Looks like this is it…

So moving to an African city has made me encounter two culture shocks: one, it’s Africa; and two, it’s slightly bigger than my hometown of Beallsville. In order to navigate around this city of about 1.5 million I can’t just jump in my little silver Focus and go. Nor would I want to… I wouldn’t last 10 minutes before my first fender-bender. So to get from point A to B, I have had to master (well at least manage) the transportation system here. There are 3 main means of getting around: taxis, special hire taxis, and boda bodas.

Special hire taxis are just like ours back home and the most expensive… and therefore I’ve only taken a couple. Anyway, the real adventures begin on bodas and taxis. Taxis are large vans that are “supposed” to carry 12 passengers but oftentimes more people crowd in, especially around jam time. Each taxi has one driver and one conductor; the driver, well obviously, drives while the conductor collects the fare, distributes the “balance,” and directs the driver when to stop. At each stop there is often another business partner whom I have named “the pest.” His only job is to get as many people onto a specific taxi by shouting its destination and then dragging individuals who show a remote interest to a vacant seat. The conductor then cuts him a share of the profits. These battered vans with dingy seats cost me only 500 Ugandan shillings (about a quarter) to get from my current guesthouse to the medical school (about a mile away). There are words written across every windshield, giving you a little information about the character of the driver. Some of my favorites include: The Sniper, Thanks-be-to-God, Praise Allah, and Slow and Steady.

The taxis can get you to about anywhere in town as long as you jump on the right one (tricky at times). If you miss your stop, you can take the taxi back to the main taxi park behind Kampala Road, a huge parking lot with hundreds of these vans parked and their conductors all shouting their destinations at once. However, if you ever do visit Kampala, never buy bottled water at the taxi park. The vendors often fill up old bottles with local tap water and then super glue the tops shut (just like on Slumdog Millionaire if you’ve seen it… if not, definitely rent it). Another word of warning: don’t be surprised if there are some unexpected passengers on the taxis. Just yesterday I was seated in the back of the taxi when a large hen escaped its sack and jumped up on the seat in front of me.

Kampala Taxi Park

If I ever need my day brightened, I jump on the back of a boda boda… it’s like asking my basset hound, Molly, if she wants a car ride. These small motorcycles carry individuals or pairs of passengers for a slightly higher price (about twice the amount as taxis) but they can weave in and out of traffic to avoid the jams. The name comes from when these bikes were used to transport passengers across the border between Uganda and Kenya to avoid the necessary paperwork; thus they were going from “border-to-border” (shortened to boda-boda). Although they typically save time, I have learned to ensure that the driver knows exactly where you are intending to go because they will assure you they know and halfway there admit they have no idea where Ntende II road is located. In addition, I now inspect the condition of the bike. One night, I was quite late to a concert (I’ve grown accustomed to African time) when my boda started sputtering quite violently and came to a stop on a slight incline. My driver turns to me with a smile and said “Looks like this is it!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

On the Boda-Boda!

Looks like this is it for this time, too. Off to get some Ethiopian food, a new Wednesday night tradition. Yum.