My apartment in Kampala is in the Bugolobi neighborhood. It is upscale, by Kampala standards; a few mansions with guards and barbed wire, middle-class apartments, several HQs from among the 2000 or more NGOs in this country, and the slums are not as dense. But full shopping is a 25-minute walk, pleasant enough, but you cant carry much back. And riding the boda boda, the motorbike transport throughout the city, can be dangerous; crashes and whatnot, and helmets are rare. So I patronize a small market about 5 minutes walk away. It is basic. Onions, potatoes, eggs, and then dry and long-shelf-life goods. But they have been closed for several days. This afternoon, they were open. I asked, Why closed so long? We went to our village, was the reply. That is quite enough to say in Uganda, where roots are not in Kampala, but spread throughout the rural areas, sometimes hundreds of miles away, and family obligations trump all. I neglected to ask, And how are your people? That is the expected and polite thing to say. I will go back tomorrow, perhaps to buy a bit, but mostly to ask that. One has basic social obligations. I would go back today, but it is getting late, and I have Skype appointments set in the West.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Oct 2013 12:52:32 +0000
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