Boda-Boda Don't Care!

First of all, let’s get one thing straight: drivers are crazy throughout East Africa.

I still wonder whether the money being spent to install and operate traffic lights is in any way worth the investment. The casual adherence to traffic laws is something that unites all Kenyan, Tanzanian, and Ugandan drivers, but Uganda, especially the capital city Kampala, has a special corner on truly absurd traffic. For starters there’s a lot of it. It’s not that there’s more or less than, say, Nairobi, but the jams are certainly more frequent. For the weeks leading up to my time in Kampala, people have been preparing me for the terrible jam that constantly plagues the city. In truth, it’s not as bad as I was expecting. In fact, Ugandans seem to sincerely enjoy complaining about jams. Any time they have to stop at all, even if it’s just for the occasional red light, they angrily cry “JAM!” and throw their vehicles into park, sometimes turning them off altogether. This could last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, then traffic starts moving again.

But these things are not what distinguishes Kampala’s traffic as the worst in East Africa. That honor goes to the Boda-bodas.

Boda-bodas are motorbikes that are used as public transport, like taxicabs. And they are everywhere! (I was reminded of the bicycles in Amsterdam.) People driving cars at least occasionally acknowledge traffic laws; boda-boda drivers ignore them outright.

Traffic signals? Lane markers? Street directions?

Boda-boda don’t care!

A single bike might have three adults crammed on, or perhaps a man in a three-piece suit being driven by a teenager, or an Indian woman in a sari with a small child between her and the operator. The truth is the boda-boda is the best possible way to get around; it’s more expensive than the taxis and buses, but gets you there so much faster. (And more than a little dangerous; I understand the hospital has an entire wing dedicated to Boda-boda injuries.)

Whenever we’re out driving around, I find myself staring at them in wonder, like they are putting on a show for my own entertainment. People ride them so casually, straddling a complete stranger, either holding on to nothing or perhaps casually gripping the back of the seat behind them. Women in skirts will usually ride them side-saddle, though I cannot fathom how they can possibly find their center of gravity as they go hurtling through the streets of Kampala. There are always talks in the city about abolishing them, but most people doubt that they ever will. Boda-bodas exist in a paradoxical world where they are both the cause of the jam and the only way to get around the jam.

I am adding them to the list* of things I fully intend to do when I am certain that my health insurance will cover and all possible injuries

*Also on the list: bungee jumping and sky-diving. That’s how terrifying it looks.