Kampala 101

“A s-t-t-o-n-e in my laptop bag,”I shakily said to my towering boss (double my height and weight too). At that point, I felt a ‘little tail’ burst out from my behind and ‘long floppy ears’ emerge from my head—I felt like a complete ass.  Seeing my visible distress in my swollen eyes, he shrugged his shoulders, rolled his eyes and walked away leaving me with the question, “How could this happen to me?”

 Then I scurried to my desk with my tail tucked firmly between my legs. I stared at the empty space that my laptop used to occupy and my eyes started burning with tears again.

Breaking news: Trudy lost her laptop

My colleagues were just dying to know what happened to the laptop. I could see the question lingering in their eyes and in their half open mouths as they tried to form the words. One ‘nosy-guised-in-concern’ soul veered towards me and charmingly pried the information out of me. As soon as the tale was told, she hurried back to her desk to disseminate the information with a little seasoning, of course.

Seeing the futility of my presence at work without a laptop to work on, I gingerly flung my bag over my shoulder and marched out of there, to the comfort of my home.  All the while as I walked home, I recalled the unfortunate events that led to the loss of my laptop, phone and wallet.

Breaking it down: How it happened

“Why did I get into that damn taxi?” The question reverberated in my mind. Then I remembered that I was too broke to grab a boda boda home after attending my friend’s wedding meeting. My poor financial state led me to opt for a taxi instead, and I was too exhausted after a long walk from the National Theatre to Nando’s. Plus my luggage weighed me down and added to my fatigue.

It was several minutes before a taxi skidded to a jarring halt in front of me; suddenly, my phone rang, so I fished it out of my handbag and hobbled toward the taxi with said phone in one hand, laptop bag in the other, and my handbag dangling over my forearm. Unexpectedly, the taxi conductor insisted on holding open the front passenger door for me instead of the back passenger one. I made my displeasure known because I am a midget and detest flinging my stubby little legs high to reach the seat, while risking a chance of missing it. (Besides, it is unladylike to lift one’s leg.)

Begrudgingly, I hastily hobbled into the taxi. The front seat passenger eagerly stretched out his arms to assist me. However, I declined his offer and with one great heave, I hurled my booty and luggage onto the seat. With great care, I placed the laptop bag on my lap and tucked my handbag into my right armpit, then resumed my phone call.

Part 1: Laying the trap

Thus we set off on our journey towards Luzira.  Approximately 10 metres into the journey, we were met by a traffic jam near a roundabout. The crafty taxi driver swerved with so much force that I was flung forward and struggled to hold on tight to the laptop. We had veered off our straight course and taken a left turn in a northerly direction, towards the National Theatre. “Back to square one,” I whispered to myself.

At this point, I exclaimed in Luganda out of sheer shock. The conductor reassured me that it was a shortcut to avoid the traffic jam. He then requested that I adjust the front side mirror. Thinking myself sweet lass, I placed my phone back into my handbag and obliged. Thus, I stretched my left hand out the window and proceeded to fidget with the front side mirror. After several fruitless attempts, I realized the damn thing was not moving, so I gave up. No sooner had I had expressed my failure than the damned door flung open! A little shriek escaped my lips as I held on tightly to the doorframe.

Part 2: Trudy Enters The Trap

‘Reassuringly’, that sneaky human being who calls himself a taxi conductor advised me to hold on tight to the seatbelt as he held the door in place. Foolishly, I obeyed, not seeing the sheer stupidity in holding a seatbelt in attempt not to fall out of the taxi.

At this point, my mind was only set on self-preservation, not protecting my little property. All thoughts of minding my handbag and laptop had flown out when the door flung open. With adrenaline pumping through my veins and a silent prayer (“Oh, God please do not let me get hurt!”), my ordeal soon ended. 

Shortly after, we passed the Jinja Road roundabout then, casually and inexplicably, the conductor informed me that we are no longer heading to Luzira. He proceeded to open the front door, causing a cold gust of wind to assault my lungs. Rudely, he told me in broken English to “Get out.” As I was not moving fast enough, the passenger next to me hastily shoved me out and threw the laptop bag at me, leaving me with my gaping mouth in utter disbelief as the taxi sped away.

Part 3: A shocking realization

Standing on the pavement shivering, I reach into my handbag to retrieve my phone. “Oh my God! Where’s my phone?” I shrieked as I frantically searched my handbag and emptied out my pockets. It dawned on me that I must have left it on that blasted taxi. But that’s only the good part.

