<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –> 203 “whats” in 1.5 hours. It must be incorporated into the gunnius book of records. You must be wondering, what in the world am I talking about? Well, try sitting through a lecture where the lecturer talks like this: “As the department of what? Finance, we have to be what? Careful when doing what? Procurement because of the what? Exchange rate from foreign currencies to the Ugandan what? […]
<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –> We were in the middle of a computer class on SPSS when suddenly the lights disappeared and siren-like warning bell started. Startled, we all stretched our necks and scanned the room like radars. My first thought: bomb! In those eery moments, I actually thought the building was going to blow up. (I have a video of this which I will upload once I get back home) Of course, […]
<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –> I never really experienced the rainy season in Kampala before I left. I suspect I will when I return for a few days at the end of November. Although for a few days, the skies just suddenly opened up and poured. And I really mean Pour, with a capital P. Without any notice, buckets can fall from the cloudy skies for half an hour and then just as […]
<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –> The other public transport we use are boda bodas, motorcycles which zoom around the city at all times making “bodabodabodaboda” sounds. Probably the most lethal form of transportation ever invented, especially in rush hour – you have not experienced Kampala without riding on a boda in rush hour, weaving in and out of cars with your legs just barely brushing the huge matatus. Prized for its flexibility and […]
<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –> Speeding around Kampala (and indeed the whole country, or maybe even the continent. At least I see them in Rwanda and Tanzania (called dala dalas) also) with little regard of traffic rules and human safety, are the mini-buses called matatus or taxis. Goes to most places in the city for a cheap price (less than 50 cents), they are officially public transport. The one we usually take back […]
<!– @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –> As I was getting out of the car, I bumped my head (as usual…). “Sorry! Sorry!” said Moses, the driver, while patting my head. The sorries here seem more for sympathizing than apologizing. They are ubiquous: when you drop something, when you slip on the road, when you fall while hiking… Usually, my reply would be “it’s ok, it’s not your fault.” What else can I say? (sorry […]
