This is a rough illustration of how my average pre-ride negotiation with a boda boda man has evolved during the last few months in Kampala.

November:

“Hello, my friend! You go?”
“Hi, how are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Very well. I’m going to Tank Hill, Muyenga, a place near Hotel International. Do you know where that is?”
“I know”.
“How much?”
“Five thousand”.
“You’re kidding”.
“It’s far”.
“How about two five. That’s a fair price”.
“No way, it’s far. Four”.
“It’s got to be two five. That’s what I paid yesterday for the same trip”.
“At least give me three five”.
“Well, your bike looks better than average. I’ll pay three thousand”.
“Take a seat”.

Now:

“Hello. How are you?”
“Hi, Mike. Fine. I’m going home”.
“Hop on”.

By the way, the term boda boda itself is Swahili but hardly an indigenous phrase. The word border (the bikes used to transport people back and forth across the Kenyan border, one source says) has just been turned into a form suitable for a Bantu language. The basic meaning is a bicycle taxi, and the motorbikes have started using the same name too. I haven’t even tried the bicycle option because Kampala is a very hilly city.

07:51

• Gradually and painfully composed a little section dealing with “Auster’s Politics of Marginality” in my dissertation. It’s part of a chapter called “The Urban Downward Spiral”.
• Joined a gym, with the objective of breaking the unbearable pattern of physical inactivity. For a number of reasons, I’ve exercised less in the last three months than ever before since toddlerhood. The climate and environment make running difficult, I haven’t had a chance to play ball games… At this time of the year, I’d prefer skiing in pristine snow somewhere in the deep woods of central Finland. Hopefully the next three months are enough to repair most of the damages before I fly back north for the summer.
• Wiped some ketchup off Tuisku’s tail. He likes to observe at close range when we eat.
• Discussed the Bolshevik Revolution with a taxi driver. He was mostly interested in whether or not it really happened (this culture, it seems, really teaches you not to take any information at face value). It did, I said. If it hadn’t, I might be Russian.
• Read in disbelief that the local Media Council has forbidden the performance of Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues in Ntinda, apparently due to the title (I know, monologues intimidate some people). The parliament is being briefed on the matter. Last week, a minister declared in the New Vision that the play is part of an international conspiracy to undermine the pure values of Ugandans. For the record, this is a country where the death penalty and polygamy are legal, teachers “defiling” (raping) pupils constitute a wide-spread problem, and the level of corruption still wavers relatively high. No doubt the play poses a threat to all this moral purity.
• Sweated a lot. This has been the hottest week so far during my stay, with temperatures well above 30°C every day.
• Sent a text message (“I’ll come for the shoes at six tonight”) to the wrong person, someone I barely know.
• Seen our Toyota RAV4 for the first time. And tested it this morning. The combination of left-hand side traffic, automatic transmission, and the Kampala morning jam provided an interesting way to start driving after a few months’ break.
• Heard from a friend that the LRA rebels, some of whom still continue their desperate warmongering in the northern part of the country, are sometimes generous enough to offer the people they ambush a chance to decide on their own fate. Three options: 1. death, 2. arms hacked off, 3. legs hacked off.
  

07:34

The second white water adventure on the Nile last Saturday turned out very different from the first one. This time I didn’t fall overboard even once. We didn’t tackle the two tough spots that flipped the boat last time (the first because we democratically decided not to, and the second because we weren’t able to hit it in the right way), the raft was slightly steadier, and there was a bit of luck too. Knowing what to expect this time, it was nice to concentrate on the fun. In the first grade five rapids, once we hit the big wave, the raft was instantly almost filled up by water, and four people out of ten were sent flying into the river. Somehow the raft stayed the right side up and surfed on the high wave for quite a while. It feels funny to be afloat with a steep five-metre cliff on either side. The best possible start for the day – a lot of adrenaline without a feeling of serious danger. And it continued pretty much in the same vein. We even avoided the sunburns because the weather stayed cloudy most of the time. There are a couple of rapids I really like: one where you face four huge waves in a row, and another where you slide down three little waterfalls and then meet one big wave at the bottom. The only little regret I have is that we narrowly missed the last big one, the Bad Place, hitting it on the right side instead of the nasty middle. We simply didn’t paddle hard enough to hit the bull’s eye, partly because it was difficult to hear the calls at the front, partly due to nervousness, partly because we lacked the paddlers who chose to pass the Bad Place in the so-called chicken boat. Strangely, it would have felt right to end the day by capsizing.

07:50