The one with the lady in zebra pants

Hellos. How are you guys doing? How has your day been? Has it been lit up like mine? Has it been draining like mine as well? Has it brought with it good news or bad news? Whatever the news, let’s remember that God is Almighty. And let’s give thanks for the life we still have for we have hope unlike those who have left us. For those who have lost their loved ones today, my condolences, God give you solace. And for those whose lives have been added to by the birth of a newborn or union in marriage, my congratulations and may this union never be broken.

I am here in the taxi. I am hopeful that it will fill up sooner than it can be conceived. I am praying for a miracle. I am here in the Nakawa Market Mini Taxi Park again. This time, I came with Emmanuel, but we are not going to the same destination. His taxi was filling up really quickly and I suppose that he’s already on his way home to Mutungo. I am seated in my favourite seat at the second last seat by the right window. Out of the 14, we are now left with 5 passengers to go. My only prayer is that they suddenly appear. I am the only one in my row. The window I am seated beside is closed and my phone is not at risk of theft. So, don’t worry about it. And don’t be selfish people who always mind these blogs but not the safety of the writer’s phone. How’s putting up a fund for me to cater for any incidental theft by the way? Come on, you can do that. You can decide to contribute that way to the sustainability of this series. Think about it and overwhelm me.

Now, these taxi stage attendants are patiently calling for passengers going the Entebbe Road. They are not vigorous though like those in the Old Taxi Park. I don’t know whether they are hopeless or they are just tired. How can they be tired when they do not labour as much as those of the Old Taxi Park? The Old Taxi Park is the oldest and first in Uganda and for a long time, it was the only taxi park (I want to think so, I am not certain about that, but it is logically believable). Now, they are not calling anymore. They call once, twice and then wait another 3 minutes before calling again. Now, when these guys are just calling out, that is already reason enough to worry you won’t be leaving soon. Their counterparts elsewhere in busier parks don’t call out, they shout out. They chant out. They sing out. Some even use recorded shout-outs played on a louder speaker. That is how serious they are. These guys are just jokers. But I shouldn’t blame them, they operate in a small park.

Finally, they have given up. The driver has started the engine and he’s agreed with the conductor to go and pick up passengers along the way. We are now moving out of the park and passing the blaring music which is a celebration of the local football team, Loud and Clear, which has just won the local tournament and brought home the trophy. That’s the name of the team, seriously! We are now on the Jinja Highway. But because it is a one-way lane, we had to first take the other direction before finding where we could turn from and cross over to our own lane, the one going to Kampala. Now, I have just realised there is another park opposite the one we’ve been in and we have parked here momentarily. The conductor is asking whether there could be any passengers going the Entebbe Road. This stage seems busy and I can hear the loudspeaker calling out to passengers. Indeed, it is busier because this one has not just two stage attendants like there were back there in the market, here there are over five. One passenger has entered now and sat in the back seat at the centre, filling that row. My row is next to be filled. Only one passenger is left in my row. Just as we were setting off from the park, a lady came in and sat beside me. Now, another has sat on the far left and our row is also filled. How many passengers are left for us to go now? One more passenger. Now, the song is, ‘Entebbe Road ayise omu wano: One individual passenger going Entebbe Road wanted’. There is hope we are soon leaving this place. But of course, the time is not paused. I pray I reach home early enough. That prayer means there shouldn’t be jam on the road, which is a very wishful prayer indeed. An impossible one you could say, but I believe God will take care of everything. Wow, she’s just hopped on now. She is now seated at that inconvenient seat shared with the conductor. The engine has been restarted again and we are now gaining momentum, and off we go.

The driver has switched on the radio and there is a political show playing. They are talking about legal issues relating to the East African Legislative Assembly (EALA). I can’t make out which radio it is and which panellist is speaking. But I strongly believe there must be a lawyer, politician and political analyst on the show. We are now running if I may use that word and the radio can be hardly heard.

I am getting trouble writing this because my left-hand thumb is paining a little yet I use my thumbs to type. I have had to stop a little, thrice now, and move it about but it seems like that stressed my thumb joints the more. Have I typed too much these days? It could be. This is now the fourth time or so that I have written this series and I am beginning to feel what that means maybe. I don’t know. Moreover, I type a lot. My average article word count is 1000, which is 300 higher than the average word count of a newspaper opinion column, written on a computer. But maybe that’s not the issue. But no, it must be. I am right-handed and so I use my right hand for many things I do, including holding and using the phone. And because I don’t usually type much, I normally text using my right thumb. This one never hurts at all, yet it presses the most keys. I think my left thumb is now doing an exercise it rarely does and it is now stressed. But it will get used since I am not about to stop. Wait, how many words will I write if I take a bus for a long trip of about 5 hours and more? Hmmm, that would be a very long article! But I think I would write while breaking, only telling you the things that matter.

We are now passing the Queens Way Electric Station here in Katwe and are now approaching the small road that branches to the old Entebbe Road which passed through Katwe town and the Usafi Market. We are in traffic and moving rather slowly but not so slowly. Now we have stopped. Jam has started. There is always jam on this road at this point. The jam starts from where Entebbe Road starts, that’s off the Kampala Road and proceeds like that through the Queen’s Clocktower junction (the Shoprite junction, which we should now call the Carrefour junction since Shoprite long closed shop in Uganda, but Ugandans don’t want names which are difficult to pronounce; is it /keyafo/ or /karefo/, I don’t know), the Airtel Clock roundabout at Kibuye and through Najjanakumbi. It then clears and starts again around Stella Stage, Freedom City Mall in Namasuba and clears as you approach Zana. It will then appear again after Seguku as you are approaching Kajjansi and I think that’s because there is a roundabout there. The jam continues on through Kitende and clears as you approach Bwebajja. After that point, save for the road works, there is roughly no jam at all.

