Rebel in a Bubble

Reflections of a Ugandan labourer. Working in Uganda is like being a teenager, in Uganda.   I’ve been a working Ugandan for about four years now, and the things I’ve met make me wonder if I really want to stay here and work here. First, I’ve met the Ugandan colleagues and bosses, who have absolutely no respect for time, or for quality delivery. On my first job, one of my bosses accused me of being too strict. She said, “You can’t come here thinking the ideals you studied in school will be achieved. This is reality, and people don’t always do what they’re supposed to do. Learn to live with it.” I was fresh from university, and many people said I needed a few years and I would be like everybody else, and abandon my impatience with slow paces, and join the clique. It’s been four years now, I still don’t understand why we agree to do one thing in a given time frame, and then take our time to reach there. Nobody cares, you see, as long as something is done, in the end. This is ...

Riding Bodas in ‘outside countries’ Recently when a friend of mine learnt that I was spending a night in Juba waiting for my connecting flight, he said we cannot fail to meet, for it is unforgivable to not meet fellow Ugandans when one is in ‘outside countries’. I laughed so hard but somehow I actually knew exactly what he meant. There is something so special about meeting a human piece of home when one is away, even if it is as close by as south Sudan. This reminded me of a boy I met on that fateful journey. Angel and I had decided to just sit and watch people as we waited for the police to check our bus and it was taking longer than we had anticipated. Then we met him, and he told us his name was Robert Ndahura. He looked reserved, but when he greeted me and stood next to me, I thought he was rather interesting. Angel and I later sat next to him when we moved closer to the bus, hoping they would notice how impatient we had grown and finish whatever was delaying the set off...

Allowed to be 50. Independence month is coming up, and before I write about this year's I thought I might let you know what I wrote about last year's independence anniversary. Allowed to be 50. He’s only five years old, but he knows more things than everybody I know. He doesn’t judge things or people the way adults do, and he has the most open mind a child can have. He hardly fails to find an answer for people who challenge him. Being nineteen years older than him, I always try to ask him about things that are simple, but even when I ask about adult issues; he usually shocks me with brilliant answers. But when I ask him what independence is he stares at me like a sheep.   He looks clueless. No matter how much candy I promise him, he can’t make up a story about independence (he’s always making up stories about everything - most of it lies). How on earth am I supposed to explain it to his little brain? Seeming to read my thoughts, he walks away to play. I don’t want to...