Little feet met paving stones as I took off after the taxi: breasts flapping wildly, laptop bag balancing on my fat bottom. I ran as fast as my little legs and heaving chest could allow. 20 metres later, common sense prevailed and I realized the futility of my pursuit. Big fat tears started to roll down my face. “It’s gone; my new Nokia Asha 305 smartphone is gone!” I hopped onto a boda boda(which is what I should’ve done in the first place) and wailed all the way home, much to the chagrin of the rider.

He took pity on my sobbing heart and did not charge me for the ride. Upon arrival at home I proceeded straight to my bed to mourn the loss of my sweet Asha.

Part 4: A Final Blow

After somewhat recovering composure, I fell into a deep sleep because I needed to rouse early the next morning. Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed after barely sleeping a wink all night and hurriedly dressed up. Before dashing out, I grabbed the laptop bag and thought it was a bit heavier than normal; so I proceed to open it. To my shock, horror and dismay: “A s-t-t-o-n-e in my laptop bag!”

Dear 24 Year Old Trudy,

This is the older more mature version of you writing to give you some hope and tidbits of advice from the future. This world is a hard place,  but keep going; be patient and persevere. I know this is not what you want to hear right now, when you are young, pretty, energetic and dying to “live the life”.

On Career

You will never be paid enough for the work you do – As long you are not the boss, your salary will never be worth the work you do. So if you want more money, moonlight or start a business. Who knows, by the time you are my age, you will be able to afford several of that Christian Louboutin shoe you admire on Pinterest everyday.

Bosses exist to make you feel stupid – That’s why he’s the boss; he has earned the right to keep telling you what’s up. (Sometimes in not so nice ways.) He also paid his dues in his rookie days and learned the lessons the hard way. You will too, someday.

It’s not what you earn, it’s what you learn – Ignore that pittance they call a salary and focus on acquiring as much skills as possible. The difference between you and that coveted higher-up colleague who parades herself in Prada and drives a Mercedes is experience. Get some!

Take criticism and botches in your stride – You are young and there is a lot of room for you to learn. Yes, you will mess up, sometimes you will get a slap on the wrist; other times you will have your balls castrated and hung up on a cross as an example for all the rookies (excuse the analogy). Take it in your stride; this criticism is strengthening you. One day you will tell your survivor stories to other rookies. If you mess up, ‘fess up and suck it up!

The workplace is a jungle – Every kind of animal is present in the corporate jungle. There is the lion, i.e. boss who will snap your neck if mess up. There’s the hyena, always lurking around him, waiting to eat his leftovers. Hyenas think they got power but they don’t. They are usually noticeable by their sinister laughter and appetite for gossip and all other things rotten. Snakes are just as nasty; they bite just because they can…bullies!Let’s not forget the peacock who does not work but prances about looking pretty. Busy bees are always up and about but have no work as evidence of their busy schedules. Then there is the owl who does all the work, burns the midnight oil but gets no recognition. Decide what animal you are and beware of your natural predators.

You will be judged by your work, period – Everything else is secondary, your opinion, your wealth or lack of thereof, your background, your clothes. This is where the world becomes a bit fair; do your job well it will soon out-shadow all your other deficiencies.

Beware of office gossip – It might seem like harmless chitchat over lunch, but this is potentially dangerous to you. Those who are so eager to talk about others are the ones most likely to backbite you too. Remember the snakes and hyenas; this bunch are malicious just for the sake of it.

You will always have friends who are more successful than you – That’s just life, sorry; there will always be people who are doing better than you as you hustle along. Don’t rush to ‘unfriend’ them on Facebook, but learn from them. Forget the nugu, just work harder because after all there is another friend who is admiring you.

Cover your arse (CYA) – Very important. There are always snipers who want to see you jobless, hungry and singing your “if only…” Watch out for this bunch by doing the right thing and being great at your job. Don’t let anything slip, never ever give them fodder for their canons.

Always keep transforming – Learn a new skill, read more and offer to do more at work. The master of re-invention guarantees survival for himself. Or herself, as the  case may be.

On Money

Girl, you are gonna go without… – A car, designer perfume, iPad, iPhone, snazzy house and those Christian Louboutin pumps. Place whatever you love the most in that empty space and get ready to do without it. Yes, you will admire it on other people because all pretty young things love pretty things. Newsflash: it is not forever! When you are my age, you will smile at these possessions and remember the hustle it took to get them.

Save and invest – You are going without because you need to save money and invest in the future. This is painful, but your savings will help you out on a rainy day. Trust me, I know how a little wad stashed under the mattress has saved me from certain pennilessness.