The engine stopped, which means we shall stay here for some time now. We are at the SESCO fuel station, which is the only one I know around town. Amazingly, they even have a tyre clinic and a lorry can be seen parked there with boldened capitals: SESCO TYRES.

Now, before I forget, I just laughed at a statement made by some fellow on the radio. Because we were not moving, which we are now, by the way, I could hear it playing.

‘Nze kasita kiba nti Purezidenti Museveni aky’ afuga wano mu gwanga, nze emyaka mba mbala neetolako!’

I laughed out not so loud, but my immediate sleeping neighbour opened her eyes at least. What this guy was saying is that as long as we still have President Museveni in power, our life span decreases each passing year. Impliedly for him, he no longer celebrates birthdays, he moans them because he knows that in this regime, there is no hope of living longer, but the stress of living less. Now, that was a very huge statement! I don’t know what they were talking about but I believe it must have been insecurity. Not only the usual insecurity of robbery and terrorism per se but also the other facets of insecurity like economic insecurity given that we are now facing a severe inflation crisis caused by the rising fuel prices, which have now hit 7000 from 4500 shillings! This brings with it other consequences such as health insecurity, food insecurity, and all. But I know this is also happening elsewhere in the world partly because of the Russia-Ukraine crisis.

We have moved a little, but we are not yet at the Airtel Clock roundabout. The engine has been on, but the driver has now turned it down. This traffic jam is the most draining thing about my commutation. It is so tiring! And after a long day, you want to get home early enough and rest enough for the next day. The radio can be heard again. They are now talking about education. Makerere University affairs. Prof Nawangwe’s name is being mentioned. Now, the traffic has cleared and the engine has been started again. But this jam thing is funny. I’ll be using that word, funny, in very many contexts, so don’t get lost. It’s one word I use for any bad or unfortunate situation. The funny thing about jam is that it brings hope and kills it at the same time. You’ll move and think you will now not stop soon, but before the smile wanes on your face, or the very thought runs out in your mind, you have stopped again, and the engine even turned down. But thank God, we are moving now.

My neighbour has surely dozed. The only problem is that she keeps getting up. She should just sleep because the journey is just started proper now. The other passengers are tired too and their heads were down while in the jam. Now that we are running, they are up again. We are now at the Stella Stage junction. We had stopped a little because of the traffic always at junctions, but we are already running again. And my neighbours’ eyes have closed again. I think she will be getting off soon, which is why she keeps coming out of her short naps. We are now at Namasuba and the first passenger has gotten off. Now, we are not going to run anymore because the taxi doesn’t make money while it’s empty. The driver and conductor have to play their roles so as to fill up the space.

The driver will hoot at every person standing by the roadside just in case they are going and in need of a taxi. And the conductor will stick his head out of his window and chant “Entebbe” at every person by the roadside just in case they want a taxi. We are now in Zana and we have stopped. There is a market where we are and someone has just moved out. I think we may get some passengers here to fill up the spaces because this is a busy town. No, it has not happened. We are still short of two passengers and so the slow-moving and hooting and calling out is up again.

The lady seated just behind me is a mother with a young suckling child and another. She’s paid for only one seat and so they have to squeeze up really tight so as to create a significant space reserved for the passenger at the centre chair. The mother is fat. The passenger in the centre chair is also fat. In fact, she’s a Munyankore by looks (she’s quite fat and she wears her hair in a Janet cut; Janet is our First Lady and her hairstyle has become a trend among western ladies especially) and she was previously seated in my row at the far left. When some passengers moved out, she had to change seats and go to the back. The man seated at the back by the left window is also a big one. One wonders how they are fitting and particularly what discomfort the little child is bearing. The heat must be too much! Little wonder, when we were in the jam, I heard her ask the mother to open the window!

We are now dropping off one passenger at this junction with the big road toll saying: Neebalamye Mayanja. I don’t know what that means but it is connected to the Baganda. It stands on wooden poles and the words have the Buganda shield in between them. I’ll ask and find out. My immediate dozing neighbour has just got off. She was probably going to Kigo because she got off at the Kigo Road junction. The woman with the Janet cut has just told the conductor she is getting off at the mango tree. We are here and she’s just gotten off. Now, there seems to be a little disagreement with the conductor because she says she was told the fare was 4000 shillings instead of five. But when he asked the driver, he told him to let her go and so we have now left. We are now in Kajjansi.

I am beginning to get tired of writing. Typing to be precise. I feel my thumb is tired. I had rested it while we were still in Katwe for about three of four paragraphs and then used it again. Now, I can see it is worn out because it is no longer pressing well on the keys and I can’t move it about as easily as I should. Let me just rest it and use only the right thumb.

I suppose I am also tired of the journey. The traffic does drain, you know and I was already tired from school. But I am soon reaching home. This taxi has been largely quiet save for the small cries of the suckling baby and the playing radio. The political show is still on. We are now in Kitende. There is a guy seated in the front row in the middle seat and from the way he’s moving his head, it seems like he’s been listening to music through the earphones he’s wearing. By the way, are they earphones or headphones? I am talking about the small earpieces connected to the phone by a wire. The guy who replaced my dozing neighbour has also left. In his place is now seated a young lady with an expensive Samsung phone. She’s also turned on her music, connected her earpieces or rather earphones or whatever and leaned back. She’s wearing a green sweater and zebra pants. They have white and black stripes running down. She’s the first person who has spoken to me in this taxi. She greeted me when she sat.

We are now approaching my destination stage and in about ten minutes or so, I’ll be home. Time check: 9:40 pm. We’ve really delayed. Bye now, I am getting out.