Suddenly, there’s commotion, people are running. Racing in the direction opposite those heading to the Old Taxi Park. The runners are carrying stuff on their heads, on their shoulders, in their hands. Vendors. Musisi’s KCCA enforcement officers are on the prowl, and the cry has rang out that they have been sighted in the vicinity. Mean faces, yellow shirts. It’s a cat and mouse game. The vendors run round the corner with their merchandise and the yellow shirts give chase. The vendors hide their merchandise behind shop doors, and pretend to be standing on the street and the chase stops there. It's a daily occurrence.
But today, for me, is a different day. It’s like a rebirth. For days I have felt like I was in the birth canal, being subjected to the rigors of labor. And now, I have been reborn.
For two reasons. One, a few hours ago, I received the very sad news that my cousin Norah had passed on in hospital. She had a stubborn brain tumor. She was a young mother of two girls, a woman whom life had dealt her its fair share of blows. Two, this is the first time in three years, that I have been out of the office this early. To be with family as we grieved.
I’d totally forgotten the hustle and bustle of the rush hour because I always leave work after 9pm. So here I was, looking at the world with new eyes, not through specs.
Soon, the traffic clears. There’s no policeman in sight, but the drivers are acting pretty disciplined. The guy next to me must have had a pretty long day because he is already deep in slumber, leaning his head on the seat in front of him. A boda boda carrying a young lady with a pizza in a box whizzes by, and soon we’re on Buganda Road, just about to join Bombo Road.
The traffic jam at Wandegeya traffic lights is heavy, walk to home is happening, some are jogging, university students with heavy back packs full of books are strolling along with tired faces. Most of the food vendors in Wandegeya market’s parking lot have set up shop, their jikos are lit, TV chicken on the spit, smoke from the grilled sausage, loud music from the Coca Cola activation truck which has hordes of people standing around it, waiting to win prizes and drink free soda.
Just as the lights turn green, a preacher with a very hoarse voice strides towards the taxi, shouting a verse from a Luganda Bible. The driver in the taxi has tuned the radio to a station where the presenter is loudly talking about several people killed at a concert by “Eliana Glandi” in Manchester.
We drive past the motor garages where mechanics are hard at work, past the carpenters sanding coffee tables and putting gloss on a set of chairs, the betting shops outside which a number of youths are lounging, making the last bet of the day and wondering if they will be make it big.
The driver has switched the channel as he roars up Mulago hill. Rema is belting out something to do with “Jusi wa mango”. The traffic cops at the junction at ku ky’Erisa, Erisa’s road, are looking bored, and the female officer is enjoying something on her phone, probably a video on whatsapp or Facebook.
We encounter a herdsman leading a herd of cows along the road. One of the animals suddenly dashes into the road, and the driver brakes sharply and curses the man. How does he graze cows in the city, does he expect them to feed on plastic bags, buveera?
I allow myself to doze off and only wake up at the stage before mine. In the field, a few meters after I disembark, there’s a football match going on, men are busy chasing after and kicking a ball. The spectators are everywhere. I hear someone say it is a match between the bodaboda riders of this stage and the local boys. There’s a lot of dust in the air. The grass on the pitch disappeared a long time ago.
The woman roasting maize has her three children playing around her. When I turn to the little shop to buy sweets for my kids, the shop-woman wonders why I am back so early. So they also notice these things!
The children at home are so glad to see me and they whoop and jump into the air as they grab my bag knowing it contains some goodies. A cup of tea later, and I am watching the 7pm news before I drive over to my late cousin’s house to condole with family.
This is a whole new perspective.
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