Tragic Transport

Travel in the UG is unpredictable.

It is often times determined by the weather.

It is often overcrowded, with children occupying spaces that barely fit luggage.

It is often unsafe.

Up North the primary mode of transport is a bus, one that legally sits 64 people but usually accommodates up to 100, excluding the goats and chickens.

Being that the options are limited in the North for people to travel, they have to find alternative solutions to get from point A to point B.  One of these options is a lorry. 

Think of a giant open bed truck with a giant metal frame so that a myriad of objects can be tied down and taken to their new destination.  On top of all of this are hitchhiking people who attempt to find a comfortable seat among the bananas and basins.

It is definitely one of the most dangerous options out there but also convenient for those looking to go somewhere without paying for a seat on a bus.

Last week I was traveling down to Gulu via Homeland, one of the bus companies, to visit a friend and work on an upcoming workshop.  We were about 35 kilometers from Kitgum when the bus began to slow to a crawl. 

I thought to myself, “Great.  The rains have disturbed the dirt roads and we have to walk until they can get the bus through the sludge slash mud.  Oh Uganda.”

We continued to move at the pace of a snail and soon I understood why.

People were displaced on the muddy banks with their belongings, looking confused and worried.  A lone tire flashed by the passing window and that’s when I knew something more serious had happened.

A lorry was tipped on its side with all of its bags of maize flour dispersed across the road, painting it stark white against the neutral colored surroundings.    

Luckily I did not see the accident take place but I can only imagine what occurred…

The poor condition of the roads in combination with a speeding vehicle caused for it to flip on its side when it skid out of control.  I am assuming the people standing on the banks managed to jump off in time to find their belongings spewed across the area.

Except for one.

As our bus inched further down the road and as the faces hopelessly looked at us for help, there was one man, face down in the mud whose extremities were in positions that we not, for a lack of better word, normal.

I, along with my neighbor on the bus, was 100% percent confident that this man was dead. 

People walked on him, over him, and around him to collect their things.  People were not fazed by the situation.

Except me.

I thought about his family and whether or not he was traveling alone.  I thought what they would do with the body, if anything.  I thought about that moment when the lorry flipped and what went through his mind.  I thought about the fact that had he waited for an alternate transport option, this might have never happened.

I thought about destiny.

It broke my heart knowing that there was nothing I could do as I passed by.  I mean I have had these conversations with Ugandans before, sharing with them the importance of not stacking 50 people on top of a lorry to get somewhere.  I have emphasized how we can take the initial steps of safety into our own hands. 

Granted there are things out of our control including road conditions, the driver, and whether or not seatbelts are there.  

But then there are things that we have the power to say no to, including hopping in the back of vehicle.

Locals will tell me, “Ah but Tara, this is Uganda.  This is how it works.”

Now I know things work differently here… Time management, the education system, and healthcare to name a few but getting in an unsecured vehicle is not one of time. 

We have the power to say no and to wait.

The police have to power to stop this but instead fine the driver and pocket the 60,000 Ugandan Shillings. 

Don’t even get me started on corruption.

As our bus pulled away and the images of a tipped lorry, muddy children, and a mad who will never see the sun rise again became part of the past, my heart broke. 

At that moment I was eternally grateful for my seat on the bus. 

That was until my neighbor used me as a pillow and a cockroach ran across my feet.