“And on the eighth day, God created Ugandans!”
Anonymous quote
In the beginning was money, which money was elusive and had everyone in a cat race pursuit.
Armed with reams of paper, several khaki envelopes and a basketful of optimism, i make my way up Apollo Kaggwa Road to the environs sprawled with the sky scrapper buildings that cast a magnificent view on the Kampala sky. Particularly, Serena Hotel, Imperial Royale Hotel, Sheraton Hotel and later in the evening, a fanfare theme party at the Speke Resort Hotel. I’m helped with the fact that these hotels are within walking distance of each other.
It just so happens that my day did not go according to plan. When you think the Marks & Spencer suit will do the talking, you are told to try again next tomorrow. I want to reach across the counter and give the smart talking lady a piece of my mind.
It seems the service industry creates false hope for her clients by claiming a ‘tomorrow’ that rarely manifests.
Not quite the one to give up, i randomly walk into the infamous Independence park (when you have nothing to do, you are better off walking); a steel-reinforced concrete Independence Monument stands in the pockets between the intersection of the Grand Imperial Hotel, Sheraton Hotel and Speke Resort in downtown Kampala.
During day time, it is a sanctuary of rest beneath the variant green tree shades and bougainvillea; for many idle folk who lack a meaningful economic activity to pursue.
At night, an assortment of legs here and wheels populate the environment such that the evening life takes on a frenetic pace. Beer and cocktails are served; glasses click as toasts are made to denote a hard day’s work now under the bridge.
Across the street, i hear hissing in the manner of a school boy to a girl who crossed his urine marked path. For a minute i imagine it is due to my wacky outfit complete with a wig.
I manage to cross the road. It is a quarter past eleven O’clock.
When i finally reach the other side of the road, two women walk away like my company was a turn off leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in the air.
The woman they left behind wobbles toward me like i had solicited her services. I find out her name is Nakky Rose. We talk like two school mates on a college bus en route to school. I solicit her views on government’s proposal to re-write the national anthem:
Kale, for me i think, gavumenti is not serious
. She weighed in her opinion.
Nze, kale simanyi naye that woman yetaga esaala.
Nakky picks her words carefully.
I notice she adjusts her skirt every time a car drives past us. The skirt she wore would be an equivalent of Myley Cyrus’ outfit (only leather black) for her twerk video complete with some painful high heeled shoes. She covers her back and bare arms with a shawl long enough to keep the bitter cold in check until her next paying customer.
Without knowing, Nakky informs me about her immediate plans to quit the sex trade to start up a restaurant business. She pauses as if to rethink her words then asks me what i think of her standing by the road side. A long silence eats up our conversation.
Soon i realize i must be on my way, Nakky gives me her number. She tells me she would like me to meet her son who will be sitting his A-level exams this year, perhaps i can persuade him to read harder so that he can have a government scholarship and she can proceed with her dreams of a food chain business, one at a time.
I inform her about my young brother, that little bastard of a man just got a government scholarship for a Building and Construction Management degree at Makerere University.
For a moment, Nakky’s face lights up. It is impossible to tell how many grams of makeup she wore that day but it is then that i notice her red lips part to give way to a wonderful smile.
We part ways, two strangers of the night—all in search of the proverbial gold. In an economy where some have mastered the art of parasitism plundering government’s resources others like Nakky go about their day to day business.
It is against such rich tapestry, tucked in myriad opportunities that make K-city a number one destination for the entrepreneurial merchants. What does it mean to be Ugandan?
Let me find out but perhaps Sir Winston Churchill had a point when he said; “Concentrate on Uganda.”
Notes:
Nze, kale simanyi naye that woman yetaga esaala:
I for one don’t know but that woman Member of Parliament needs prayers!
About the Author:
Emmanuel Anyole is an avid reader, blogger, reviewer and lover of books. The most uplifting writing advice he received was from 2001 Nobel Prize Laurette, V.S. Naipul who said; “There’s plenty of room at the top!” You can read his reviews and short stories on Africa Book Club and Mashiriki Journal.
