WELCOME TO KAMPALA CITY! By Robert Bake Tumuhaise Nyamishana heard rumors that her name was on the list of those admitted to Makerere University, but she was not yet sure it was true. In her village, the major source of information was one radio station – Radio Uganda. Daily Newspapers would arrive in the area a week or so later than the date they were published. So to confirm her admission, she had to physically travel and visit the university. “Get ready,” said Hannah, “first thing tomorrow morning you will be on your way to Kampala. You will check on that list yourself.” Nyamishana was so excited. Her excitement was mixed with fear though. The fear regarding a journey to a great city she had never been to before. She was afraid of getting knocked by a speeding car or getting lost in the ocean of people. “In the city, even mature people get lost like children,” Ruth had always warned. Nyamishana was also afraid of thugs who were rumored to kidnap people who tycoons sacrificed for wealth. She was was aware of the existence of wicked thieves in the city. She had heard of a story of a thief in Kampala who was nabbed picking money from someone’s pocket only for him to plead that he was looking for change! That night she slept for just a few hours punctuated by nightmares about Kampala. “Kru kru kruuuu,” the cock crowed. Nyamishana opened her eyes only to see a lit paraffin lamp. It was coming to 6am and her mother was preparing breakfast. She had already packed some food items to deliver to Uncle Gerald, in whose home she was going to stay. Among the Bakiga it was taboo to visit a relative empty-handed. So Nyamishana had to carry something for her ‘uncle’. Gerald was her ‘uncle’ in the sense that he was married to their distant relative. “Gerald’s wife is a sister to the uncle of the cousin to the nephew of my cousin’s husband,” Hannah always explained to Nyamishana who didn’t quite understand things to do with genealogy. She did not know how to dig deep and follow the thread of relations, something a good Mukigakazi (Mukiga woman) was supposed to do well. This always worried her mother. The tongue of the clock continued to tick, and soon Nyamishana was on the road, with Uncle Gerald’s food items on her head and her torn bag bearing a few belongings, in her hand. Had she not got a well-wisher to give her a lift on his pick-up half-way the distance, she was determined to walk all the twenty-two miles to Kisoro town, to catch the bus. But with this help, in the next one hour she was already at the bus park, in the heart of Kisoro town. She boarded the bus looking at it strangely as if she was beholding a moving house. It was so big and spectacular. She had never imagined there was a vehicle that huge. It was her first time on a bus. She knew she was going to enjoy the journey, but was anxious at the thought of arriving in the city for the first time. The bus went on and on and on. The more than 400-kilometer journey to Kampala was long and tiring. At whichever town the bus arrived, she would ask: “So is this Kampala?” An elderly woman seated next to her would smile and pat her on the shoulder saying: “Don’t worry; we shall arrive.” Nyamishana had no idea it was a full day’s journey. She would sleep and wake up, only to find the bus still on the road. At certain points the bus would stop for people to buy something to eat or drink. Hawkers would quickly emerge at every window, sticking their items into people’s faces in an attempt to capture customers’ attention. It was during one of these stops that she remembered a funny story about robbers along that route. One day, the story went, a bus traveling from Kabale to Kampala stopped for people to ease themselves. Suddenly, two gun-men popped up and ordered everyone to undress. They collected the passengers’ money, clothes, bags and other belongings. But as they were packing them, they got a disagreement. The two bandits exchanged funny looks before one shot the other saying: “See you in hell.” No sooner had he finished uttering those words than two policemen arrived and took him into custody. Nyamishana’s mind would have remained lost in those thoughts had she not felt the swift bend at a big round-about at Busega. ‘Kampala City Welcomes You,’ were words on a huge signpost that stood at the roundabout. She realized she had finally entered Kampala – the city of her dream! In a few moments they were in the bus park. “As soon as you arrive at the bus park, in Kampala,” her mother had instructed, “look for a phone booth and call your uncle to pick you.” That’s exactly what she did. As she waited