These past two weeks have been beyond hectic with tests, papers, and dissertation proposal presentations. I can successfully say, though, I did survive! Also, I just received an email from a good friend who studied abroad with me in Kenya and just finished her masters in Holland (the real holland). She is now working in Kampala, Uganda and sent a well-written depiction of her life and ride to work. Reminds me of my experiences here in Dar es Salaam, and so wanted to share it with you all since she tells it better than I ever could.
“A few observations that I have made after living here for the past two months: Every morning I rise at 6:30am in complete darkness which comes easier after certain amount of time. There is something to be said about watching the sun rise over the Kampala hills five days a week. On my trip to work there is an actual art to it. From trying to find a free space on a taxi (public transportation buses) to the traffic jams to paying the correct amount. After almost a month I’ve become a professional taxi rider even down to yelling it to stop in local luganda… ‘masao’
Right where I should stop for these taxis, there are hoards of women, men, children all gathered in the early morning hours to try to manage to get to work or school on time. Months ago, I had been warned that once the schools re-opened it would be worse than ever getting to work…at first I tended to agree until I mastered it. One of my very first observations was to see how remarkable it was to see 6 to 8 year old children taking these public transportation buses all by themselves or even crossing the deadly street of cars who have never heard of ‘pedestrians have the right of way.’ Back in Holland or even the US this would be inconceivable. Not only that but the boda-bodas (motorcycles…a more dangerous mode of transportation) carry little children of 3 or 4 in front of them with no helmets and do not give a second consideration for their safety. Another highlighting observation that I’ve made is that I’ve seen mostly men bring their children to school. Most people assume that fathers especially in African countries have been all but absent however it’s refreshing to see it might not necessarily be the case all the time.
When I leave my apartment and walk down my hill to the stop, I could wait at the stop for at least 30 minutes to find a free taxi. Since the one I need to take towards Wandegya tends to always be full as oppose to the one going in the direction to Nakawa. I have a choice at this point…I could take the Nakawa taxi to Ntinda centre and switch to a Wandegya bus or walk the 15 minutes to Ntinda centre. Everyone that knows me would guess that most mornings I choose to walk…I pass all the other people who are waiting for the taxis; I walk with children, with mothers, with fathers with students all with a clear destination. Throughout my walk I tend to receive the catcalls of the random strange men who keep yelling… ‘mzungu’ ( foreigner/white person) I have little children who look up to me and give me their widest smiles and wave to me while others choose to ignore me treating me like one of their own. Of course the most uncomfortable encounter in any of these circumstances is surprisingly with another white person on the street…with you two being the only whites around there is a sense of solidarity however you try your very best not to make it too apparent since we should supposedly be color-blind.
Upon arrival to the Ntinda centre with a bit more mud and dust on me I step comfortably in a Wandegya taxi and managed to avoid the first traffic jam. When the taxi is filled up to maximum capacity and then some, we are off to battle the jams and most importantly those pot holes. The pot holes can at times be the size of lakes which can severely slow down traffic as cars try to battle with them. I always attempt to get in a full taxi so the probability of going faster is higher since it will not have to stop or slow down to entice others. All along the way, there are little stands selling various knickknacks. And men with newspapers and air credit for the phone walk in between the traffic and cars to sell their items. I’ve also dubbed myself the master of traffic jams…predicting to the last detail where and how long the jam will last. We drive out of Ntinda towards Bukoto, if today is a good today the traffic will not start well into Bukoto by Luxor paints. If, however, it is a bad day and it starts right at the beginning of the Bukoto, by the Church, then it is up to the driver’s discretion how to proceed from there. At this point he will have two options take the not paved, extremely bumpy back street or make a higher occupancy lane just for himself on the side of the cars who are waiting for their turn patiently. You would assume the second option would anger all these cars waiting nevertheless there is a certain acceptance from the other drivers that is incomprehensible to an outsider like me. Once we reach Kabira Club which is the poshest country club in Kampala I know it is only a matter of minutes before we pass the jam. Once on new Kira Road we are flying as fast as can be towards Kamwokya until I yell for my stop.
There another interesting exchange occurs…if I do not have the exact amount and hand over what I do have the money collector would like to just walk away with it. You have to be adamant about receiving your ‘balance’ back. A ride from Ntinda centre to Kamwokya would cost you about 500 shillings about 25 US cents and in Uganda they have beautiful golden 500 shilling coins. I drop it off in the hand of the guy who then goes to say ‘but madam its 1,000.’ I shake my head no and say ‘1,000 for Wandegya not Kamwokya.’ He then hangs his head in shame for trying to dupe a foreigner who has adopted Kampala as her home. Some might say what difference does it make its only 25 more cents but it just comes down to principle. The highlight of this point is that there are times where I take the same taxis with the same men who always try over and over to overcharge me or not give me my balance. In my first few weeks I was timid and just accepted it scared if I said anything it would get me in more trouble. As my confidence grew on my taxi rides so did my willingness to stand up and say no.
Kampala is starting to feel like home…I no longer feel like an outsider or a stranger in a strange place. It is amazing how in such a short time I have managed to build a life here. A beautiful, hectic, chaotic Ugandan life…’”
- Mandana Kooijmans; Kampala, Uganda
