Safety First

Since the big move to Kampala, I have been very aware of the acute differences between life in the big city and life in remote Kitgum.

One of these being safety.

In Kitgum you rarely saw boda boda drivers wearing helmets as they quickly maneuvered over the poor quality roads.  Even my organization that had five motorcycles for their work only had two helmets, which meant often times the staff went into field without any protection.

Well I am happy to report that in Kampala, I see many more motorcycle drivers with helmets.  We are no Rwanda, where each boda driver is required to wear a helmet with a matching vest, all the while providing a helmet to his passenger. 

Some of the recent advertisements promoting helmet use!

Over the past couple of weeks I have been taking notes of the types of helmets I have seen on my 20-minute walk to work.

Many are your standard helmets… The ones that have padding on the inside that completely cover your head.  Oh and they have a somehow heavy-duty plastic face shield!

Then you remember you are still in Uganda and a boda boda driver passes by wearing a SpongeBob bicycle helmet, a softball helmet, a football helmet, and even construction hats.  Often times, they are not even strapped.

“A” for effort.

Story time.  My walk to In Movement is just about 15 minutes and every morning I get bothered by boda men inquiring whether or not I want a ride.  Every morning I shake my head no.  Now these men do not just ask once… They yell from their passing boda and will continuously look back at me for a solid five to ten seconds for an eyebrow raise, signaling that I would like a ride. 

I play this game every single day.

I get a good laugh when I see the men go by in their non-regulated safety helmets and think to myself, “How in the world do they make it out alive in their early 1990s Rugrat’s helmet meant for a 6-year-old girl?  Quite frankly, I am surprised how transport in general works here.  For more read: Matatus, Bodas, and Bikes, Oh My!

Well then there was this male boda driver.  As if on cue, he honked from behind and asked if I wanted a ride.  I shook my head no. 

Then I saw his helmet.

It was split down the middle and sewn back together.  How they sew plastic here is my melting it back together and weaving rope through it.  They often do it with basins and chairs.

Just like the others he continued to look back at me seeing if I would change my mind.

I raised my eyebrows… Not with the intention of a ride as that is forbidden in Peace Corps, but to simply have a conversation with him.  He spun his boda around to come to me and as I stood there I motioned him to remove his helmet.

Cue morning greetings.

“Ssebo.  Where did you get this helmet from?”

“I bought it.”

“With this sewn or was it new?”

Dead silence.

“Ssebo, you see when you wear a helmet that is supposed to provide safety yet this one is broken and sewn together it does not give confidence to your customers.  Are you picking me?”

“Yes madame but I bought it like that.”

“Okay well next time you buy a new one.  I bet you will find more customers that way.”

“Eh, I see.  Can I take you?”

“No thank you.  I have arrived.”

He drives off.

Now did this conversation have any significant impact?  Probably not.

I walked up towards the office and realized that he was better safe than sorry but still… A helmet broken in two pieces sewn together.

Only in Uganda.

He Gets It

Often times we get so caught up in our own world that we simply fail to recognize that not everyone understands our roles and responsibilities.

After 26 months of service, this is how I started to feel… Nothing bad about Peace Corps, I obviously love it or else why would I extend, but more along the lines of thinking that most host country nationals know why I am here.

Well that was the case in Kitgum.

Not Kampala.

With an estimated population of 1.209 million in 2002, I can’t expect everyone to know that I am a health and youth facilitator that loves promoting Re-Usable Menstrual Pads all the while helping girls develop their inner confidence, and strengthen the role that young men play in Uganda.

I was in town yesterday meeting some of the new Trainees for lunch and after a delicious caramel latte with orange zest, it was time for me to go home.  I called my go to taxi man, Charles, who promptly picked me up and took me around so I could get some of my favorites - including a delicious multigrain loaf so I could have a toasted peanut butter and apple sandwich for dinner.

As Charles drove me around Kampala, we ended up talking about the fair price of taxis.

Let’s take a second to backtrack.

About 10 days ago, my friend Sarah (who has since closed her service and is traveling in India) and I needed to go to the Post Office from my house.  It was 11:30a and we could not risk the hour walking as we thought the were nervous office closed at noon. 

Clearly, we called Charles. 

He was busy.

I tried the number of another driver, who happens to be a woman, and she was available.  Now from my house in Muyenga to city center should be 15,000UGX, 6USD but Charles only asks for 10,000UGX, 4USD.

This lady wanted 20,000UGX.

No girl power or solidarity?!

Now I do not like to be cheated.  Sarah and I were happy to give 15,000UGX and that is what she got.  I am not sure if she thought that I didn’t know the fair price but this muzungu is very aware.

#dontmesswithme

Long story short, I told the woman she could call Charles and hear from him that this is what he charges us.  I was in no way, shape, or form trying to cheat her.

Fast forward to yesterday.

Charles explained to me that she did in fact call him.  She was upset, exclaiming that by him charging this “little money”, that no one else would use her as a driver.  He explained that this money is enough for fuel, which is all that is required as a driver. 

She inquired about what he does for lunch money.

He said that that was his concern, not that of his passengers.

Apparently she hung up or her airtime ran out.

I apologized to Charles for any discomfort this might have caused but he explained that it was no problem.  He continued to share with me that there is more to money for lunch and that is creating friendships with people and learning from one another.

He listed the names of previous Volunteers in Uganda, those that obviously made a difference in his life.  He said those are the things that mattered.

He asked how I decided on Uganda.

I explained to him how Peace Corps works.  Everything from the application process and the work we do.  I explained that I was not always in Kampala, that I called both the Southwest and the North my home.  I explained that we are Volunteers, receiving no salary other than a living allowance that helps us with the day-to-day expenses.

He was shocked.

“Eh!  Tara how do you manage with no salary.”

“Charles, I receive money every month for expenses.  I just do not receive money for my work.  It would be like those professors at Makerere University teaching for free.”

“And all of you Peace Corps do that?”

“Yes.  All of the Volunteers who are not only in Uganda but also throughout the world.”

“Wow.  Thank you for your service.”

His gratitude did not stop there.  He was shocked that Peace Corps Volunteers essentially give up a salary for 2-years to move to a foreign place to simply help and learn.

I tried to emphasize that Peace Corps is so much more than that… That through our approximate 800-day service, we exchange culture and promote a greater understanding of one another.

Again, his heart was full of gratitude, constantly saying thank you.

Hence the reason why I always call Charles. 

Not because of his constant praise to the work we do here as Volunteers but because he was genuinely interested and took the time to recognize the small things in life that make it so meaningful.

Pictures: Movin’ with In Movement

Workshop day

Focused

That is one emotional taxicab.  Google it.  It’s a game.

Circus time

Thumbs up for day camp

Love these kiddos…