In his book MY AFRICAN JOURNEY (1908), Sir Winston Churchill writes: “For magnificence, for variety of form and color, for profusion of brilliant life — bird, insect, reptile, beast — for vast scale — Uganda is truly the Pearl of Africa.”
No truer words were ever said. Uganda is truly a pearl — a rare and precious thing of great value.
I have just returned from Uganda, after not visiting for thirteen years. I was curious to see what new developments there are, but observant to what has eluded correction. Noticeably Kampala is a little cleaner, not as many plastic bags on the streets as when I last visited. I even saw crews collecting garbage. But much remains to be done especially un-clogging the sewers which cause severe flooding when the tropical storms descend on the city.
Has the government done any studies on what havoc pollution is doing to the population of Kampala, or is this expecting too much?
Ugandans in my opinion are the most polite and pleasant people of all. The man on the street is as kind and helpful as can be. Kids especially still show cultural finesse that kids here in America lost decades ago. Ugandan women, Mama Mia, well endowed and elegantly dressed are a photographer’s dream come true. I swear.
But Kampala is also full of (shocking) surprises and contradictions, far too many to discuss at once, but worth pointing out, hoping that changes will be made, or that powers that be have the gumption to effect change, once they awake from their slumber caused by excessiveness .
The gap between the haves and have nots is painfully evident, and I saw no chance that this will change in the near future — a sad commentary on the state of the country. This is not a political judgment but a societal observation that is a barometer of the condition of the economy. The man on the street is wanting, hungry and severely physically exhausted. This is morally hard to justify, especially when you see the “Big Boys” basking in their riches and flaunting their disgusting expensive toys.
I saw the best and worst drivers in Kampala — a city where traffic rules do NOT apply, or exist, I wonder. Amazingly I did not see any accident during my three week visit, nor did I witness road rage. For this I applaud the unique legendary civility of Ugandans. But I do not, on purpose, include the shameless political elite. That is a story for a different day, Allah willing.
Did you know Uganda is home to Africa’s most expensive highway, with no exits? And that is not an accolade. The 51-kilometer toll road that connects Kampala to Entebbe cost $476 million, a whopping $9.3 million per kilometer, instead of the expected $2.1 per kilometer. Someone smiled all the way to the bank, and there are no repercussions. Imagine. How long can this bad behavior go on? Lord, how long?
Chronic traffic jams throughout Kampala is a recipe for a failing economy, considering the exhorbitant price of petrol. In the three weeks I was in Kampala I spent $350 on petrol, more than I spend here in Austin in one year. How is this workable? Going to visit my brother, a mere 12 miles away from my residence took me four hours. Yet resolving traffic jams is not rocket science: one way streets, flyovers, efficient public transportation, mobile police traffic patrols, last but not least enforcing traffic rules may resolve the daily circus tired Kampalans have to endure. Alas, the “big boys” simply turn on their sirens and with reckless abandon zip through the maze.
What goes up, will eventually come down.
I met many Old Budonians — yes, that elite group of Ugandans that has given us three presidents and a classy civil service in East Africa —( a group that I had not seen in decades). No offense to the other school in Busoga ! In all our discussions I observed severe malaise that troubled me greatly. A sense of sheepish surrender that was hard to swallow. We collectively agreed that the state of the nation was not well, yet not one, none, had an idea what direction the country needs to head to. There seems to be a sad and cancerous acceptance of mediocrity, accepting that things are what they are, and what else can we do? That is NOT the Uganda I grew up in.
I make this observation at the risk of offending my elders, friends and compatriots: In Kampala I saw many “honorables” than I have seen or met in the 53 years I have lived in America. At weddings, funerals, and even at private gatherings, people are introduced as “honorable so and so”. What the hell. That “title” is earned, not assumed. And the so-called “honorables” stand, smile and wave un-ashamedly and accept the accolade. When and how have we got here, and when is this comedy show going to end, because end, it must. Someone please tell me.
This sign at Speke Resort Munyonyo caught my attention : how do you “attract” a fine?
Why is it OK for police officers to ask for bribes on streets in broad daylight ? And why do Ugandans willingly pay, but for the expedience of getting through the rough and tumble of life in Kampala, or the country at large?
How long will this lack of political hygiene go on ?
And why are all cashiers at all Sudhir establishments in Kampala Indians? He doesn’t trust Ugandans?
Has anybody wondered what the influx of Sudanese, Eritreans and other nationalities that choose to segregate themselves from Ugandans will do to race relations in the near future? I was told that this is already causing rent hikes in some neighborhoods.
Uganda became “independent” on October 9, 1962. What does it say that it is the only country in East Africa that has NEVER had a peaceful change of power? Someone please tell me. Inquiring minds want to know.
Let me throw this in for the sake of discussion: What will happen when the oil begins to flow, and the rare minerals hit the market?
Those who ignore history are bound to repeat it. This is a tired cliche but one that will come back to haunt us.
This is my humble opinion. What is yours? Silence gives consent.
