The taxi grind

The word "taxi" varies in meaning given your location on this vast planet of ours. However to a person living in the CBD, Kampala and its surrounding areas, it is simply associated with a fourteen sitter passenger vehicle that enables one move from place to place (of course it does, why else would it be a taxi?). Taxis in Kampala have been associated with chaos, disorderliness, indiscipline, to mention but a few. But why is it this way, I ask myself? Could it be that everyone who drives a taxi gets these traits or do we all have these waiting for an opportune time?.

At 8:00pm on a random evening, I stood in the taxi park with a number of people waiting to get taxis to head home. After a long day's work, the thought of getting home was top of my list, and what I wouldn't do to achieve this. What I wouldn’t do.

My thoughts were cut short by the flash lights of a taxi that had just arrived, and the outcry of the word “Kajjansi” by the taxi tout just made me lighten up. This was however blocked by the horde that rushed past me as I strode majestically towards the taxi.

As the door opened, I stood in awe, I looked on as drama unfolded, what some people call "katemba ataali musasulile" (luganda isn’t my first language and neither is it my second, so I will just leave the spelling to you).

I had been to a boys' school, break time was basically what one could term as “survival for the fittest”. With 3 canteens to serve a population of over slightly 1000 pupils within twenty minutes, you either stood up to the challenge, asked a friend to help you or simply forget about taking a snack from the canteen. The options were limited. Sweater on, money placed in your shirt pocket or any other place where one would easily access it once you made it through the mammoth of students to get to the canteen window; the battle to pave a way was officially on. We called it "nkonde" it was not about the small or the big, the weak or the strong but the strategist. I had witnessed "nkonde" of all sorts (of course I am not mentioning the option I opted for), but what stood before me now in the taxi park was a completely different play field, one I could not relate with. There were people of all walks of life struggling to get into the taxi. The woman with a baby pushing against a student well built at that (he could pass for a bouncer if it wasn’t for the uniform) who with one push would throw her and her baby flying. The nun standing out because of her veil fighting off a rather well suited up gentleman. The drunken guy staggering (probably had one too many) and struggling to find his balance yet being pushed away by everyone and seemingly the easiest target to everyone. It was no longer about who did what or who was who, clearly everyone wanted to go home and the how had already been answered. When everyone was done with the pushing and fighting, there was one seat left, and clearly the Lord had heard my silent plea, no need whatsoever to fight, but rather calmly take my seat and head home.

This was about ten years ago! How time rushes. Now I stood with the same challenge at hand. The dynamics had changed, I had rubbed shoulders with both sides of the coin; single and mixed schools, I was proudly a product of the only hall at Makerere University (silently whispers to self; “Gentility with a purpose”), I had joined Rotaract and the four way test and goals of Rotaract were running through my mind, age was definitely no longer “just a number” too much was at steak and yet I needed to go home. Should I, or should I not? I thought to myself….. As I kept thinking of what to do as of when the taxi showed up, the taxi flashed its lights, it was like a “Deja vu “. Would this play out as it had done so many years ago?

“Chief, will you be going to work today?” shouted my younger brother. I had been dreaming, the taxi lights flashing had been a result of him opening the curtains to the window. The question now lingered in my mind….”what would I do given the situation had actually been realized?” what would you do?

Tax at Bukoto

It’s either about Uncle Barry (POTUS Barack Obama) visiting Kenya and Ethiopia (a fact no one is talking about given that he blasted the presidents), Hon Mbabazi's ambitious presidential bid (which now seems like a joke) or Hon Byandala heading to the coolers (someone had to take the bullet, willingly or not). There is practically the same news in town, nothing much to muse about. Why not give you an insight of what happened at fellowship?

Wednesday is the day the Rotaract Club of Bukoto has its fellowship, and this week the tangerines buddy group took the horns by the cow, or should I say a cow by its horns. Oh well, either way, it was a fellowship that was a worthwhile.

In the president's absence, IPP Zahara chaired fellowship, and this she did well. With the Rotaract norms, make ups & visits, introductions and Rotary information out of the way, it was time for the guest speaker to indulge us on the topic of Tax as was expected of him.

A past interact president in his high school days and later on a secretary for the Rotaract club of Uganda Martyrs Nkozi, the question everyone asked was why this man had quit the Rotaract family.

Edgar from KPMG went on to take us through indirect and direct taxes before diving into the Income Tax Act and the Value Added Tax Act to discuss the various taxes levied in Uganda as summarized below;

Pay as You Earn, is levied on individuals and is the obligation of the employer based on the residency status of the individual and the amount of money they earn.

Corporation tax is levied on companies on all business income after allowable expenses as described by the Income Tax Act.

Withholding tax is an advance tax and is the responsibility of the person making a payment to the supplier.

Value Added Tax is an indirect tax that is levied based on the nature of the supply and can be standard rated, zero rated or exempt as per the provisions of the Value Added Tax Act.

The talk about Tax Identification Numbers (TINs) got many by surprise given its necessity and importance in the days that lay ahead.

