Motoring Madness Part Two

Owning a driving a car in Uganda is definitely a steep learning curve. I am now starting to grow accustomed to the sensation of driving over the surface of the moon brought about by all the pot-holes and the famous ‘lying police-men’. When I arrived here, I had thought that the term for speed bumps was sleeping policemen, but I now realize that ‘lying policemen’ is far more appropriate as it holds a double meaning. I have been lucky enough not to have been pulled over by the police so far, but am waiting for the day that I make a silly mistake and get caught by an opportunist copper. A friend of mine was driving along a dual carriage way a few weeks ago. When he wanted to change lanes, he looked in the mirror, signaled and maneuvered. This would seem to be perfectly reasonable behaviour. However, the local bobby would disagree with this, as he was clearly causing other motorists great confusion, as they thought he was going to do a u-turn right in the middle of the road. A few days later, his girlfriend was pulled over, because she had driven over a line that did not actually exist at traffic lights. I believe that she smiled sweetly and promised to remember to drive better in the future and managed to avoid a fine.

I have had to get a couple of things fixed on the car before going on the big journey at Christmas. I managed to get a flat tyre only 24 hours after getting the car. Although I was angry at the time, I now see it as a good thing, as at least I was close to home and able to get it fixed. Neither myself, nor my housemate felt confident enough to change the tyre on our own (I know what you have to do in theory, particularly after watching them change 5 tyres on the Fortportal trip) , so I called my friend’s mechanic the next day and got it sorted. It has then taken me a week of phonecalls and trips to various garages to find the correct replacement. I have heard it said that customer service is everything and nothing in Africa. So while in England, I would have popped down to Kwik-fit or similar, and had it fixed within about half an hour, this option simply doesn’t exist in Uganda. However, where there’s a will there’s a way. I did not really fancy driving through the traffic and getting lost trying to track one down, so I asked in the local garage when they would be getting a delivery. I was told that they could get one the following day, and true to their word, they did. I called them to say what time I would be arriving, then in true Ugandan style, they then called the other place to start sending it (there is no way of beating it – you have to wait a long time for anything, however clever you think you get) and quarter of an hour it arrived on a boda-boda. Perfect! The other thing that needed fixing was the seatbelt. Normally I would have called the good mechanic, but the girl who sold me the car told me that it had already been paid for, so I called up what I expected to be a garage. They told me to meet in a hotel car park in town. So I got there and was then directed to the garage. As soon as I met this guy I suspected that he was a bit dodgy. Within minutes he confirmed my suspicions, as he started to tell me that my engine was making a funny noise and all the rest of it. I made it quite clear that I had not come up the Ribble in a banana boat and the rest of the journey to the garage was passed in silence. When we finally reached the ‘garage’ I realized it was not really a garage, but more like a whole street of markets selling car parts and mechanics. The work space would be a parking space on the road. The weather is getting hotter and hotter at the moment, so I was not impressed when I was told that ‘whoops – this seat-belt (the one that had been paid for already) was not the right one. So off he went into the market to find the correct type. Twenty minutes later he returns, only he has got one for the driver’s side, not the passengers. So off he goes again. By this point, I was literally wondering whether I will melt, fry or spontaneously combust in the heat. I had to send a guy to the shop to buy me water, as there was no way that I was going to leave the car open in the middle of the street. Eventually he retuned with the correct seatbelt and they managed to fit it fairly quickly. Then came the final issue of payment. Even though I had the receipt and everything, yes I don’t have to tell you, do I? It was for the wrong one, and I would have to pay more money. I asked if I could see the price list as it sounded a bit expensive to me. He went to find the price list (which I am convinced does not exist) and came back with another guy. They told me that the price list was in the other office right now, but they were happy to negotiate the price. I got it reduced, but am sure that I still probably paid at least double the going rate.

One thing that I have noticed is that having experience of driving down the promenade in Blackpool in the middle of the season has definitely put me in good stead for dealing with pedestrians here. They certainly do not observe the Green Cross Code. Yesterday, a woman dressed in a full Burkha emerged from nowhere right infront of my car – it almost scared me to death, as it is not a common sight round here, although it is Eid today, so maybe they wear them more for special holidays. When I drove around the corner onto my driveway the other day, I was just in time to spot a woman lying on the ground. I swerved round her and went inside. I then spoke to various people, as I was clearly a little concerned by this, but was told not to worry, she was only sleeping. I thought she was ill, so brought her some water and told her to find a safer place to rest. Each day, more people stroll in front of my moving car with not a care in the world, and each day, more Ugandans are becoming more familiar with my whole range of English swear words!

