I recently paid a visit to fellow Diaspomen in Kampala, Uganda. I did not require an air ticket to fly over to Entebbe, but instead went down to Nyabugogo Taxi Park where I was able to board a Jaguar Bus via Gatuna border.
The trip was quite interesting; it was long since I used that particular road. I was used to Kigali-Nyagatare route because Aggrey and I have been visiting some old folks in Nyagatare to explain why we have remained single.
I was privileged to realise that my seat number, 8, was occupied by a nice looking lady. Apparently, she had failed to get a ticket in time and was supposed to stand in the bus for the whole trip.
But when she saw a vacant seat, she just took advantage of the situation. When I finally boarded, I showed her my ticket number. She blushed to vacate the seat.
Before she left, my mouth uttered some words! “Oh, sister, don’t mind. Just sit its ok. I will stand”. By the time I said these very unwise words the chick was already smiling and thanking me for my generosity.
At the border, I tried to get close and personal with her. We exchanged pleasantries; I offered her some sodas and chapattis. Thank God, she declined my offer; “Sorry, I don’t eat while in transit, it makes me feel sick”.
I later realised she was a Diaspo-chick who was going to Kampala to visit some relatives before leaving for the U.S!
“And what are you doing for a living?” She asked as I started to fidget. I did not want to answer that I was a Diaspoman who spent many wasted years abroad only to return home insolvent and with no education.
I did not want to reveal to her that I failed to get a good job because of my limping school certificates, neither did I want to reveal that I was a mature student at the SFB hill in Gikondo.
Instead, I answered that I was an investor who was rushing for a board meeting in Kampala. I sensed her curiosity very fast and I continued, “You see, I have this phobia about flying, because it makes me become really sick. That is why I chose to go by bus”.
I also assured her that I hated driving my own “Jeep” because of the hectic clearing processes at the border.
“But please feel free to ask me for a lift when we arrive in Kampala. My office has organized a vehicle to pick me from the taxi park”.
The chick appeared to be convinced, and now that I had said a lot, I started planning for a car to pick us. I waited for her to fall asleep in the bus so that I could press buttons to make phone calls.
I finally called a friend and whispered to him that I urgently needed a car. “Just call me when you arrive, the driver will pick you,” my friend answered.
With a sigh of relief! I held on to the rails as the bus speed off all the way to Kampala…