Chapter 3 - The Boda Way

Yesterday was a busy day, with us venturing out to Bugolobi to visit Caz’s aunt.
Bugolobi is a residential area where a lot of officials such as public workers stay, previously government housing, but now privatized.

Bugolobi is on the other side of a track that act as a border between central Kampala and the outer districts.
The journey to Bugolobi was a slow and hot one, taking us almost an hour to get there due to the constant traffic and chaos of Kampala.
As we meandered slowly through the traffic, getting lethargic in the back of our Uber, we were envious of the Boda bikes that can escape the stall of endless cars.

We felt the calm relief of arriving in Bugolobi which was a quiet residential area with a collection of orange tower blocks which are very signature to the area.
Every block has its own security gate since they privatised it, so it not possible to walk through the blocks as you once could.

Once at the house we were welcomed by Caz’s aunt, a public official that has lived in the area for over 30 years. Despite getting lost getting there, Caz felt it was almost frozen in time since the last time she came to the house….14 years ago!
We were also joined by Caz’s uncle who was visiting from Australia, who she hadn’t seen since she was 6 years old.

As is tradition in the African culture, your guest must be fed and fed well.
The minute we got there; Caz’s aunt started busying herself to get lunch on the table.
She served us a medley of mini bananas, Matoke and groundnuts (a Ugandan stable foods), rice and chicken curry sauce.
Caz’s uncle joked that Matoke was such a stable for Ugandan’s that should there ever be a shortage, there would surely be riots in the streets.
Mark learned how much being a feeder was part of the Ugandan hospitality, not unsimilar to his Irish roots, you cannot say no to another serving.
To be a good host you must feed your guest and to be a good guest, you need to smile and keep eating no matter how full you are……how could you be?
Anytime Marks plate was close to empty, he would be ordered to take more, and if not him, her Uncle was directed to add more to his plate.
Caz sniggered as Mark tried to fight, as his plate was loaded for the 2nd time by Caz’s uncle, commenting; I am just doing as I am told.

After a long lunch and sharing stories of our plans, we set off to check out one of the local bars.
We knew we could get a drink before heading back into town, and hopefully find ourselves a safe boda to travel back with.
We had been in Kampala for 4 days and only travelled by car, but we had reached the point where we were not interested in traveling in another car.
Everyone in Kampala has a car, so they are almost aghast that we would rather travel by bike taxi’s that they considered to be a dangerous mode of transport.
We can’t tell you how many times we had been told about accident, robberies and even murders allegedly perpetrated by boda drivers! Despite Caz’s aunts dismay and warning, we decided we would rather take our chances than get stuck in traffic.

After saying our goodbyes and promising to be safe on the boda, we headed to Gaz’s bar that was recommended by Caz’s mum.
As soon as we arrived, the staff and security were very welcoming to us, and you could tell that they were used to dealing with “foreigners” and officials.
As we found our table, we ignored the inquisitive stares of the staff, at one point having a group of women just watching us! We ignored it and as the bar started to fill up, there was less reason to stare at us.

After a couple of drinks and listening to some good tunes, we set out to find a boda that would take both of us back into town.
After inspecting the driver’s bike (good tactic to know how safe a driver is) haggling the price down from foreigner rates, and directing him not to take any unnecessary risk, we mounted a boda and we were off.

It had been 4 years since we had taken a bike taxi, but the minute we were off, we remembered why we enjoyed it so much. Its quicker, has natural air conditioning and gives you a different view of the city by bike.
Travelling by boda is not for the faint hearted, your weaving through traffic and battling for space with cars, taxi’s, pedestrians and other bodas who all follow their own rules.
As terrifying as it felt at times, it was also what made this mode of transport so exhilarating.
Although we were more comfortable sharing a boda, we realised travelling from Bugolobi to Kiwatule maybe too long a journey to be comfortable…. but fun non the less.

The great thing about Boda is that you get to learn your surrounding much easier, which came in handy for directing people in a city still getting accustomed to house numbers, road names and even traffic lights.
Boda drivers also had better knowledge of the city, so less need to direct them as we had done so far, with our uber drivers who kept getting lost.
For safety and peace of mind, it important to be hyper vigilant and aware of your surroundings to navigate this city, whether it would be a landmark or a bumpy track.

Later we took another Boda for our second visit to Nexus Bar (to the delight of Sina) and doubt we will choose to travel by car on short journeys around the city any time soon.
Nexus was more pumping, and a lot of people were dancing and enjoying themselves. Pretty much all bars in Kampala have screens showing sports, invariably football, but a big international Marathon was being aired. There was a Ugandan runner in the leading pack so lots of people had one eye on the screen while drinking and dancing. Mark commented that he could never see people in the UK interested in watching a marathon late at night in a bar, especially after lots of drinking!

Caz’s Cousin turned up, so we ended up being out lot later then intended. We had a long conversation about mixed race couples and the tension we sometimes get, but

also the wider context of society and race and white privilege. This is too large a subject matter for a foot note so will create a new blog post for that. However, Mark took it as a learning experience for him, for once Mark was the only white guy in the room, usually back home Caz is the minority in most places. Of course, it’s not comparable and it would be reducing hundreds of years of history and societal issues but it’s at least a taster of what it must be like to be black in a majority white town.