You will never, ever, have enough money – Stop whining and thinking your boss will quadruple your salary overnight. Don’t sit with the pathetic who are always complaining the money is not enough, because there are people who have done a lot more with far less. Move away from those ingrates and hang out with the hustlers; their hope and ‘never-say-die’ attitude will rub off on you.

On relationships

There is always a man better than the one you have – Yes, there is a man willing to do what you want, but are you willing to do what he wants? It all boils down to choices, love does not happen, you choose. Everyday you make a choice to stay or to go. If you choose to stay, it’s because you want to, not because you are scared you won’t find someone “like him”.

Flowers, chocolates, perfumes and cars do not mean he loves you – These are just gifts, materialistic goods bought with money. Look deeper and find what is within; don’t judge a man by his ability to shower you with gifts. Yes, we all love to be spoilt and we live in a very materialistic age, but don’t succumb to this.

Don’t let a man (or anyone for that matter) choose for you – You are a grown-ass woman capable of making your own informed decisions. You will regret giving that power to someone else.

There will only ever be one Daddy – Daddy was the first man in your life - to wipe away your tears, carry you, fuss over you, treat you like a princess, spoil you with chocolate and care for your every material need. He tried his best to provide, protect and love you, but at some point he knows his princess has to become someone’s queen. Have you ever heard of a queen being babysat by a king? That’s right, your husband can never be your father. Ever. There are things your husband can do that your father cannot. Steer clear of an Oedipus Complex.

Your heart will break, but it will mend – Your lovers will flee, your friendships will break and you will fight with your family and friends. This is part of the growing process. You will feel so alone and lonely, but you will survive. All those that seemed to stand with you won’t always be there, and the world will torment you; but never ever give up.

OK, enough with this pep talk; you’re gonna be alright, kiddo!

Love,

Older Trudy

 

The crying game / A sole for a soul

Sometimes I feel like breaking down and crying myself into a puddle of tears. This morning was such a time. It all began when that dreaded contraption called ‘the alarm’ went off at precisely 4.00 am, signaling time to rouse from my hard earned slumber. If I had my way, which I usually don’t, I would have squeezed a few more hours of sleep and made a dash for work at the last minute. 

Nevertheless, this was a special morning  because it was my day to play mummy to my baby sister, Anna. So as the good parent figure I am, I had to escort to her first day at University. This involved, among other things, waking up at an ungodly hour to get Anna ready so that she would not miss her bus to Bushenyi. As would be expected, she was fraught with nerves and anxiety. I noted this because of her frequent trips to the bathroom which were succeeded with rambling, sighs and yet more rambling. Every time she would emerge, her chubby dark face was streaked with tears; she would open her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. I understood only too well: she was terrified.

I tried to take her mind off the imminent journey to this unknown town so far from the comfort of home and the bosom of mummy (the real one). So I launched into my ‘happy-go-lucky’ self and forgot for a moment that I should be the stoic, serious and mature one in the family(read cold like a stone, and as funny as one). She had to feel ‘good’ about the situation; after all, it was a big achievement and I wanted her to remember it that way. 

However, my attempt at humour failed to make an impression and was completely lost on her. Then it dawned on me when I saw the ‘Funny-Dunny’ looks she cast my way as I tried in vain to make her laugh: her blank stares warranted a change in strategy, so I resorted to reminiscing about our childhood. At last I saw a little spark in her eyes that I had not seen in a long while. You see, when we landed in Uganda, a small part of us died. We left it behind in the rolling hills of the Transkei, that je ne sais quoi – the love to play, the desire to remain young. So you can imagine my delight when I saw just a glimmer of it in my sister’s previously dead eyes.

I recalled the days when we rolled in grass without a care in the world; bake mud cakes, chase puppies, and fight. She was more than my playmate; she was a faithful sidekick in mischief, a reliable confidante and above all, my best friend. More often than not, she was also my voice of reason, there to stop me dead on my tracks before I launched into a diabolical plot that would get my behind whipped silly by mummy. In spite of her protests,I would always drag her wherever I went. I would often look behind to be met by those big, black eyes, set in a chubby face, staring back at me. We were inseparable in mischief and in love.

But today, I had to bid her farewell and will courage into her failing spirit. At that very moment, I saw those big, black eyes set in her childlike face again. It was worth the hustle I had gone through to get to the the bus park.

It is not an excuse, but responsibility is a relatively new concept to me, particularly having to care for another human being. Due to my irresponsible ways, I forgot to make the necessary arrangements on the eve of Anna’s departure. Simply put, I had not called the cab guy to book an appointment for the morning. Fortunately, my aunt intervened and the cab guy called me to make the necessary preparations. So it was all systems go and operation ‘Get Anna to Bushenyi’ was finally on; except that I (again) neglected to buy airtime to confirm directions and time with the cab guy. Whoops!That would only be the first boo-boo in a series of events leading up to my nasty morning. 

