from you everything you have worked so hard to achieve.

So, you fight back with all the weapons you have. Honk your horn aggressively, snarl through the windows or throw your fingers out in a vulgar signal.

Do not be intimidated by those roguish taxi drivers; refuse to give them way until the very last micro-second when your vehicles are a hairbreadth from each other. Then, and only then, resort to honking, snarling and rude hand motions.

For some bizarre reason, there is always an ambulance trying to claim the right of way – people should time their emergencies better, preferably during non-rush hours.

Generally, the way we do things in Kampala is that you ignore sirens until they are right on top of you. Then, only then, begrudgingly give way, but only the bare minimum because those pesky taxis are waiting to sneak past you as they ride the tails of the ambulances.

Reserve your greatest disdain and vitriol for any car seemingly larger or more expensive than any other; the ones which act like they own the road, because they supposedly paid more taxes than the rest of us. (Ha! We all know better!) Obviously privileged, they grab the lion’s share of space, and even have uniformed escorts to scatter you out of their way as they head home for very important business. If there is a more loathsome symbol of entitlement than this, I have yet to find it.

Finally, in these tips for winning on the road at all costs, watch out for roundabouts, those relics from colonial times but as well, their successors - the lights which are routinely manned by traffic officers.

When most drivers set out, they have no idea how to, or have the inclination to slow down or stop for anything, so roundabouts and lights are routinely overrun in stampedes that would probably result in fatalities if the police were not standing there bringing some semblance of order to the process.

Think of the roundabouts in your path as death traps and approach them with the sly cunning of a crocodile. Nobody else is relevant, unless they are above you in the food chain; show no mercy, restraint or knowledge of traffic rules. Get home, rest and repeat.

Ms Barenzi is a communications professional and writer
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