Lost on the hash

The running hash usually has three different routes. One is for runners and is the furthest, the middle one is for hashers, who are people like me, who run part of it, but generally walk up the hills and the slowest group is for walkers. A couple of weeks ago the hash run was leaving from a bar in an area of town we often frequent on a Friday night for meals and drinks. This all seemed well and good, as they are often in far-flung and unknown areas of town. So at last we were in an area in which we were familiar. I have been gradually been building up my stamina and am now able to run along the whole of the hash route. I prefer to stick to this group, as I reason that it is better to be at the front of a slower group than at the back of the faster group. The only exception to this rule is that it is not wise to be in the first ten people in the hash group, as if you reach certain points, you have to run to the back of the group and double back on yourself, or wait until the very last hasher passes, therefore forfeiting any advantage of running faster in the first place. Therefore, I usually aim to be about eleventh or twelfth in the group. All was going according to plan for the most part of the run. Then, after the final pit stop I made a fatal error. I accidentally followed the path for the running group. And did I run? For the most part of the run, I had absolutely no idea where I was. Then, we turned a corner and once again I was on familiar ground. I was happy to be on Acacia Road, the street with the Irish pub, the Latino Club and The Surgery. I jogged along fairly well, with people still in sight, then, at some point, I must have missed spotting the chalk marks on the ground that indicate that you should change direction. So I ran and I ran, like Forest Gump. Just as it was starting to go dark, I realized that I could see nobody in front of me. I turned to look behind and realized that I couldn’t see anybody there either. I kept going to the end of the road and noticed a couple of policemen. I asked them if they had seen anybody running past, as surely it would be impossible to miss a group of people, all dressed in the same t-shirts, running past. They said they hadn’t. I started to panic a little, but at least I was fairly familiar with the area and knew that we had to turn right. I ran like I had never run before, even though I was feeling more tired by the minute, the fact that the light was fading quickly and I was all alone drove me forwards. As there is virtually no dusk on the equator, ten minutes later it was pretty much pitch black. I started to run even faster. I was considering taking a boda boda back and giving in, but I refused. Then, I became aware of a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Emerging from the woods by the side of the golf course, was a herd of men dressed in bright yellow MTN (the local mobile phone network) T-shirts and shorts. By this point I was sprinting. I managed to catch up with them and the first person I saw was the man who was very loud and very drunk on the way back from the Fort Portal weekend away. It was, however, a friendly and familiar face. I explained what had happened to me and it turned out that I had missed the chalk marks to tell me to take a short cut across the golf course. I must have added at least another 3km to the run, which was already the longer running route. Clearly, I was devastated and made no bones about it when I eventually got back. When the hash master heard of my plight, it resulted in all the muzungus being dragged into the middle of the circle and all of the Ugandans being told to look after us! Not only that, but the hash was again organized appallingly. There was no water left by the time I made it back and the local feast of matoke (some kind of cooked plantain or banana – but leached of all flavour somewhere in the cooking process) and beans (or often nothing for the vegetarians among us) had not arrived. I was not disappointed to end the evening in the Turksih restaurant instead!

Driving about in my automobile

The big thing in my life recently has been buying a car. At first, I had no intentions of doing so, particularly as the combination of the chaotic traffic, numerous pot-holes and meandering pedestrians makes driving look a little ominous. Then when you start to read into the Bradt guide book, which mentions the precautions you should make in the case of running over a snake (basically to make sure it is dead and to close the windows so that it can’t jump up and attack you) it all seems like a bit of a bother. However, when I started looking into the cost of hiring a car when my parents come, it seemed like it may be worth the while after all. So after looking at a few different cars, I eventually made my decision and am now the proud owner of a shiny blue Rav 4. I think it’s the girliest of 4X4s, which suits me! Now I have a funny tale to tell you about buying the car. A friend of mine recommended a reliable mechanic to have a look at the different cars I was looking at. I agreed to meet him at the car park outside the club and school. Now, bearing in mind that this meeting depended on two different Ugandans arriving on time, I decided to sit by the pool, armed with a book and i-pod to entertain me during the almost certain wait. Imagine my surprise when my phone rang exactly at the time agreed! I had never seen this guy, so asked him to get out of his car and wave at me. He told me that he was on the car park and was getting out of a silver car. I spotted him immediately and wandered over to introduce myself. He seemed a little surprised by my stream of questions about the car and was hardly over talkative. When I asked him what I should look for in a car that I intended to drive ‘up-country’ to Queen Elizabeth Park, he replied that I should get the one with the sun roof so that my passengers could stand up and stick their heads through to get a good view of the animals!!! And I had been expecting to get answers about the engine or technical things that I have no clue about. About 20 minutes later, my phone rings again, and the girl who I eventually bought the car from tells me that she has arrived. She drives onto the car park, so I tell the guy to follow me. He obeys, but still seems a little bit reluctant. We open the car bonnet and he has a look inside. A moment later, my phone rings again with his number displaying – by now I am totally confused. I ask him if he is calling me and he says no. I make some comment about the mobile phone networks being in such a mess here. I do, however, answer the phone. Only to discover that the man I had been speaking to for the past half hour was not the mechanic, but a random taxi driver, who also happened to have a silver car and to have arrived at exactly the same time. Needless to say I was a little embarrassed by this point. Luckily for me, he was not offended by this mix up and continued to look at both cars for me. A week later I had collected a ridiculous amount of Ugandan Shillings from the bank and was given the keys. So I am now trying to find my way around Kampala and am getting more adventurous by the day. It is truly amazing not to have to get the death trap boda-bodas any more. Petrol is quite expensive here – about a pound a litre, but am reasoning that if I nominate myself the designated driver on Fridays and Saturdays and drink water instead of wine, I will surely be winning, as wine is considerably more expensive by the litre, although I guess the tank takes about 60 litres and even at my very worst, I don’t think I ever drink too much more than a couple of litres (that’s glasses mum, if you’re reading this) of wine in an evening! I am also starting to make sense of the maelstrom of traffic. It seems that because there are really no rules, then you can do exactly what you want and nobody really gets angry. People aren’t really aggressive, so let you pass or in at junctions where in Britain you would get honked to death for the same manoeuvres. I do find it helpful though, to remember the Ugandan Highway Code –

There really are no rules, but the trucks rule the road, next come the big buses, followed by the matatus, after that are the big land cruisers and so on, then smaller cars and finally, right at the bottom of the food chain, are the pedestrians. The only exception to the rule, in this survival of the biggest, is the boda boda, which weaves in and out of traffic, virtually knocking over pedestrians and cutting up each and every sort of vehicle.

So my final question goes to Mum and Dad, who arrive in less than a fortnight: Who’s up for driving?