A Day in the Life: Dinner in Kampala

Remember how I said it’s tough to find rest in Uganda? I was pretty bushed this evening and decided to go out for a leisurely dinner. My first mistake.

I decided to walk, but bodaboda (motorcycle taxi) drivers can pick out a walking mzungu (white person) from 3 miles. While blindfolded. So they honked and tried their only sales pitch: “We go? We go?” We finally went. I was tired.

So I hopped off in front of my favorite Ethiopian place, a little nook in Kabalagala (go ahead, pronounce it, 3 times, fast), and ordered an amazing mixed vegetable plate. The owner and chef came out to greet me and as I finished my meal I asked her about how she came to Uganda.

Her husband, as it turns out, is a political prisoner in Ethiopia. She fled four years ago after he was arrested. She hasn’t seen him since. She’s digging out a life cooking cheap food for the small Ethiopian community. Not enough life to put her children in school, though. She just shared, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She asked for nothing.

I sat silently, staring at the top of a tree across the street, trying to think of a way to help. A movement near my knees brought my eyes down. A polio victim pulling himself along, flip-flops on his hands, had noticed the mzungu, me.

”Money for food?” he asked. I told him he could eat with me. He decided against Ethiopian and just had a soda.

It was a good dinner.