How Arua Park came to be
An exodus of investment began at what is now called Arua Park in 1986 when many Ugandans began returning from exile. Mansur Kumbuka, the chairman for Munno B village in charge of the youth recounts that Arua Park was an ideology of a few idlers who decided to do something with their life. “There used to be some old men, most notably Masjid an Alur by tribe, and together they basked in the shade of a mango tree eating jackfruit on a daily basis,” narrates Kumbuka. The current King Fahd plaza was built where the gigantic mango tree once grew. Masjid and his friends were so idle and thus decided to start up some business.
“Together they bought an Isuzu truck that was to take things to Arua,” says Kumbuka. It was the only vehicle taking things to Arua thus people began taking their things to Masjid to be transported to Arua. “Arua did not have any stage in Kampala and so did the people of Koboko who later followed suit and brought their things to Arua Park.” From 1990-1991, Masjid and his friends began managing buses under the ownership of some rich tycoon. “The history of success as far as Lorries were concerned was the reason they were trusted with the buses to transport passengers.”
Another notable feature that made the name of Arua Park to stick was because it was the only bus park which followed a strict system of booking buses a day before. “It is a must to book, and other bus parks just picked a leaf from our system but it’s Arua Park that started the booking process.” Today Arua Park has become an inter-park with buses plying different routes and bustling lines of activity day and night.
A Day in Arua Park
By 6 in the morning, I am already part of the Arua’s park inter-tribal, inter-lingual and inter-activity that weaves through this area. Seated in the comfort relish of this restaurant, I begin to observe and get a taste of the life at Arua Park. The morning buses, some headed to Juba, some headed to Dar-es-Salaam are almost setting off. Not so big a distance away from me, trucks are being loaded with commodities from other trucks that have just been offloaded.
Above the Total petrol station in the area, the makeshift restaurants are already booming with customers. “Bring me tea, bring me katogo, bring me Karo,” the men are heard ordering the waitresses to these restaurants. On the same street, the hardware shops are already open to the day’s business. Bags of cement, iron-sheets and piles of nails among others are loaded onto trucks headed for southern Sudan which all evidences the skyrocketing construction industry in the young nation.
It is now almost mid-day, a man who seems to be in a hurry approaches me with a bundle of dollars, shillings and francs promising to offer me unbeatable forex rates if at all I have any money to exchange. All sorts of questions engulf my mind: “What if he is a con man posing as a forex dealer or what if he turns out to be one of those armed robbers who have always encircled the area in the past?”
At Sun-city plaza, am met with different forex bureaus. However, one thing unites them all, mean-looking guards and policemen watching out for robbers on whom to open up their magazines of bullets.
At the travel agencies, a Sudanese baby takes a nap on the mother’s lap while two other tall men doze off in the waiting area. Up to now, I have not heard many luganda words. In the words of Jovin Nalubega, a lady who works for one of the forex bureaus, “The biggest population in Arua Park comprises Alurs and lugbaras.” But the restaurants are there to meet each one at their own point of need. Sudanese, Kenyan and Ugandan food is available in most restaurants. But it all has one common aspect to it, Karo, kalo or whatever you may choose to call the millet bread.
Even the men masticating leaves of cannabis are not left out of place. Tired from the previous night’s work, they can’t afford to lose a day to sleep. For Arua Park, each minute spells a shilling to the traders. Right from the shortish man burning music CDs and playing Clever J’s hit song of 2007 to the clothes dealers who from time to time take a day to sell new and second hand clothes, each minute is worse keeping the eyes wide open lest you bring a pick-pocket’s day to life.
Betting companies lay traps for the travellers; a man comes by, checks the odds on the chart and heads off to try his luck. Accommodation is one other sector that is at its best, travellers have different options as far as which guest house or hotel to spend a day or night in.
As lunchtime approaches, in one of the many filthy alleyways (mind you it had rained the previous night and the place is all slogged up in mud) the army of caterers gets ready to serve lunch.
Lunch at Arua Park is in the open, I am forced to repose on a nearby bench and order for matooke and beans which go for UgShs 2500. The lady serving me looks on sheepishly wondering how I could forget the famous Karo. The men are known for periodically tapping the ladies butts as the girls feign annoyance at the act. The act goes on even during the food delivery processes. Though the swarm of lies characterises our meal sessions, this sways none of us as we sweetly chew our nice dishes, so marinated in them that not even a fly landing on the food breaks the harmony.
Whoever to many here, lunch time passes without noticing, luggage carriers are on hand to assist in offloading a bus that has just arrived from upcountry. Two men on the other hand are trying to make a bargain as far as hiring a truck is concerned. The bargaining conversations all rotates in millions till I find out later that to hire a 10 tonne truck to Arua, one should be willing to part with an average of 1.5 million.
As the evening builds up, cocoons of men engrossed in conversations also build up. In all these gatherings, I have to look un-seriously serious. To achieve this, I needed to grab my crotch then look on awed at the surrounding. But I am not the crotch grabbing type, the best I can afford is to wrinkle my shirt and pretend to be making a phone call. At least it is characteristic of the men here.
The Night Life of Arua Park
To many people, Arua Park is a hybrid of pick-pockets when the night falls. With such warnings beforehand, I keep on checking my pockets just to be sure my wallet is in-tact. Congolese music plays at a blaring volume from the nearby music perhaps to appease the travellers who are boarding the bus to Congo. Men find solace in bottles of beer and vendors spread out tomatoes and other perishables for interested buyers.
The night finds me seated on a bench at Total Petrol Station chatting up one of the fuel attendants. The night life of Arua Park braises with cups of coffee and porridge. I order a scorn and cup of scalding tea all at a cost of UgShs 1200 and partake of the early night culture.
A woman pleads to be allowed onto the next bus but it is clear she came arrived late. Mansur Kumbuka, the chairman says, “Each bus follows a strict timetable of one hour per bus. “Once an hour ends, a bus is expected to pave way for the next bus and head for its destination without delay.”
At 11pm, I am forced to ask John Data the luggage carrier as to when Arua Park winds off business for the night. He bluntly tells me, “As far as Arua Park is concerned, the people don’t sleep.” His words are echoed by the bus that has just arrived from Juba, agents for different guest houses try to convince the travellers to spend the night in the comfort of their rooms. Unlike other busy spots, I can’t seem to spot any women of the night. Data confides in me saying, “The founders of Arua Park were Muslims and hooking up with a lady of the night is unheard of-at least they are not in active operation.” It is all clear; Arua Park is a conurbation of sorts with spurts of buses and trucks from all walks of life.
In our frenzied contemporary world, ordinary life confronts an essential tension between continuity and disconnection. For Arua Park continuity and disconnectedness are not neatly distinguishable. There is no clean subdivision, for example, between work, home and leisure. These are not like artificial periods, called by a morning bell or precisely measured out by a prominent factory clock, neither are they separate terms that have become far removed from concrete experience. It is without denial that for the next years, it will still be an area of vitality and industry.
…
