On the road

  New Experiences. Another layer of this pursuit is the need to create space for experiences outside of the norm. It seems logical to predict that exposing oneself to the same stimuli continuously and consistently will produce more or less the same result. I want [and I think we all need] a new approach to life. So, off we went to Bushenyi for a week in the rolling hills of western Uganda. Familiar faces. Aunt Flo has been in my life since my mother’s first year in Gayaza. My mother’s friendship with the Baingana clan is so intertwined with my own life’s story that, for ages, I searched for a blood connection. Surely, only blood could justify their constant recurrence in my story. It turns out we aren’t related. There is a cousin of mine who married a cousin of theirs but that's as far as it goes. Anyway, Aunt Flo, when she found out that I was looking to travel around the country, offered to host us in Bushenyi. Free road trip....

  Perspective. That is why I initiated this process. I hoped that seeing something new might rearrange the boxes in my head in a more meaningful way. Perspective is what this particular trip was all about. So, full disclosure – there are three of us on the road now. Yiyi is now a veteran traveller and is introducing his sister Aleru [a. k. a. Leritu] to the wandering ways of his mother. Ibanda is my mother’s birth place. Given that we made the trip with my mother and two of her sisters, we, of course, did the rounds with the usual relatives; my eldest uncle - the clan leader, my various cousins and their children. This particular trip, however, was about my grandmother. the Aunts and the Children You see, my mother is writing a book about my grandfather, who was a great preacher, priest and reverend of the Anglican Church. He was particularly active during the great revival of the 1930s. Stories are told of him on his bicycle weaving his way through the hills of Ankole, Toro, B...

  “This is your time, this is your dance; Live every moment, leave nothing to chance; Swim in the sea, drink of the deep; Embrace the mystery of all you could be! ” Once upon a time, I was infatuated with [or is it by?] Michael W. Smith. This particular chorus flooded my ears for years before I could accept that the odds of he and I meeting were slim-to-none. Nonetheless, the song remains an anthem of sorts. i.e. try to live every day as if it’s the last you’ll have. Our trip to the African Village Hotel in Kayunga was innocent enough. We – Yiyi, his Papi and I – all needed a change of scenery. It turned out to be perfectly timed – and perfectly in keeping with the theme of Michael’s chorus. Papi was a bit wary of public transport. He was surrendering to my sense of direction [which, at best, is so-so] and my memory. Yiyi and I had been down this road a few weeks before to visit a cousin in the infamous area of Nagalama. As we passed the sign to African Village Hotel, I made ...

When you stop to picnic in a national forest reserve on the side of the road, is that encroachment? Nevermind that there was a herd of goats grazing right next to us! The forest got me thinking that this could be a natural alternative to the oily fast food restaurants for long distance travelers. To the calm and shade of the trees, add benches, tables, rest rooms and decent, affordable eateries – and we might just have stumbled onto the idea of the year! Or not. Who will maintain the spaces? The National Forestry Authority? Uganda Wildlife Authority? Ministry of Tourism? Local Council? Just thinking about the bureaucracy is already too much drama. Anywho, it was a nice stop over – courtesy of grandpa Nyeko. Yiyi and I were headed to Purongo, Nwoya district, along with his Papi and Grandpa [we do not have a pet name for the Acholi Jajjas yet – working on it!]. We’d picked up a pineapple in Luweero and the entire drive the car smelt like it had been sprayed with pineapple air freshener...

We had been driving through the narrow marram road in the Madvhani sugar plantation for more than 20 minutes. The only people we saw were workers clad in gumboots and coveralls, some of them carrying machetes. The cane was tall enough to create a canopy above the car and dense enough to prevent us from seeing beyond a half a meter. I was convinced that every person who appeared and disappeared into the plantation was quietly plotting our demise. I half expected to find an ambush around each corner. You see, I had been told stories of how the plantation owners valued their cane almost as much as human life. I did not expect it to be so easy to drive around their estates – uninvited. But there we were – wandering around like we were the owner’s children. Tutu [the munaSummer from my previous note] was ever hopeful, as usual, that we were not going to succumb to some serial killer-ish end. Yiyi was, as usual, asleep from the moment we hit Jinja road 2 hours earlier. Jess [NOT Jesca!],...

  So… It’s mango season! It’s December and I am not a fan of the massive urban rural exodus that happens around this time of the year. It’s like everyone on the road is intoxicated, in some sort of hurry to “catch up” with Christmas or perhaps showing off their new car. As a result, I avoid being on the road during the festive season. However, there was a need that turned into an opportunity for us, so we took it. December also happens to be a popular holiday month for the “ baSummers ” [i.e. visiting family from outside Uganda especially the west]. We had one such visitor who needed a ride from the airport so Yiyi and I decided to turn it into our little adventure into Wakiso. Since we had an extra passenger on our return leg, I decided to drive as opposed to using public transport as we had done in previous trips. I have gotten so accustomed to driving amongst the noise and chaos of Kampala that driving on the new airport highway was almost dreamlike. Yiyi fell as asleep as...