It was a Sunday, 7th April 2019. As a Christian, I have grown to saying prayers in every endeavour. I believe God shows up when one call on Him. I ordered for breakfast since it was part of my hotel package. A rhetorical response from the receptionist was “the restaurant is not ready to serve breakfast.” Meanwhile I was cautioned that breakfast ends at 10am; what I was not told is when breakfast starts and it was already past 8:30am.
I came out of the hotel to the busy commercial road where trucks were off-loading goods under the guard of private security officers carrying long guns. It is a common sight in Kampala to see private security officers carrying guns contrarily to Accra where private security officers do not carry ammunitions. I must admit those gun in Kampala frightened me each time I saw one. The posture of those security officers gave an impression of guns in wrong hands.
I approached some five men who were gathered in conversation; speaking their mother tongue. I greeted them in English, they responded cheerfully. I asked for direction to the Nairobi bus station but before I could finish my question, one of them vociferously interrupted in the mother tongue.
He realised I was a stranger who needed help. He does not understand English therefore he did not understand my question yet he claimed he has solution to whatever question I was asking. After a brief back and forth with his colleagues, he understood my request and asked me to follow him using body language. I needed help; it wasn’t time to ask too many questions.
I followed him, after five minutes of fast paced walking; my fear emerged when he started asking pedestrians and commercial motor riders (boda boda) for direction to the Nairobi bus station. When the boda boda asked that they take us there for a charge he refused saying it is just around the corner. We walked for another twenty-five minutes when he suggested we take boda boda. On our next turn round the junction corner, we met long distance runners in a marathon competition in honour of King Kadaka.
It was now very clear to me he doesn’t know his way around the capital. He only wasted my time and energy. When I asked that he leave me to get a boda boda, he insisted I pay him for his service. After ten more minutes of walking while dissenting to his charges, we got to the Nairobi bus station. I entered the ticket booking office to make enquiries and to book for a ticket to Nairobi.
The receptionist was so beautiful and welcoming. She was dressed in an all-black sports suit. Her breast cap was very vivid. When she walked passed to the next office, I stole a glance at her backside which was protruding admiringly. The temptation was beginning to overwhelm me. How I wished I had met her in my relaxed mood, at a leisure park. We would have enjoyed a good conversation; that would have been my best moment in Kampala. I quickly put my racing mind into order with the recollection that it is a Passion Sunday and must be kept holy in thought and deed.
