Second impressions of captivating Kampala: the city I barely saw first time 'round
This blog is a throwback to my arrival in Karamoja from my first research blog in the 2010s. I’ll be sharing my old posts on this new site so that you can enter Uganda like I did with the fresh eyes and all the optimism I had arriving there for the first time. The country captivated my heart from the moment I stepped off the plane. It felt like home. It was comfortable. I was comfortable. Uganda is complicated, nuanced and means so much to so many people. To me, it is a calm sigh. It is peace. A genuine hug, a loving smile. It is deep sadness. Unfortunate missteps, inspiring hope. It is beauty. It is dirty. And it is glorious. Enjoy.
The city was built on seven hills. Kampala, Hill of the Impala, derived from the Luganda language of the dominant Baganda people. It was the hill of impalas when they still had places to roam, territory of the Kabakas (Kings) of years past. It was the land of the impala back before the British stripped this lush and nourishing land of plenty away from the Kabaka and his people, little by little, 1894, 1896, 1905. It is an understatement of monumental proportions to say that much has happened in this part of the world between the British entering and then leaving in 1962 and the years of independence that followed. It is a long, tumultuous, complex, devastating and hopeful story that can’t be done justice here.
But here and now, at the dawn of 2017, this Kampala is growing faster than most cities, sprawling in size with a propelling population. I read that it’s ranked as the best city to live in East Africa and I can see why. Smiling faces and friendly welcomes find me wherever I go. It feels like a small town but it’s also just massive, chaotic, and everywhere. Home construction clogs the steep dusty roads with walled, luxury apartment compounds with armed guards juxtaposed with tin scrap metal homes on dusty deep orange hillsides.
Inside the gate, I am surrounded by lush tropical trees, bright red bougainvilleas and a swimming pool. But a short ride in an Uber brings me to a halted roundabout where shoeless children beg for money near elegant women selling the fresh fruit they balance in beautiful, brightly colored handmade baskets on their heads. Today I watched a young girl, about ten years young with a baby strapped on her back, as she tried to fill up an old water bottle from the water leaking out of a Chinese fish truck stuck in traffic. It breaks my heart.
Kampala can seem like the queen of extremes but even with the poverty, which pokes itself into the city’s daylight on jammed packed roads, it is a beautiful land. It is the land where young girls pass me on the street in my neighbourhood here greeting me with shy smiles and a soft, ‘Hello mother’ and women my own age and beyond smile and say, ‘Hello sister’. I now am initiating the greeting to others which brings a warm smile to their faces.
Kampala is lively and full of contradictions. Kampala means contrast, Kampala the chameleon, Kampala the capital of the pearl of Africa. But for me, here and now, it is the embodiment of the Queen of Katwe, the place where beautiful souls can blossom.
