Getting around

The power died a lot, yesterday. No problem, really, except that I had to throw away my leftover goat meat (BOO) and I couldn't finish writing in the dark. Today is Akim's birthday. I hope my phone works enough to call him.

Jamira came over this morning with a bunch of gigantic, intensely sweet bananas and three newspapers: The Monitor, New Vision, and Red Pepper. The papers were really interesting. I'm taking them home. A lot of what we study is in their pages.

Since today is a public holiday, I think I'll venture out to town and have dinner somewhere. Jamira tells me there's someplace called Nando's on Kampala Road. Maybe I'll try that. She's also mentioned the Sheraton, Grand Imperial, Equatorial and some other spots. Those are supposed to be harder to find. I wish I could take Jamira to Buddakhan. Maybe if I go corporate, I'll buy her a trip the U.S. She's helped me so much, I want to pay her back. Maybe I could send her money for school.

What was I writing about, yesterday? Oh yeah, the boda boda. So I hop one to get to work in the morning, and when we stop I offer the driver 1,000 Uganda shillings (USH). I know this is too much. It costs 1,000 USH to take the taxi from Ntinda to Kampala. You go through several other neighborhoods to get there. A boda boda is more expensive, but not that much more. I probably owed the guy 500 USH. He doesn't neglect the opportunity to extort more, though.

"Why not make it 1,500 USH?" he asks.

I pause, grinning. "Because I'm only half mzungu."

The driver laughs so hard he almost knocks himself out of his seat, and he drives away, waving. Later that day, I took another boda from Kampala to Karamoja. The driver stopped in Kololo. "Here you are," he says.

"Uh, no." I argue. "I am supposed to be near a police station."

"How do you get there?" the driver asks, challenging me. Lost, I call Vincent, then hand the phone to the driver so he can get instructions. They talk for a minute in Luganda, then the driver gives the phone back. "You told me Kololo, but it's Karamoja. That's farther! 10,000 shillings."

I pretend to be upset. "I said Karamoja in the first place! I'll just find myself another boda." And I started walking away.

"No, no, come back, come back," the driver shouts, and I turn around.

"Five thousand," I demand. Little do I know, I have just stumbled upon the actual price of the ride.

"Make it seven thousand," he counters, and I grumble.

"Fine, but I'm still a mzungu." I think Ugandans are tickled by this, because the driver laughs his head off. When we finally get to the police station of Kiira Road in Karamoja (like I had directed in the first place), I gave the guy his 7,000 shillings. Then I held up another 500. "If the man on the phone had paid you, how much would you have gotten?"

The driver looks down at his pedals, but it doesn't take much coaxing to get the answer out of him. "5,000," he says.

I handed him the money and grinned. "That's what I thought."

The driver saw the laughter in my eyes and flashed me a big grin. "God bless you," he said, before scooting off. I really do have to learn the value of things.

Back to my day, today. I am way too shy. I go from my room and safe talks with Jamira straight to the internet cafe. I should go find some beautiful place to walk and see the wildlife. But just watching people seems adventure enough. Folks stare, and I grin like an idiot to make them feel comfortable, and they stare more. I am meeting people, though ...

Out of time, more later.