Walk through Kampala and its lost dreams

I am the President’s ear on the ground. Based on my self-appointment, I do an annual walk-through Kampala city just to be sure I have a clear picture. Often, things kwa ground can be different from the boardroom.

I boarded a taxi from Agenda Namugongo road stage. As I sauntered to my seat (the one next to the conductor), he whispered ‘Kampala nkumi nya’. I guess he sensed some potential lugezigezi and decided to make the terms known in advance. We reached Kireka and the driver decided it was better to use the Kinawataka road mbu there is too much jam along Kyambogo. Around the URA offices in Nakawa, the driver once again turned to Mbuya, and we came out at the Nakawa traffic lights.

At Uganda House, I jumped out of the taxi, and paid a visit to one of my grandmothers nearby. She is still firm in giving injections. Thanks to Daktaari Karuhanga who has kept her for all those years. “Kati okola bibyo,” my grandmother was surprised that I now run my own consulting outfit.

From there, my legs took me to the National Library of Uganda. The lady seemed to be busy on her computer. The place is cramped and most of the people here use it as a workstation. I confessed that I was a first timer. “You pay Shs2,000,” was her response and no further explanation. I paid. Then I asked for directions to the historical documents about Uganda. “You need a National ID,” she pointed me to the rules. “I have a digital one, I can also leave you with my phone,” I insisted. She did not bulge. I went in, read a few books in the open section. Was bored by the rattling of the people typing on their laptops.

I decided to walk to the Gadaffi mosque and climb to the top of that tower. Off I went via Bat Valley, through Kiseka market area and then got to the road that leads to Pastor Manjeri’s church. The road was closed off to vehicles and security was heightened. I plan to return to this road, almost got tempted to get a haircut in one of the Eritrean saloons. It is like a meeting point of Eritrea and Ethiopia. I will return for the culture.

From Manjeri’s church, I climbed via Lohana. There was a temptation to jump onto a Tausi bus to Mbarara (it was almost full). I could get to Mbarara and return in the evening. I remembered that the goal was the National Mosque. I had never been here. When I got to the gate, I almost backtracked. I got the courage and went in. The security man was not bothered, he was busy with lunch.

“I am here to tour,” I told the tourism office. I paid my ka 10K and they gave me Aisha as my guide. She wondered if I could speak Luganda. The rest of the tour was conducted in Luganda. I got the history of the mosque and even took a photo inside the mosque. I was burning for the tower. The ascent started, I forget, the stairs are more than 200. I hiked to the top. I saw the 7 hills of Kampala. I also saw the disorder that is Kampala city. I saw no redemption from where I stood. I glanced at that Ham stadium (oba it was Nakivubo before). I descended, tipped my guide, and promised to bring my friends, family and fans, aka my 3Fs.

The plan was to not repeat a route, I now took the Aga Khan route. Passed Sunshine Kindergarten (my former nursery school), for those who may doubt my credentials. As I passed Makerere, the first lady’s convoy made its way. I hear she was launching the Ham Stadium, that same thing I saw from the tower.

I was exhausted at Wandegeya, bought a ki-big bottle of water, and quenched my thirst in one of those taxis headed to Ntinda. Kumbe ghost passengers are still real. Some passengers would get frustrated and leave. One of the First Lady’s guards approached our driver; “toka kwa steering.” The driver was confused, he almost drove off. A driver of the nearby taxi did not hear instructions. He was ordered to the floor. “Lala chini” with some kicks. His friends laughed while recording him. But it was that typical traumatic laughter, the one that disguises sadness.

One of the ladies in the backseat had wanted to record the convoy as the first lady returned. She concluded the launch early. And all that time I was waiting in the taxi. A man descended on the lady that was recording. “Orecordinga bikyi,” he violently tried to confiscate her phone. Then he tried to pull her out of the taxi. The lady started screaming. Some passengers were alerted. She tried to hide her phone next to me. She was forgiven. The First Lady passed by. And we drove off to Ntinda.

I jumped out in Ntinda and decided to walk the rest of the journey. A friend shouted; “Ortega.” What is with people shouting when in a Spacio? Later a phone call followed. I did not have the number. “Ian, it is Fancy, we should have coffee, you know we have grown. I think you have like three baby mamas these days,” she commented. I tried to process this madness. I am not that debased dear reader.

Anyway, I decided to focus on important things in my kingdom. Tenge Tenge, at least Joshua Baraka is in love with Etania. Atte what happened to Pressure Pressure? Indeed, it is true, Naalya esinga Kampala city!

Twitter: ortegatalks