You know that T-junction in surrounding areas? It doesn’t matter what and surrounding areas. This applies to all parts of Kampala and their surrounding areas. You know the T-junction?  

The T in T-junction stands for treacherous, apparently.  Especially at night, because all the essential ingredients of Kampala chaos are present and active at a T-junction. We have at least one bar, an abruptly-formed taxi stage, a swarm of boda bodas, police patrol who think their sirens are from Hogwarts and can open portals in clogged traffic, and food vendors who take up all the pavement space so pedestrians have to scuffle along the edges of the road.

At the best of times getting through a T is a task. Bodas can and do emerge from any direction at any time. I can’t rule out a boda emerging from underneath a car or from above one.

I wouldn’t cross this road without looking left right left again and then looking above to offer a prayer that I make it.

But this cab driver. I don’t know what kind of Dom Torretto he thought he was, but he was entering this junction with one hand holding his phone, both eyes on said phone, and the other hand removed from steering wheel to stroke and caress aforementioned phone.

I was in the back seat of a person who was driving into the junction and he wasn’t looking at the junction. He was not even touching the steering wheel.

I frantically, sternly, loudly, bringing all my grey hair into play, demanded that he freaking drive with sense, and underlining the fact that this ain’t Fast and Furious, this is real life.

And the journey progressed with an air of tension in the car.

Poor Nganda the Cabdriver. He doesn’t like it when someone comes into his car telling him how to do his job so he was quite offended.

This is how pissed off he seemed. Usually, when we get to the gate, the car hoots, and when Nobert opens the door, the car drives into the compound then lets me out when I am secure. It is one of the reasons we use cab apps and not bodas that late. It is so we have some protection against those who waylay latecomers at the gate. Let me drop some rhymes Gangsta rap seems an appropriate juncture.

Them thugs decide to wait

Any time after eight

They hide near the gate

And the crime rate

Will escalate

When they take your laptop and leave you to ponder your fate.

Yeah. Eminem just became the second best rapper alive. But back to Nganda.

Nganda reached the gate, extinguished the engine, and began to stroke his beloved phone again to see how the app will kubanja me.

No those of taking me inside the compound. I guess he felt that if he can’t get me into a collision with a jeep trying to get to Nexus from Bukoto via hyperspace then he will at least have me mugged outside my own home.

How passive aggressive we are today!

There is a saying in my village. We say the customer is king. So I paid him.

Then I opened the door.

Got out.

Took my migugu out.

And forgot to close the car door behind me.

I really didn’t intend for this to be some kind of revenge or passive-aggressive retaliation for his own passive aggressiveness. I literally just forgot. I was tired, it had been a long day, and I was really eager to get home, pour out a whiskey and relax. 

But I left his door opened and he had to get out and go round the car and close it. I don’t know if he got mugged while doing so, because sometimes the universe takes care of things for you, but that’s enough about me. How have you been?