Escapade to Tororo

When my friend Sam mentioned that we would make a weekend outing to Tororo Uganda, it was like pure Alice in wonderland. Sam’s demeanour can take time to interpret. In his soft and well calculated words you need to lip-read and discern his mood since he affords a smile at unexpected moments. So as he mentioned about our visit to Tororo he was smiling sheepishly and hardly could I tell whether he was serious about the matter. This was Friday and come Saturday he appears with a backpack tightly fastened on his back and in his casual wear barely could I think we were in business. He asked me “ready for Tororo”. I looked at him and asked “were you serious?” and he clicked in his usual sarcastic manner and prolonged my name “nkt….Tituuuuuus” as if the stretch meant next time I should take him serious….i had only one option so I responded “yes I am, what time do we leave?” “2 pm” he said. Since we had this conversation at work in the border town, where the number of motorbikes outdo people by count, I jumped into one motorbike and whispered to the rider “Amerikwai” Now the name of my residence is akin a twisted nickname of the last letter of the acronym USA. Within 7 minutes and few seconds I was getting my gear ready for a journey I knew nothing about…Tororo is a town East of Uganda approachable from the west of Kenya, mostly through Malaba border. However, being Southward of Malaba border meant that we would cross the border through Busia and head north. Despite going to pick my backpack after seeing Sam with his, to my disappointment Sam said that on second thought he could not go with the backpack because the Uganda police may disturb and may confiscate his bag thinking is was a laptop….So he ordered me to leave my backpack behind and my obliging made him offer the second sheepish smile. We walked to the border crossed like street boys caring less on crossing highway while red traffic light is far on countdown. No police cared to ask where we were going or if we had all the necessary documents  including ID card/Passport, and yellow fever certificate. Even though we had all these we lacked the most crucial trans-border pass acquired by neighboring citizens when visiting Uganda. In our interpretation we were not really visiting Uganda, we were going to Tororo, and those two are not synonymous so were in betwixt if it’s a critical document to go for, and we judged on the negative. When we got to the other side Sam almost got into a Scuffle with a BodaBoda rider who ferried us from across the border to the main stage, the cause of the scuffle was he did not drop us at the designated point. Having been dropped far from the stage Sam told me we were to get to Tororo via a motorbike …now Busia to Tororo is 50 Km….I could not imagine lying my butt on a motorbike for one hour plus on a road that was rough squared. However Sam was too optimistic and again I obliged and he smiled sheepishly. We were to use the same motorbike and we so bargained for the lowest offer and we got a customer ready to ferry us to Tororo at 7,000 UGS. After few minutes ride you get to a road as straight as an arrow and we could literary see the road vanish into the horizon in front of us….The motorbike broke down twice on our way and once we helped repair it nevertheless the rider was not keen to give a dime for our service or revise our fare downwards….after one and half hours ride we were near Tororo cement factory in the outskirts of Tororo town and Sam mentioned that we should have lunch since we had not eaten anything while leaving our motherland….Where I come from we do not have a variety of cuisine or so I suppose. My hopes were on Sam since in the last few hours I had realized he knows much about Uganda and their way of life. I could then only wait for him to make and order first and i would tell the waiter “same”. Sam asked for Posho in another name known as Kawunga and when his order came I realize I was Ugali so I changed mine to Matoke which was steamed green bananas (but not Plantain) and served with meat. (This we too eat in Kenya) Naturally, I eat very first even my supervisor knows, but this time Sam beat me at my own game. Within few mintues we were full and on a taxi (in Kenya this means Matatu) headed from the outskirts of Tororo a place with a cool restaurant often visited by Indians and known as Rock classic. This is the place where the fine and the non-fine mingle at the same table. A place for secret silent savagery, a place where vultures vanish vulnerably and a zone for zigzagging zombies. Nevertheless the attraction of the steam bath and the Sauna is heavenly and once you get into the Sauna and start dripping sweat all your problems drip away like drops of liquid plasma. You forget the troubles of eons and see the beauty of life ahead. The sweat slowly make a thin stream from the seating position and slowly you watch if form a river in the imagination of the world and almost dose off in the intense heat as the skin follicles dilate and let off the troubles and traumas of “yester” days. It makes you look yonder and breathe the newness of life. The girls on the side who seem to have seen more heat higher in temperatures than that the sauna hold it longer inside the sauna than men. And one by one the men start leaving the Sauna to sip few cups of coffee available on the table outside. Some drink it with lemon some do it back and conc while others including your truly add a couple spoons of sugar. The steam bath is the next place to get into minutes after the Sauna and as the ladies melt away in the heat of Sauna the men bath in steam. At their very last breathe of hot steamy air, the very last they can hold, they dash out to jump into the swimming pool. I watched in amazement as all this unfolded in my very eyes and I asked “where have I been all this time”. Even though I could not stay long in the Sauna or spend 5 minutes bathing under the steam as hot as hades, I had no iota of doubt that i was experiencing life in hard copy with every imagination of fun unfolding below the bridge of my nose. Being a teetotaler, I let Sam have a bottle of the “Nile” and after seating down to gulp more glasses of coffee to replace the water that drained as our bodies sweat we started our journey back. We did not want to try the massage offered by the Ugandan girls because of two reasons: One it was as expensive as their smiles and second we were not sure whether the seven letter word was meant to be just ‘’that’’. It had started drizzling so we tried to stop the boda boda outside the gate of Rock Classic and many of them declined. We were not sure why and something told me that the gods had told them we didn’t have the trans-border pass. Luck got to us and we got one boda boda who gave us a ride back to Tororo town. Now the clouds had fully gathered and the rains were almost starting to pound. We jumped into one car and negotiated for fare while inside…fare back to Busia border…Within no time the vehicle was full and we started our journey…barely had we gone far than the rains fell like skies had cracks. The vehicle ferrying us got stuck in mad and to make it worse the headlights stopped working…..it had become dark or why else do you think we had to leave Tororo. The driver of our car told us that he could not proceed with the journey. Luckily we had not paid. I looked at Sam in panic since we were stuck in a foreign land, late at night, without a border pass….Sam looked back and for the third time smiled sheepishly, and I almost got upset. I really wanted him to join me in panic. The Busia Tororo road has no many cars that can ferry people but luckily another car approached us but heading back to Tororo town. We chose to get in and go back to Tororo town trusting that the driver would get another route since the one we were was now impassable by any Japanese second-hand car (or third-hand car especially now that this was in Uganda, where they import vehicles after the end of shelf life). The driver was ready to use another earthen road albeit smooth to ferry the passengers to Busia. That’s how we got back and at 9 pm we were crossing the border back home without the interstate pass. The relieve I got when I made my step into my mother land is equal to the joy of a new mother giving birth to twins….I looked at Sam, he looked back and smiled sheepishly…we bid each other goodbye and we have never discussed our escapade to Tororo to this day…I hope we shall after he reads this story.