Rotarian Solomon from mother club gave the vote of thanks and awarded the guest speaker with a certificate of recognition from the club.

July babies were then celebrated. Cake was on the house and celebrations were in order. P.P Amina and Hellen from the club were joined by P.E Martin of Kyambogo for the cake cutting.

The final toast followed shortly, and fellowship was done.

A round of applause to all our guests who joined from the various Rotaract Clubs.

Do join us next week for another fun and informative fellowship.

Salsa with Daphne & Viola

Two ladies (our day’s guest dancers), a bunch of dudes and a few ladies; how was this going to work out?

It was no ordinary fellowship at the Rotaract club of Bukoto. It was the “Salsa themed fellowship”.

The dancers (supposed guest speakers) were in high spirits but the Rotaractors and guests were exultant. They could not wait to get started.

The ones who had danced before, those who thought they had danced and those who had never danced were all fiddling with their footsteps showing off their not so good skills to one another. It was theatrical.

“We will start in lines as we go through the basic steps”, said Daphne who was now worried that the time wasn’t going to be enough.

“Wait, we aren't dancing with girls”, responded someone from the crowd. Majority believe it was either Arthur or Keith who queried.

Nevertheless, people were on their feet and moving to the best of their ability in no time. The thought of some people dancing was a no brainer, but on the other hand; the likes of... (Names withheld) simply made everyone’s day.

 

The call for coupling seemed like it was one everyone awaited. The gentlemen jumped at the opportunity, as the ladies waited anxiously for who would pick them. No sooner had body contact been established than the just learnt dance moves vanished. People were now off beat, not sure what to do when. We were back to level one, and the guides were tasked to reteach almost everything.

Douglas of Rct Kampala North was now showing off his recent acquired skills, Racheal of Rct Kampala West was getting her groove on, Viola Rct ISHU (also our day’s dance trainer) was twiddling, while Brian of Rct Bukoto wondered how people were able to do this. The zeal to learn surpassed JPAM’s determination to take power (By the way, how far with the Nomination Forms?).

Keith’s hand was now mid-way Daphne's back (steadily dropping), this she quickly brought to everyone’s attention and a few other rules of the dance.

 

1.      The guy's hand should always be on the ladies’ supraspinatus and infraspinatus muscles (no, I wasn’t in Med school), anything below that is a "horny touch", (you can imagine the screams to that).

2.      The gentleman is the leader, and the lady is the follower, (guess this is one of those places where woman emancipation hasn’t yet infiltrated)

3.      You have to wiggle a bit, for the guys; dancing in lines will do the magic. For the ladies; feel free to check yourself out (you can let your imagination go wild as to what happened thereafter).

4.      Whatever you do on the dance floor, keep the rhythm and don't lose your footwork.

5.      Most important: KEEP DANCING

Given all good things come to an end, Daphne and Viola opted to close the session with a performance. An idea that was quickly rejected by a squeal from the public; "LOKODO" was word enough to let these two know that no one was going to let a lady dance with a lady.

The ladies were thence tasked to pick partners. Someone shouted Paul, and the joke caught on. Paul from Bukoto (yours truly) was summoned to take on the challenge. The music started and the two (Paul and one of the ladies) got to it, no idea what was driving him, but Paul wasn't the usual stiff person that he is. For lack of a better word, he was "swishy and wiggly" (don't bother checking your dictionary), commented one of the Rotaractors.

It was now 1900hrs and the fellowship had to come to an end.

The Final Toast by Douglas marked the end of fellowship.

The majestic walk in by Lewis of Rct Kyambogo and President Tonny of Rct Kyengera Kampala reminded us of the term “African Time”, these two had just redefined it. On the bright side, “After Fellowship” was on and the evening was just getting started.

Did I mention Alex and Gideon of Rct Kololo had left Burundi and a honey moon respectively at the mention of Salsa Fellowship; oh well – that is the kind of fellowship it was.

Till the next fellowship

The Small Things In Life

“Paul, Paul?”

“Yes mama”

“Stealing sugar?”

“No mama”

“Telling lies”

“No mama”

“Open your mouth”

“aah, aah, aah”

The tradition was to always go through what I had learned at school at the end of every day as soon as mum came back from work. The rhymes were to make the session more enjoyable. Those I enjoyed given that I knew them.

However, I was used to "Jonny, Jonny" and not "Paul, Paul". Guess it was mum being creative. Needless to say, it felt nice using my name instead of Jonny. She had found me doing my homework, and after the exchange of pleasantries, the “Jonny rhyme”, now the “Paul rhyme”, she had gone to her room and I had resumed my numbers homework.

"Paul?” I heard her call minutes later.

I stopped what I was doing and dashed to her room, the retribution for being called more than once with no response was that I always ducked.

"Paul, will you kindly bring me a stick?” she asked politely.

I was sure one of my cousins was in trouble.   As it had always been, the person sent to bring the cane was the innocent one. I quickly ran to look for one knowing that if she was through with all she had to do, including disciplining one of my cousins, and I wasn’t through with my homework, I would get a fair share of the beating.

