KAMPALA AND ITS BUILDINGS.

Unexpected journeys and unexpected people. I love travel and I always never care whether I am on foot,  bus or plane.  As long as I am seeing new places, new people,  I will be at peace and I think that will always be so until my next destination is jail or hell,  then I will humbly decline this chance to see new faces.

My last trip to Kabale guaranteed that there be a return journey.  So early morning,  I was up preparing,  wearing my new sweater, a gift from one of these Beautiful Creatures.  Her perfume was still fresh and I could figuratively touch her but that is not the gist of this post.  I folded my mother’s piece of cloth around my neck and I would have passed for an African man on his first trip to Europe,  you can always tell those.  The story needs to be short so I was on my way in no minute,  dosing off occasionally and then tapping my phone which had about two percent of battery power,  this was going to be one hell of a journey.

In Mbarara town of course,  we made our first stop and people left.  These were replaced.  I did not notice this new entrant until he stood up and cleared his voice,  obviously in need of our audience.  The Young gentleman,  in his early twenties,  very young indeed, looked quite energetic.  He had chosen for facial accessories, a pair of shades and a blue cap so he looked worry-free.
“I want to talk to you about AIDS!” The Young man said.
That’s when I returned to my sleep.  He was only an employee, out to make a buck,  paid by one of these NGOs to sensitize travelers about the new old scourge.  I then noticed the tag he wore around his neck and although I could not make out what was inscribed thereon,  I could tell it was a company ID, probably.  So I reclined back in my seat and prepared for chapter two of my sleep.  He went on about AIDs, ways how we could prevent it and all.

The bus stopped again and this time we let in an entourage of rowdy people.  Builders.  They were loud,  like they were intoxicated and they shouted and pushed people. Making their way to the vehicle rear. The bus being full,  they sat on the floor.  One of them hassled the Young gentleman and asked what he was ‘teaching’ about. The Young man said he was teaching about AIDs to which the former jovially called out one of his mates and told him that he had to pay attention.

It was at this moment that the young man took off his pair of shades. Blood of Jesus Christ! His eyes.  I could see the Young man’s eyes and they were a sight not for sore eyes this time,  for sober eyes may be.  They were dilated,  like Heimdal’s, only that these did not have a light in them like the Asgard gatekeeper’s.  They were pale eyes,  with a reddish hue all around and the pupils were not black at all.  They were watery grey.  Then for an unknown reason, they were protruding… a human with dilated lizard eyes.

“What do you think happened to my eyes?” The whole vehicle hushed.  The Young man repeated his question and no-one had an answer.  So he moved around,  staring us in the face, to give us a closer look at hell.
“I am a student, in my second Year at the Kampala International University.” he said.  “ You wonder why I am not in class like the rest,  why I am here on a bus full of people, teaching about AIDS. Well,  I am a patient of the same.  Father and Mother are both deceased and I am entirely unaware of how I contracted the disease.  All I know is that I have been taking ARV  ever since I was a kid. Have you ever seen the drug before?”
He proceeded to fish out his pocket, a small tin and opened it, then showed us a huge tablet. But is it even a tablet or common stone.

The size of it will shock you. 

“Two years ago,” the Young man retrieved his tale,  “living in hostel,  one of my roommates asked me boldly.”
“Moses,  you always take tablets every day.  What kind of disease is that,  that never heals?”
“ I broke down and cried almost immediately.  And then I resolved never to take the tablets again. So just like that, I stopped the daily dosage.  Pleas from the doctors fell on caged ears and for one year and two months,  I could not take the tablets no matter what. Then on a cold afternoon,  my eyes started paining.  In a short while,  they were bleeding bloody puss. I could not see anymore.  The doctors said my pride had caught up with me finally, that I would now dance to the tune I had so beautifully orchestrated. I went to the eye clinic in Mbale and they said I would need a surgery.  Ten million Ugandan shillings. My bank balance at the time was 23,900 Ugandan shillings only and having auctioned  piece of land, my sole inheritance from late father,  I could only raise three million…”
He needed not mention the rest of the story, we were almost immediately in our pockets,  looking to make a contribution to this young man’s predicament.

Kampala is not just mere buildings,  the city dwellers always say. You can be conned clean in broad daylight.  May be this man was an advanced conman who had just mastered the art.  May be not.  Whatever the case was,  I think he was good enough and I would be proud to have fallen prey to his tale not failing to mention that I would fall for it time and over again.

I stared out of the window,  looking at the rolling grassland plains of Sanga,  dotted with feeding cattle.  I wondered who ordained that a young man bear the burden of his parents, that a soul must live with the looming harsh reality of the uncertainty of tomorrow.  Life could surely be cruel.

Looking at the size of those tablets,  turning them over and over in my mind,  I could tell which choice of prevention I am going to stick to. I pictured the last time I had unprotected sex so vividly and I shuddered at what a fool I had been.  I would definitely go for a test the following day and then live out the rest of my days abstaining.  That was a fortnight ago,  I haven’t tested yet.  Everyday I say a little prayer to God to have mercy on his lost sheep. I hope you do too.