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!”