Shortly after I received the call from the cab guy, sleep overtook me. So I told Anna to serve supper because I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer (possibly the subtle effects of the beer I had consumed in copious quantities earlier). And the night went on smoothly: we ate, gossiped a little and then I nodded off to dreamland. 

4.00 am sharp, and Anna sprung out of bed like the Energizer Bunny as I hugged my blankets closer to myself. She was up and about in no time, whizzing from room to room, busying her hands with this and that. An hour and half later when I fully roused, the house was spick and span, which awakened feelings of shame at my laziness. How I wished I could be as domesticated as she is, but that is a story for another time.

I begrudgingly hit the shower and then threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Dear reader, I add this seemingly trivial bit of information because the carelessness in which I dressed made me neglect my choice of shoe. Soon after, my phone started to ring incessantly, breaking the already little concentration I was giving my dressing-up routine. I promptly answered because I didn’t want to miss the cab guy’s call (no airtime, remember?), but as Lady Luck would have it, he hang up before I could say a word.

Now this is where whoops number 1 came back to haunt me. There being no airtime on either my phone or Anna’s to call the cab guy back, guilt hit me as Anna’s big black eyes bore into me: “I told you to get airtime last night.” So to save face and to give the impression of a responsible adult, I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes I could find, then my handbag, and dashed out of the house at 5.40 am precisely to hunt for airtime.

Inwardly I was hoping the damn cab guy would call again and ask for directions. But he didn’t, so I trudged on the dusty long path toward the shops. As soon as I reached the crook of the road leading to the shop, a boda-boda zoomed past leaving me perplexed in a cloud of dust.

All the way to the shop I was cursing the silliness that me made fall into a drunken stupor instead of getting airtime. I finally made it there, only to be accosted by early morning drunks exhaling fumes of stale beer on me and inhaling my perfume in return. Their yellow teeth glistened in the daybreak light; their beady eyes, heavy with lust, bore right into me. I was ready to judge them harshly, until I remembered that I was at the shop at that ungodly hour because of my love for tipple, just like they were.

Fortunately, Super Auntie came to the rescue again. Her unexpected call was a godsend: she had the wayward cab driver at her residence. So I hopped onto to a boda-boda to fetch him and direct him to my house.

Eager to end this early morning saga, I egged the cab driver to go faster. Then in the same spirit of haste, I harassed Anna into getting her property into the boot faster than she could keep up with. As is her nature, she was moving slowly… way too slowly for my new-found enthusiasm, so I grabbed her suitcase and hobbled to the boot. In no time, we were off; down Mutungo Hill, through the Kitintale ghetto, into the empty Central Business District and to the New Bus Park to deliver my precious cargo, baby Anna.

I suspect the cab driver was also looking forward to getting rid of this neurotic pair of sisters, so he promptly offloaded the property (and us) then sped off before we could say goodbye. I, in turn, was equally eager to get Anna on the bus and on her journey. So I did the babysitting thing and hand-holding thing, then said my final goodbye.

No sooner had I left the bus park then it started to rain. First, a drizzle, so I kept on walking. When it began to pour, I ducked under the nearest street vendor’s umbrella, only to be met with a rude rebuff in Luganda. Need I say I had forgotten to carry my trusted umbrella? When I say “rebuff”, I actually mean she barked what loosely translates to: “You woman, what do you want here?”, much to the amusement of the do-nothings lurking about her. My cheeks burned as these strangers stared at me as she prodded me, pushing me away from the shelter of her umbrella and into the pouring rain.In my attempt to flee this humiliation, I stepped into a puddle and felt the grimy liquid in my shoe, tickling my toes.

Upon look down, I realized that my cheap shoe had given way. And there, I lost the will to stop a big fat tear from rolling down my cheek. My accession to this overwhelming emotion was only met with a chide from a nameless onlooker: “But you mama, crying also…”

I couldn’t take it anymore. So I dragged this now gaping shoe all the way across town and safely into a taxi bound for Bugolobi, my workplace and solace; away from the early morning prying eyes of strangers. In the comfort of the office loo, and now more relaxed, probably exhausted from my morning tribulations, I slowly removed the offending shoe, whipped out my trusted tube of Superglue from the bag and proceeded to repair the sole.

Perhaps my sole was also weeping for Anna as did my soul.