IN THE EYES OF KAMPALA RAINS, ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

When rain falls down on Kampala however light, blocked drainage systems coupled with narrow pre-colonial roads or let’s say footpaths in some areas give off an end product of floods and swarms of agitated drivers all stuck in sturdy traffic jam; passengers line the narrow streets braving the rain while searchingly waiting for a bus or a 14-seater taxi to get them home. Horns honk. Insults fly.

The indiscriminate yet persistent evening shower silently lashes on. Drenched primary school kids – with loads of homework perhaps – peer through smoky rolled up car windows of Range Rovers and all the stagnant vehicles around as all humanity with its civilisation pauses noisily and anxiously. A kid inside one of the sleek SUVs is drawing a stick man and making clouds on the co-driver’s window; surely, crying inside a Mercedes is way better than weeping on a bicycle but well, it’s all shedding tears.

Hordes tired of the wait resort to walking the journey home. All along, the bike suaves through the jambled traffic stopping for seconds for me to notice how a rainy Kampala evening 50 years after independence is a real worry for the haves and have-nots.

I don’t know where I lie but I think I just made the bodaboda man 15k richer all in the name of getting home before the new day breaks. Surely, the dead look down and scoff, ‘We saw better days’.

 

**Photo is an oil painting by *LeonidafremovImage

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One Response to “IN THE EYES OF KAMPALA RAINS, ALL MEN ARE EQUAL”

  1. i love that oil painting!

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