July 13, 2007

Directly after leaving the internet café, this really old woman (spoke no other English except “thank you very much”) came up to me and started fervently talking to me in Luganda. She grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. I have no idea whether she was drunk (good possibility), senile (great chance), or both (most likely), or what she wanted with me.

At this point I had ½ hour to go to the supermarket and pick up some much needed instant coffee (I’d been rationing the canister all week while we were on the islands. To my dismay I found out you could only get coffee from Mokono or Kampala. I miss the days of old where I could simply drive out, still in my pajamas, and order a grande-light-carmel-macchiato with two chocolate covered coffee beans and a straw. But I digress). Then I had to dash to the taxi park (roughly a 10 minute walk) to catch the last taxi that left around 6:45-7ish.

So as quickly as I could I tried to communicate (with lots of pointing) that I had to cross the street and go to the supermarket. The old woman nodded vigorously (while still clutching my hand), said, “Thank you very much!” and then proceeded to dash onto incoming traffic on the busy street without looking either way. There were huge trucks, taxis, cars, and bodas all whizzing past us, some swerving not to hit us, others slamming on their brakes right before us. It was imminent doom and I fully expected to meet my maker. But miracles of miracles, we made it across the road. The old woman looked mighty pleased with herself for helping me across the street (which is usually supposed to be the other way around). I somehow retrieved my hand and dashed into the store, trying to get over the fact I nearly had become Ugandan road kill.

I bought what I needed and stepped outside the store. The store’s security guard stopped me and pointed to the old woman who had apparently been patiently waiting for me. I have no idea if the guard understood me or not but I think the horror-stricken look on my face, shaking my head, and waving my arms was enough (although I accompanied it with a string of sentences like, “I don’t know her! I have no idea who she is or what she wants! She nearly killed me!!) The guard waved me off and I barely escaped before she could get one of my hands in her iron grip again.

I made it to the taxi park on time and met back up with Erin on the taxi. I recounted the story and waiting for my nerves to settle. After we got out of Mokono and off the paved road there were swarms of kids and people walking down the road headed home. As we were crawling along through the masses, this group of young men with large sticks started banging on the side of the taxi and opened the door and began to climb in to the already full taxi.

I was sure they were trying to hi-jack the taxi, but Erin (seeing my once again horror-stricken face) told me that although it did indeed look like we were being overtaken by an angry mob-they really just wanted a ride. And it was true, once they squeezed in and adjusted themselves they became passengers like the rest of us-just with really large sticks (which I never figured out the reason for).