why cows should not be allowed on the road

The transportation in Uganda is one word: CRAZY! There are cars, mututus, city buses, bicycle taxis, coach buses, boda-bodas, and pedestrians all trying to cross the road at one time. From my perspective it looks like there are absolutely no rules, and if there are, nobody follows them. Kampala is a big city, and walking is just not an ideal way to get around here.

The vans are Mutatus. This picture doesn't even come close to depicitng the craziness!

 I have two options when I want to go somewhere. Option 1 is a Mutatu. A mutatu is the equivalent of the city transit or bus at home. They are smaller 12 passenger vans that smash in as many as 18-20 people, and sometimes some chickens too. I find this mode of transport pretty miserable because to get a distance that should take 20 minutes it usually takes at least 45 minutes. When someone needs to get off the yell “Maasawo!” and the driver will pull over. These vans have rows for seats, so for someone to get out everyone in front of them must get out as well. A normal mutatu ride includes if not all than most of the following: sitting on a stranger’s lap, smelling a good amount of B.O. close and personal, getting charged at least double the price as the African passengers, the taxi stopping every quarter mile, at every stop vendors stick their merchandise inside the windows and try to sell sodas, watches, food, and just about anything, the person next to you needs to get out so you have to file out of the taxi and then herd back in, at your destination you look at the time and you are late.

Option 2 is to take a boda-boda. This is a motorcycle taxi. To call a boda-boda all you have to do is make eye contact with a driver on the road and raise your eyebrows. I have been amazed that a driver will respond to this gesture from very far away! I was warned over and over (times a hundred) about how dangerous bodas are. Bodas weave in and out of traffic like they are being chased by the police in an action movie. The roads are terrible, and the possibility of hitting a pothole too hard is pretty high. I have heard a statistic that 5 people a day, A DAY, die in boda accidents. Nevertheless, my favorite way to get around Kampala is by boda. A boda ride is fast because you don’t have to wait for traffic, you just go around it. It is also nice to be on the back of a motorcycle in the heat because the wind is a natural air conditioner. Michael, my boda driver, is a friend that I met as soon as I arrived here. He jokes that he is my body guard, but I really do call him my guardian angel. He has driven me all over the city, he is reliable and on time, and he will come to pick me up no matter what time or where I am. Now that is service! 

Michael and I waiting for "Ente" to cross the road.

What inspired me to write about the transportation in Uganda? None other than my very own story to tell! Michael was taking me into town and we were on the road that headed out of our “zone” or our neighborhood. One moment I was waving at the lady who pumps fuel and the next I was flying off of the motorcycle. What I hadn’t seen was the cow that had charged across the road. Michael slowed as much as possible, but he couldn’t avoid it completely and it hit the front tire. The impact caused us both to be thrown off. I landed on my right hip and then slid for a few feet on my right side. Once I realized what had happened, the adrenaline kicked in and I stood up as fast as I could. I did a quick systems check to make sure nothing was broken and that my head was still attached. Within 30 seconds of the accident there was a swarm of people surrounding us. All of these people knew who I was, in one way or another, and they were all so concerned about me. One man had run to his house to get a first aid kit, while another had brought me a bottle of water. I was absolutely filthy, covered in dirt and mud from head to toe and this is point when I realized I was bleeding pretty badly from my shoulder and hip. I called another boda (yes another boda) to take me home so I could clean up. Michael’s boda was very messed up, and his arm was injured and he hit his head. Michael’s boda is his life- the only income he has. My first thought went to him. What is he going to do? How will he get the money to fix the bike if he can’t work? And how can he drive with a hurt arm? Within a few minutes of reaching the apartment Michael was at the door. Even though his head was bleeding, his boda was totaled, and he had no way to earn money, his first concern was me. He expressed over and over how sorry he was. He explained that he tried his best to fall under me so that I wouldn’t get hurt.

A few days later, I am healing up ok and am left with a pretty big fear of getting on a boda again, but I know it’s something I have to do. More so I can’t stop wondering- Why did this happen? Why did God let that happen to me? I pray at the beginning of every ride, “Lord, please keep me safe.” Did He not hear me? Or did He just choose to not listen that time? This kind of dialogue with God can often cause frustration, and I was definitely at that point. I know that God allows terrible things to happen to good people, but why?

If you believe that God allows things to happen, then you must believe that there are some things that God does not allow. I went round and round in head about all of these concepts and soon came to understand- God did allow me to get in a boda accident, that much is true. But what part of the story do I not know (or will I never know)? What part did God not allow? I could have broken a bone, hit my head, or even died. Those are all likely consequences of a boda accident, but I came out with just scrapes and bruises. God protected me, so much more so than I can even appreciate. Plus, now I have a pretty awesome story to tell.