for him, she rested her weight on the fence of the park until Uncle Gerald, who had always claimed to own a fleet of cars, appeared nearly an hour later, on foot. She could not recognise him at first, but he did. Gerald was so excited to see her. The Mukiga in him couldn’t hold back; he grabbed her and squeezed her. The two screamed at the top of their voices as though they were quarrelling. The people around thought they were about to witness a fight, until they saw the two laughing. That’s when they realized it was just Bakiga talking to each other. It was beginning to get dark, so they had to use a small motorcycle, known as boda boda, in order to get home faster. And to reduce on their expenditure on transport, the two sat on one boda boda, with their luggage. Nyamishana was beginning to experience city life. A few meters into the journey, Nyamishana began to complain about the speed of the cyclist. It reminded her of Kay’s jokes about cyclists in Kampala. He had always narrated: “In the city some boda boda cyclists ride like they are competing with death. You could easily suspect someone sent them for a dead body that resembles you.” In about twenty minutes they were in Namuwongo, a Kampala suburb. It was a slum. Nyamishana was astonished to see garbage heaps on the roadside and broken sewerage pipes in people’s compounds. For a moment she wondered whether she was actually in the city. “Maybe it’s because it’s a little dark,” she convinced herself. “I will confirm these sights in the morning.” On arriving at Gerald’s home, darkness reigned. While all the neighbors had electricity on, a kennel lamp stood on the stool in his two-roomed house. Later, Nyamishana came to learn as Gerald was being nagged by his wife, that their power had been disconnected by Uganda Electricity Board (U.E.B) because of failure to pay their bills. It was now time to gather at the table for dinner. As they ate, Nyamishana announced the package that her mother had sent to the family. She also explained to them the reason she had come to Kampala. Gerald and his wife were very happy to see her and to receive what she had brought for them. They promised to help her through the whole process of ascertaining her admission to Makerere. As Nyamishana began to doze off, she was shown the verandah for bathing and then a mat in the sitting room to sleep on thereafter. Not believing the living conditions here, she pretended to be too sleepy to bathe. She just went straight to the mat, which became her bed that night. Her night was spent in instalments of sleep punctuated by mosquito bites and deep thoughts crisscrossing her mind. If some people in the city were living a kind of life that’s worse than life in the village, then she had to brace herself. A lesson had been learnt. She had to work so hard and make a difference. She only hoped she had been admitted for the course she wanted at the university – Bachelors of Legal Laws. In the morning, Gerald walked her to Makerere University and in less than an hour she was lost within the forest of buildings there till she finally found the Senate Building. There, the lists of admitted students were pinned up on one of the notice boards. Her name was there. But alas, she had been given Music Dance and Drama (MDD), a course which many people referred to as Musilu Dala Dala (meaning ‘properly foolish’). How was she to deliver the bad news to her poor mother? She was very disappointed. She went straight back to her uncle’s house in tears. Though it was still around midday, she reached out for her mat and slept till evening. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Who could ever understand Nyamishana’s fate? After working so hard she was not going to become a lawyer. Had the words of inspiration from her mother really worked? The next morning she was on the bus travelling back to Kigezi. A cloud of sadness surrounded her. She felt as if life was drilling a bottomless pit inside her heart using a red-hot nail. What would she tell her mother? “Well, I will figure that out as I travel,” she convinced herself. … (TO BE CONTINUED) *** This excerpt was picked from the novel ‘TEARS OF MY MOTHER; The Success Story of Nyamishana, The First Female President of Uganda’, written by ROBERT BAKE TUMUHAISE (aka Mr. Inspiration). A copy goes for Shs 20,000.. So to get your copy call him directly on 0704666851 / 0712868424 or visit WORLD OF INSPIRATION offices at MM Plaza T33 (Luwum Street). Stay inspired and blessed like #Nyamishana!
Posted on: Tue, 25 Nov 2014 08:21:26 +0000
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