"Here you go mum", I said as I handed her the cane and headed to the living room to finish my work. I had no intentions of hanging around lest I follow the same path.

"Thank you very much", she responded.

Before I could get back to my homework, I heard her ask, “Paul, what did I tell you about telling lies?”

I quickly responded, “Liars go to hell and are burnt forever”

I had been told of stories about God and satan, Heaven and hell, and Heaven was the only place I intended to go to. I had no plans whatsoever to experience the endless flames that defined Hell. I had gotten burnt worse and I wouldn’t imagine going through that for eternity.

“So why did you tell me a lie?” she quickly fired

I was puzzled, confused, muddled, words cannot express the state I was in. What was she talking about, when had I told her a lie? I wanted to know what lie I had told, but at the same time I hoped that she had misunderstood me. I was ready to argue myself out of this; I was not ready to receive any canes on this fateful evening.

“What lie did I tell?” I confidently shot back.

“Kindly pass me that mirror”, she said pointing to a mirror at the furthest corner of the room.

What game was she up to? We were midway a supposed fight and she was asking for a mirror. I knew she always played out everything calmly, but this was not the time. I wanted this sorted and out of the way. I wanted to finish my homework and join my cousins who were now playing ‘dulu’ a game I always emerged a winner given the length of my fingers.

“What do you see in the mirror?” she asked as I reached for the mirror.

A quick scan of my face, revealed a few speckles of sugar above my upper lip. I was shocked by this revelation; I thought I had cleaned up well after taking a spoon or two of sugar earlier on, something we had been forbidden to do.

 At this point all the pieces to the puzzle fell in place, why she had started off with “Paul, Paul” instead of “Johnny, Johnny”. Why she had sent for a stick and why she had asked me why I had told her a lie. At this point in time I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wished I could teleport or something of the sorts. The one thing my mum hated was telling lies, and here I was; as guilty as charged.

Spare the rod, and spoil the child goes a common saying. Needless to say what happened there after…….

Twenty years down the road and Mrs. Ruth Kavuma was emphasizing the four Way Test as she tagged the lapel 'pin onto my shirt. I was being inducted into the Rotaract Family. A group of people that were guided by principles; would I be able to uphold to these, or would I have a repetition of my childhood days. I knew that at this stage, it was too late to turn back, but to make the best of the moment and the times to come. I had crossed a line, and I had to live up to the expectations of those around me.

Viva la Rotary

Sound

If you were tasked to jot down a memory as a result of a sound or something that you recalled; what would it be………

I am not talking about the outbursts by the taxi touts shouting Zila-Bugoloobi, Zila-Bugoloobi (calling out to passengers heading to Luzira or Bugoloobi and everyone who cares lo listen) as you walk down Kampala road nor the continued out cries for their so long lost relatives; ‘bulaaza, sister, maama, faaza ….neither am I talking about the sirens dashing across the roads as you are shoved to the side simply because a police vehicle has to pass.…..

I am not talking about the women shouting out to everyone who passes by, "taata, zino zokya" loosely translated as sir, these grass hoppers are warm in a bid to sell the last of their grasshoppers, as you try to get your tired self to a taxi so as to get home and have a rest after a long day…...

I am not talking about the noise made as vehicles rush by you, almost brushing you; the sound from the traffic warden’s whistle quickly cut off by the changing of gears of the truck next to you nor am I talking about the women who spend every day complaining about everything and nothing under the pretext of "entalo zo' kumizigo….

I am not talking about the hooting by the "boda boda cyclist" nor am I talking about the constant calls by the man carrying sacks of Irish potatoes probably 3 times his weight blaring ‘faasi, faasi, faasi’ as you stroll down town in a bid to fresh fruits…..

I am not talking about the noise made by every ‘Sempala’ who thinks movie narration is a walk in the park, (where are likes of Jingo when someone needs them) neither am I talking about the Airtel clocks at the round-about reminding ‘telemundo’ lovers that their favorite soap just started and they are nowhere near their television sets……

I am not talking about the drums sounded at your local church that makes you fill as though someone is guilt tripping you, nor am I talking about the gong at the Ivory tower reminding the Muk students that another hour just went by as the boys of Lumumba camp at box with hope that culture week will be extended……

I am talking about that sound that you last listened to as a little boy herding the cows, a little girl going to fetch water; the sound of nature.

I am talking about the sounds that you have forgotten as a result of being in the city; sounds of birds tweeting, dry leaves rustling, the cows mowing, or the chicken clucking... the reminders that there is more to life than just living it.

I am talking about the reason you should be in Mbarara for the Great South Western fellowship as you listen to Rtn Kankunda share about Stewardship, PDG Katongole about Giving, Rtn Mike about PR, PDG Mwanje about Leadership, Rtn Musolini about Vijana Poa and Rtn Kawadwa about the Youth and Rotary.

I am talking about reviving your spirits naturally as you enjoy what the land of milk and honey has to offer you as you listen to these exceptional gentlemen.......

Wait a minute, where are the ladies?????