The first travel note seems to have gone all around extended “Rafikiland” in such a whiz. I am reminded of the DHL adverts on the telly in which parcels travel at nearly the speed of light. A private note to some friends is now competing with Harry Potter for international attention.

 Kampala is now the place to be for rat runs, that is how taxi drivers have created new routes to get from one place to another by avoiding known areas of congestion. So, if you want to go to Kololo from Norman Cinema (now a church), you no longer take the straight and narrow way to Bombo Road past those sleepy upside down bats. Besides the bats are too busy to worry too much about your slow progress. So, to go to Kololo, you go downhill to old the Chor Bazaar (where you could buy your car light which had been stolen on the previous day), past the old rainwater sewer at the bottom of the valley. The sewer itself has benefited from extensive upgrading by Chinese contractors- the walls are now steeper to allow even more rainwater to gush past the old Ramgharia School on its way to Nakivubo.  Back to my journey to Kololo, we went up towards the Sikh Temple in Old Kampala (Rashid Khamis Road) and past the Temple, did a right turn and then a beeline to end of the road to reach one end of the Makerere Hill Road. Then we went down to Aga Khan School and the new university and started the climb to reach the Makerere University’s main gate only to slide effortlessly into Wandegeya before going past Mulago junction to Kololo. That took 35 minutes and we were only on the outskirts of Mulago. The trip to Kololo was abandoned. 

I have said previously that central Kampala has no buses. It is the day of the matatu - white Japanese minibuses with chequered flag-like lines on their sides. I realised very quickly that the chequered lines have a purpose - to facilitate race-driving ambitions of the matatu drivers. They come tearing through the traffic and screech to what should be a sudden halt at the junction; except that they have merely slowed down and have no intention of stopping. If your taxi is in their way, you have to stop. Since the road is already congested, the matatu driver sticks the sharp angular side of his minibus between your taxi and the car in front. Full marks for guessing who joins the gap in the road when the traffic moves. In the meantime, the young matatu driver (all of them are very young) is constantly revving his engine to remind you of his intentions…Louis Hamilton is tame compared to the matatu driver.

We went to Nakasero market to buy some limes to make a cooling drink. It took half an hour from the old Bombay Stores corner to go downhill to the market. At the junction of the Allidina Visram Street, it was the matatus that had created the right of way, going from left to right and vice versa. When you finally reach the market, there is of course no parking space available but cars are parked three to the kerbside anyway. The best way to shop is to let your driver go in circles, looking for a parking space that he will probably never find, while you enter the market with some trepidation - a ’school’ of totos (shortened version of  ‘mutoto’ or children)  have started walking with you. You wonder whether they know where you are going! You even wonder whether you know where you are going. They will try to meet your every need. Inside the market I was offered padlocks, flimsy toy aircraft that would split into two after one crash landing, agarbatti, spoons, combs, scarves, hairnets, ladies underwear, a ruler and a screwdriver. If there was any connection between the last three items, I am afraid I did not match the vendors’ imagination - I was only looking for limes.  All the ‘alleged’ limes actually looked like small lemons. When you asked for limes, you were offered more lemons. Then a cheeky little boy said, “This is lime” with great conviction. I was reminded of Einstein and the apple. He was holding a large yellow lemon with a skin as thick as a crocodiles tail.  Finally we did see some overgrown limes and made arrangements to buy six of them. The best price, according to the top toto was Shs 3000/- “Only for you sah, reeeally, sah!” I looked at him with suspicious interest but in an inquisitive, penetrating way. I saw rich talent, was there the beginning of a rogue trader who would be trading in hedge funds and currencies and probably making horrendous losses in 20 years time? On the other hand he could be a future president of Google or even the country when he grows up…. He burst out laughing, responding to my serious scrutiny. The rest of the school of totos also enjoyed a jolly good laugh. ” Do you think I am a muzungu?” I asked. Twenty totos replied in unison,” Muzungu!, muzungu!”. The price of limes suddenly crashed, faster than sub-prime mortgages. The limes were on offer for Shs 800/-. Six hundred is what I offered and they accepted. I took out a Shs 5000/- note but they did not have any change. One of the totos offered an ingenious solution - why don’t I go into the main market to buy other things and then come back to them with exact change? Very slick. This was too much. In the meantime I thought about my taxi driver who must have been on his 1645th round of the market still looking for a parking space. I dug deep into my pockets and found £3.15. I offered that to the chief toto for six limes. He promptly declined. I knew that he was thinking of Ugandan Shs 500/- coins, which are now the main unit and looks amazingly like a £1 coin. I begged to explain that each £1 that I was offering them was equal to Shs 3000/- at the bank. My hopes began to rise when the totos suddenly became very receptive to the proposal - they were in for a quick mega profit while I was getting tired. Then they had a quick consultation amongst themselves and the chief toto announced with great dignity,” We want dollaas”. I pleaded that £1 equals to 2 US dollars. They were not interested. I was starting to give up the idea of buying limes when the taxi driver bust on to the scene - he had found parking after 43 minutes. The driver asked them something with a terse question in Luganda. They accepted £2 for six limes. The taxi driver protested, reminding me that I was being robbed. I told him to leave me with the “deal”. Those were the most expensive limes that have ever been traded in East African history- six limes for Shs 6000/-. My new “rogue trader” was happy, I was happy but the taxi driver was sulking. After reaching my hotel, the Sheraton, the limes were cast aside. It was time for a cool 5.6% Nile Beer. I put the dusty limes in the fridge and was seriously reprimanded. It was also not a smart idea to reach out for another beer when we had spent the afternoon looking for the limes.

I hoped that my newly discovered entrepreneur, who was not more than 12 years old, was safe at home. I wondered whether he had realised the profit he was sitting on.