Jon's Daily Adventure

“Otwala mmeka okugeda e mupak enkade? Eh. Enkumi nnya? Tosalko, Ssebo? Ka nkuwe nkumi ssatu.” So begins my typical afternoon as I make my way to the down town taxi park by way of boda boda, or motorcycle taxi. My question, “How much does it cost to go to the old taxi park? What, four thousand shillings? Sir, won’t you take less? Let me give you three thousand? And, after about one or two minutes, we decide on a price and off we go.

Our trip takes about five to ten minutes and is characterized by bright colors, lively smells, and attempted conversation in my ever expanding Luganda-so I hope. We weave in and out of endless numbers of people and traffic- which consists not only of private vehicles, but that of taxis (which are minivans), other boda bodas, and walking pedestrians. I think from the last time we were in Uganda (two years ago) the car population has doubled. A friend of mine has informed me that the government is registering three hundred cars a week! I would dare say that the majority of them are remaining within Kampala.

In many ways, it is hard to describe in detail the journey I take every day. The stimuli is enough, I tend to think, to overwhelm the most placid of souls. There has not been a day that the boda I have been on has remained untouched by another boda or taxi, or vice versa. This is all in the context of close quartered driving, absolute bumper to bumper and side to side driving- with bicycles, persons, vendors, and other bodas within a single inch of one another.

Old Taxi Park

After this great adventure, we finally arrive to a scene of thousands upon thousands of endless travelers. From the old taxi park, countless will make their way to their place of destination. I navigate through shoulder to shoulder masses, and reach the general area where my taxi is. Once in the area, I begin asking, “Ogenda wa?” That is, “Where are you going?”

From the old taxi park, it is off to City Language Centre, where I spend three hours every day in formal Luganda study, leaning from the greatest language teaching I have been privileged to study under. My teacher is called Ven, and her knowledge of the Luganda language is beyond impressive. Further, her English grammar surpasses almost any English teacher I have had.

After our time concludes, I hop onto a boda (after having first negotiated a price), try to strike up a conversation in Luganda with the driver, and arrive home in joyful exhaustion.