The Casbah of Algiers

The Casbah of Algiers is one of the most interesting areas I visited in Algiers…The meandering and curvaceous roads that lead to the hilly fortress makes it difficult for huge vehicles to navigate.

When one gets to the houses of the Casbah you are greeted by very narrow seemingly old corridors that feed into the whitish concrete houses inhabited by low class people of the city of Algiers. The houses around the Casbah have very little ventilation and one has to bend severally to avoid smacking their heads against the concrete roofs. The stair cases on the Casbah go round and round akin going to the high heavens.

The breathtaking scene is when one gets to the top of the Casbah to oversee the beautiful sight of the sea and the port. It’s amazing to see the number of small houses that align the edge of the seaport and how difficult it would be to demolish any of the houses to erect new ones.  It is difficult to tell the number of people that live in within the Casbah of Algiers and it will be equally frustrating if the government ever thinks of demolishing the houses for expansion to cater for the increasing population.

From the top of the Casbah overlooking the seaport

The Casbah has no mean fame as it is the site for the movie “Algiers” produced by Charles Boyer acting as the French “Pepe le Moko”. The battles of Algiers a film of 1966 is another historical narrative that begins with the organization of revolutionary cells in the Casbah. The song Rock the Casbah by the Clash is another hit that makes reference to the great hanging ancestral scene of this city of Algiers

Down to the streets in main town you experience the architectural designs of buildings whose edges start right next to the highway. It’s difficult to park your car outside as we do in other major towns.

President Abdelaziz bouteflika is said to be aging and ailing and fears are eminent on who really controls the oil rich gas-exporting country. The North African Country has beautiful road network deprived of potholes. The money form oil has made it possible for effective distribution of services. Almost every person owns a small car and the city of Algiers enjoy the services of electrified railway system. The Arab Country has experienced enough fights never to wish for more. The monument of Algeirs stands to commemorate the martyrs who died in the war of independence from France - some figures put it to 1.5 million people. The people of Algeria are peace loving. And they wish their country well. However they live in fear of any upsurge of terrorism and they keep praying for prevailing tranquility to persist.   

The policemen of Algiers are a disciplined lot. Each policeman patrolling the city and its neighborhood has a police motorbike or a heavy vehicle. They clear traffic while blowing whistles just like the policemen of Kampala Uganda. However they never harass motorists for flimsy mistakes like we find it happen in Nairobi Kenya.