By Arthur M. M. Katabalwa.
I boarded the 0815 City Centre to Ntinda taxi and settled in
for the journey. I always had a seat for
myself. It was usually at the front because of the leg room. Even the conductors knew my preference and on
certain occasions they would ask someone to move which embarrassed me a lot.
This taxi does not actually exist officially. It just so happens that I have
worked on the transport industry for a while in England that I tend to think of
all public travel pegged to a certain time. Well, taxis in Uganda only move if
they are full.
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| Hajati |
On this particular morning I sat right behind the driver near
what some might call “akameeme”. It was better for me to sit there I thought as
always I found that I was nearly the first to alight near where I worked on
Kira road. I never took much notice of
the lady sat next to me.
About ten minutes into the journey by which time we were negotiating
the biblical traffic jam near Kisekka market, this lady without much sense and
sensibility plonked some ladies lingerie on my lap. I mean these were really
large knickers, bras and petty coats. She had a huge bag and she was arranging
the rest inside.
I froze!!!
Here I was with a heap of ladies stuff on my lap. I am not
good with ladies lingerie at the best of time even in private. Yet here I was
in a cramped taxi with 13 other passengers, sitting with a heap of second hand
bras the size of which I could fit my head in (not that I tried).
I looked at the pants (which I thought was wrong) and they
were the size of parachutes. It was horrendous. I feared that this lady was
going to ask me to muck in and help her arrange the garments now sat on my lap.
I looked and wondered who could have been the owner? What would they think if
they found out that their knickers and God knows what were sat on my lap on the
0815 City Centre to Ntinda?
I summoned all the strength I could and turned round to look at
this lady who had had the audacity to place these things on my lap. Here was a
Muslim lady maybe about 60. She was dressed in the modest way that Islamic
ladies like to dress. I could not see her hair. Her hands were covered up
completely and her dress reached the floor. So I thought to myself “Why are you
travelling about with a sack full of whatever when you are all covered up?”
She was completely taken up by what she was doing. Here was
this Hajati merrily arranging away these garments. She could hardly notice that
my face was taut with fright at the thought of having all these garments on
my lap. It was the first time that I was in the possession of underwear that
belonged to more than one girl in public. I don’t know if I should be proud of
that or not. But anyway………………………………..
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| Hajati and her daughter which was a crowd stopping moment. |
Over the next weeks, I started observing this lady. We kept
getting the same taxi. It seemed like the weather had completely dried her skin
which made me think that she worked in a market further down the road.
Interestingly she wore a very nice perfume.
Sometimes she had a distant look on her face like she was lost in thought.
I started listening to what she would say to other people.
Hajati lightened up the taxi park when she arrived with that
bag which at times seemed to weigh more than her. She would arrive and all the
taxi touts would swarm around her. She also had a special place like me because
of her bag and when she arrived she would sit in the same place.
I noticed that she was also deeply religious that is why I
called her Hajati. I never ever got to know her name. In fact we hardly ever
spoke to each other. She knew I existed and on many occasions she called me “Mutabani”
(son) which isn’t out of place for ladies her age in Ugandan society. She would
board and share what she knew of what was going on. Many times it was off the
mark especially on politics. It was complete speculation. But many times Hajati
was delightful.
There was a time when she came with her daughter. We all went
MENTAL!!! The taxi men, the public everyone went mental because she looked
absolutely gorgeous. Her daughter I think was at the time about 20. She seemed
to be taken aback by the reaction her mother got because of her. I think Hajati
was a bit of a show off because when she arrived she made sure everyone knew
that this was her daughter. The poor girl spent the whole journey shielding
behind her mother.
On occasions she said a curt word. Actually I must say that
Hajati had an acerbic tongue. If she was irritated she would not take any
prisoners and would take anyone on and put you down. I think this was the best
way for her as I can imagine that if she worked in a market then that would
have been an aggressive environment.
Over time I started noticing other women in society, looking
at what they did for life. There are many to whom life in the city is a daily
grind against all the odds. You will never find a Ugandan woman completely inebriated
by alcohol during working hours like you will do men. In the taxi parks the
ladies are the majority now taking round all sorts of things selling them through
the windows, many times under the punishing sun. You will find them selling
cold drinks, snacks and even once I saw one selling SD cards. All the while
with their hair tied back in a bun and a splash of makeup.
I have a lady who gets me my groceries at Nakasero market
whenever I can go. She knows exactly what I want and the never gets things
wrong. I have spoken to her about her work schedule and her day starts at 0400
in the morning when the delivery arrives. Many times she will still be sat at
her stall at 2200 hours at night.
If one were to take a walk through the old taxi park before
the rush hour one will find young girls and women literally sat on the hard
tarmac (where ever one can find a spot of it) selling greens, tomatoes, bananas,
ginger, beans, peas and the works. I have stopped and seen one of the older
women literally out asleep and I have wondered what her life story is. It isn’t
that I will call it a bad life because only they can call it that but I
wondered what set of circumstances got her there. Who are her family? Did she
have children? Where was her home? I turned round quickly and watched the
people who were selling fried ants.
We see all these girls, ladies, women working as hard as hard
can be. We see the ladies who sweep the roads with nothing more than
broomsticks at Mulago roundabout at great risk to themselves physically and health
wise because of the dust. We see these ladies carrying bananas on their heads
in the sun at the Electoral commission junction, being chased by the police and
KCCA. We go and eat their food in
Kinamwandu (who has been there?) which is so cheap one wonders if they make any
profit on it. We see these ladies who are selling clothes in the “Kajja” near
Park Enkadde Mall, the ladies who are sat in the markets in the heat and the
filth.
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| The other Hajatis in Uganda. |
mwenky99@gmail.com
@mwenky
I want to thank all of you who have read my account of my stay in Uganda as it stands. This is the last one in these series. The story, the tales go on and many are still being written. When the time comes I will put pen to paper and share with you all about this amazing journey.
Love You Loads Holly and Tendo Katabalwa. Daddy will soon be back.
Mwenky.
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