By Odoobo Charles Bichachi
In the last two weeks, I have interfaced twice with the “unwashed” of Kampala that Naggenda referred to a few years ago. Both experiences left me terribly shaken and deeply thoughtful. The first incident was on Sunday September 4. That morning I drove to the city in my baby truck hoping to kill two birds with one stone: buy my son’s medicine that had run out of stock and replace the front indicator light of the Nyongeza that was broken.
Having picked medicine at Frieca pharmacy, I drove to Kisekka market. My two regular mechanics never worked that day so I figured I could get by with any other who could show me the light I wanted. Mistake!
I found fellows around Emerald Hotel who shouted they had the light. I gave them benefit and asked them to bring it. Instead they start to uncsrew my light claiming they needed the sample. A protested abd started the car ti drive off. That should have warned me. It didn’t.
They jumped onto the back of the truck saying it was ok we could drive right to the shop. I should never have listened! They led me to a shop at Namayiba taxi park. They tried to lead me into a dungeon garage but my sixth sense was now alert, awakened perhaps by the wafting smell of marijuana being smoked in the vicinity. I drove towards a local food restaurant and parked there and told them to go bring the light. One of them made a snide remark that I seem to like clean places. I ignored.
In five minutes, my car was surrounded by about 6 guys each wanting to do something on the car. One if them was already underneath claiming to tighten a loose bolt. By the time time I made sense of what was going on, the right right tie rod end had already been loosened and was on the ground. I screamed that they shouldn’t touch my car.
The one who had led me there came to my “rescue” chasing the others from musajja’s vehicle. He then picked the piece of the tie-rod-end that was now lying underneath the vehicle saying he wanted to put it back but needed to remove the tyre first. I lurched for it knowing if I lost it, I would never be able to move the car. Mercifully, he threw it at me sneering that “let’s see how you will put it back“.
I locked the part inside the car and went to sit at the restaurant where two gentleman who had been observing everything whispered to me that those are thieves and I should do everything to keep them away from my car and seek evacuation. I asked if there was a police post nearby, they said yes but I shouldn’t waste my time as they will not help.
I called my regular mechanic and told him the situation I was in. He said I was in big trouble but he would send someone to my rescue. He sent two of his boys in ten minutes. When the thugs saw the arrive, and they knew them as “Busoga boys”, one of them came to hurl insults at me that I can’t describe, moving so menacingly at me. He then went for one the gentleman whom he accused of warning me. He kicked his plastic chair breaking it and leaving the guy struggling to keep balance. The two mechanics continued to work, one of them telling the thug not leave me; their client.
In 20 minutes he had fixed the tie-rod-end for us to drive away but it felt like a lifetime! I was told had they managed to get the tyre off, they could have billed me a million shillings and police wouldn’t help me because they woukd have a share. I would have only two choices; pay and go or leave my vehicle and return to find whatever was left of it the next day. I was told so many people have been victims and I was saved by my quick reading of the situation and quick response of my mechanic.
A week later I returned to Kisekka market to thank my mechanic. He told me four of the boys who nearly robbed me were shot dead two days after my incident after someone they had robbed returned with plain clothed soldiers. They arrested two of them and when the others cane to protest their colleagues arrest, four of them were shot dead.
I didn’t know what to feel; be happy that thugs gad been killed or be sorry that lives had been needlessly lost? Yesterday evening, I had my second encounter with the “unwashed” in the notorious traffic jam between Namanve and Seeta when one of the lurched for my phone in the standstill traffic. Thankfully my window mirror was more than half raised and by some strange reflex action I lowered the right hand holding the phone at the exact moment the thug dived for it. He missed!
Our eyes locked for a moment. I could see disgust and hunger in his eyes. Hard luck, I thought in disbelief. These two incidents have awakened me to the city we only hear about and laugh. This time I could have been crying!