Travel to and from Kampala: Matatus and the new taxi park

Living in rural Uganda, has meant several trips to Kamapala (the big city), in order to experience some semblance of anonymity and generally, have a break from life in Kasana.  We have found an inexpensive, friendly, clean hostel where you can do work and experience consistently full internet bars which is unheard of in our rural home.  For 11,000Ush (approximately $5), getting to Kampala is relatively easy by public transport – meaning matatu minibuses, which congregate near the fruit vendors on the Kampala-Gulu highway (the only paved road) which runs through the centre of Kasana.  While only 70-ish km to Kampala, the trip by matatu, can take anywhere from 1.5 – 3 hours depending on the traffic congestion within Kampala, and the amount of time required to wait for the matatu to leave.

To maximize trips, the matatu vans only leave when they are full, which is “14 passengers” according to the painted writing on the matatu door.  Typically however, this number is far exceeded.  The vans themselves, are essentially modified cargo vans (with windows),  with 5 rows of seats installed, none offering functional seatbelts.  The seats along the passenger side flip down to allow access to the rear of the van, and are often more wobbly than the others (which are bolted to the base of the van with varying degrees of security).  As the second most common mode of transportation in Uganda (next to the boda boda motorcycles), matatu vans are “somehow” safe means of transit and everyone has their own philosophy as to the best place to sit while in transit.  Many swear that it is best to sit at the rear, as the vehicles are often involved in head on collisions, thereby categorizing the first 3 rows as “crumple zone.”  That being said, it the van rolls into a ditch, good luck getting out of the back due to bars which extend the medial length of the matatu’s rear windows.  Following more than one successful journey, my traveling companions and I have shared our thoughts as to our mental contingency plans should the vehicle not make it to our expected destination – it is best not to verbalize these thoughts during the trip itself.  After reading about matatus’ dubious safety record, my mother called me from Canada to tell me I should be wearing my bicycle helmet while in transit… as if a mzungu (white person) doesn’t already stand out enough, not to mention the lack of head space requireed to accommodate the helmet (sorry mom, I know your thoughts were well intentioned, but they primarily provided us with comic relief). 

Matatu vans leaving Kasana travel to the New Taxi Park in Kampala.  The taxi park is an indescribable sight which must be experienced firsthand.  It is the size of a football field jammed with thousands of identical white matatus, lined bumper to bumper in what appears to be “organized chaos”.  Each corner of the unpaved park contains a red sign indicating the region of Uganda to which the vans will travel.  Much time can be spent negotiating through the park in order to find the right destination area, during which time, one is continuously dodging moving vans, vendors, mud puddles, other travelers and swindlers.  If you are likely to be mugged, this is the area in which it will happen due to the congestion, and the ability for thieves to easily disappear among the crowds and vans.

The park also acts as a makeshift garage, with all types of vehicle repairs ongoing amid the chaos.  The other day, myself and my traveling companion climbed into a van heading to Luwero (the district in which Kasana is located).  We were excited because the van was nearly full, meaning we would be leaving soon.  However, after waiting 15 minutes we were still not on our way, and we began to look around.  It was at this point that I noticed there was no driver’s seat – at all, merely a rusting white painted metal void where a seat usually rests.  Turning to the man to my right, I pointed and asked about the driver’s seat, the man casually pointed upward.  My friend and I decided to change vans after waiting another 10 minutes with still no action, or anyone looking into installing a seat. 

After switching vehicles, we could see our former matatu.  Sure enough, the driver’s seat was propped up on the roof, with all the other passengers still patiently waiting for something, or anything to happen.  Half an hour later, as we drove out of the park, nothing had changed.  All the passengers still waiting, and the driver’s seat remained uninstalled on the vehicle’s roof.  I began to wonder if maybe there was a reason all these people were waiting for that specific van to leave – perhaps the driver is especially safe and worth waiting for?

               While you’re waiting for a matatu to leave, you need not worry about entertaining yourself, or getting peckish.  Hundreds of pushy venders swarm filling vehicles, offering anything and everything for sale.  Through the van’s open doors and windows, men and women try to sell their goods often handing or throwing items at you with the expectation that you will buy.  The perception also exists that mzungus have money to spend, and therefore should be buying regardless of need.  At any given moment at least 1 vender will be “working your van” while you wait to depart the park.  Once, I nearly lost a lock of hair from my ponytail.  I was turned around speaking with someone seated behind me, and a buzzing noise in my ear made me whip my head around only to find a man selling electric razors, with one turned on inches from my face.  My startled look prompted a roar of laughter from the vendor and adjacent passengers.  While some become aggravated or annoyed by the sellers, I find it quite entertaining, and an opportunity to joke around.  “What are you saying?”  I ask in fictitious horror, to a man pushing deodorant sticks toward my face, while dramatically inhaling the scent from my armpit. “I already smell like roses” I insist, to the contrary, wondering if the guy actually did have something on me.

I also find it interesting to see all the different items being sold.  Nonetheless, I have discovered that the Lugandan word “Sagala” which means “I do not want,” is invaluable when dealing with the taxi park vendors.  It is the theme of the following “Dr. Seuss” inspired poem I jokingly wrote while waiting for the matatu to leave during my last trip home from Kampala.  

Sagala – I do not want

(Dr. Seuss meets Kampala's New Taxi Park)

I do not want it in the van,

I do not want it from that man.

I do not want it through the door,

I do not want it on the floor.

I do not want if off your head,

I do not want it green or red.

I do not want it from a box,

I do not want that pair of sox.

I do not want samosa pie,

I do not want a man’s shirt tie.

I do not want a loaf of bread,

I do not want a spool of thread.

I do not want cassava chips,

I do not want them, read my lips.

I do not want a soda pop,

I do not want a brand new mop.
I do not want a fried hopper,

Clearly, I am not a shopper.

I do not want a leather belt,

I do not want an ice cream melt.

I do not want a solar light,

I do not want it black or white.

I do not want a tray of fruit,

I don’t want any of your loot.


I do not want those eyeglass shades,
I do not want those shaving blades.
I do not want those children's books,
I do not want your pleading looks.
I do not want a wooden mirror,
"Sagala sir," I think that's clear.

I do not want that perfume spray,

I do not want it from a tray.

I do not want a cooking pot,

I do not want food cold or hot.

I do not want a bar of soap,

I’m sorry that I crushed your hope.

I do not want a bag of nuts,

I do not want your jackfruit cuts.

I do not want a stick of gum,

I do not want them for my mom.

I do not want hair for a weave,

How much longer untill we leave?

I do not want mosquito nets,

I do not want your bracelet sets.

I do not want those biscuit cakes,

I do not want your knock-off fakes.

I do not want that cell phone time,

I do not want it, that’s the rhyme.

Now here comes passenger 19,

That’s not the most I’ve ever seen.

So finally we are set to go,

And leave these venders to their show.

Still one more time leaving the park,

“Sagala” is my last remark.

Source - http://outofuganda.wordpress.com/2008/06/
Pulling out a camera is not advisable due to concerns about theft.