HUMOUR : “Stranded on the way to Kampala”

If my column did not appear in the last weekender, it is not my own fault; it is that of those guys in Kampala that chose to go on rampage when “the villager” was paying their country a not so official visit!

If my column did not appear in the last weekender, it is not my own fault; it is that of those guys in Kampala that chose to go on rampage when “the villager” was paying their country a not so official visit!

Not having visited Kampala for some time, I wanted to go there and catch up with so many old friends; maybe they could give me some business.

I
do not want alms, that is for beggars, me, I am interested in potential investors that could add my name on the list of their “Board of Directors”.

Just owning a share or two could make a big difference in the life of a villager or even lives of other villagers that
symbiotically survive on me.

I have always been amazed by the Dubaians, in the Emirates, they say, there are over eight million Indians (from India), close to four millions of other Asian nationalities and only three million Arabs.

In order to have any investment, one must find an Arab “God Father”.  

This Godfather has to stand surety for you in all aspects of life.

You cannot open up a bank account, get a job, and do business until you have such a person.

In the event of any problem, e.g. tax evasion, road accident etc, it is the Godfather that is called upon to answer.

In the absence of one, you are nobody!
With the above in mind, I or is it we, could make money while we sleep. Bring in investors; they work while you remain the “sleeping partner”.

Kampala is awash with guys who have no problem in making money but whose problem is how to spend it!  Any harm in helping them spend part of it?

Being a villager, I decided to take none other than ONATRACOM.  First of all, ONATRACOM being an indigenous bus company, they even gave me a cheaper fare as compared to the other buses.

These days, any saving counts, the world economic crash has hit us left, right and centre.  We set off alright; I will not bore you with the nitty grities of the early stages of the journey.  We sped through Kabale, Mbarara up to Masaka.

In the early afternoon, that was around two thirty, we arrived at Lukaya Township; a small town about a hundred kilometres south of Kampala.

Here, we were stopped and told that we could not proceed to Kampala as it was not safe.  Safe, did these guys think we were any threat to them?

We tried to argue with them but they stood their ground. We were informed that, sijui, Kampala was not safe as people had gone haywire and they were rioting in relation to the Kabaka having been denied the rights to visit one of his counties.  

We stayed put at Lukaya till late in the night, nearly past ten o’clock that we got allowed to proceed to Kampala.

We arrived in Kampala way past midnight, the whole place was like a ghost town, the normally vibrant city was just a shadow of itself.

No “twegeranes”, “taxi mottos”, voiture, nothing completely!  We had to go into a Hotel at the ONATRACOM Bus Park.  If this article does not appear in time, it will be because I got stuck in Kampala.  

I cannot wait to get out of here!

Mfashumwana@fastmail.fm

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