His Journey to Jinja

 Ziipu (Zip) ekankwaata, yanyaaza

Omumwaka gwa 1990, that is a cool 30 years ago, nkaba ndyomwegyi omu siniya ya kabiri at Jinja Senior Secondary School in Jinja. I looked like this. This was the passport size photo in my Student ID.

 Ndamanya ngu some of you were not born, or mukaba mukyayanjura murazanira omumucuucu, konka itwe ba kaaha keira tukaba twatambwiire kuruga Kabale twahikire Busoga.

My journey to Jinja came during the Xmas holidays of 1988 when shwento who had lived in Jinja for many years, returned for the holiday and decided to take me along with him.

Nkaba mazire P7, banyesire kuza kwegyera Kigezi College Butobere, Siniya, and even my admission letter, which then was known as 'Call' had come.

Tukabitamu engeito, bus ya People's twagitembera omurubaju, twagukwata ogwa Buganda na Busoga. We left Bukinda stage 3am buri kusheesha, enkoko zitaniire. Eshaaki yeitu niyo yatwimukize yatandika kubika ngu kukurikoooo!

In those years, the road network was so por with many potholes. It took you an entire day to travel from Kabale to Kampala, a journey that today takes about 6 hours.

In some cases, buses would be stop in a place called Kinoni in former greater Masaka, spend a night and connect the following day. The reason for this was because of insecurity especially due to the presence of rebels of Herbert Itongwa, a rebel leader that plied the swamps of Katonga.

When we boarded the bus, my uncle wanted to hide me ngu ndi omwana and as such to be exempt from paying the transport fare. Atyo, anta omumkwahwa ntambura ndotami ngu ndebeke nkankaana kagufu. It is also true ngu nkaba ndimugufu, but at 13 years, I wasn't a baby.

When my uncle sat down, he held me between his legs. Then the bus set off. After Muhanga, an inspector entered and smoked me out.

"Ogu timwaana, ayine kushashura," he told my uncle.

"Come here," he said.

My uncle insisted that I was young and not old enough to pay.

At this point, the conductor decided to do test on determining whether I was old enough to pay the fare or not.

"Reeta omukono" he instructed me.

"Gwereeze ogurabye eheiguru yomutwe oyekwate aha kutu," he said.

I raised my right hand over my head and touched my big left ear.

"Tiwareeba!"

"Nikakuru," he declared.

Apparently, the only sure way of telling whether one was old enough to pay transport charges was whether he or she could touch their ear from above their heads.

My uncle pleaded and was allowed to pay half fare for me.

Kutwahikire Lukaya, bus ekemereera twaza kunia no kunyaara. Nyowe oruhago rukaba ruri heihi kubaruka. When I tried to quickly open the zip, ekankwata, yanrya akanankani.

 Remember most kids those day never wore pajemas. I was not an exception. If a zip has ever 'eaten' you, you know the pain I am talking about.

Nkanena eriino, nasheesha, reero ahanyima nashumurura ziipu mporampora until it released me.

After that, uncle akangurira ekifu kyenkoko eyokize hamwe na muhogo yembumburi, ntyo ngizaho nguguguna. We arrived in Kampala at around 8pm, omwirima gwakwasire, konka amashanyarazi garaaka.

Kutwahikire Namirembe Hill, nkaranza eseeri hariyo ekyombeko kiriho amataara gamaani garaaka.

When I asked my uncle, he told me that that was Uganda House, the building that houses UPC eya Uganda Congress of Milton Obote.

What amazed me most, nokushaamaara kweena was a word that kept moving around the building in bright lights, reading that : Drink Bell, for a Good Night and a Good Morning."

From Kampala, we drove through Mukono, the famous Mabira Forest and by around 10pm, we were crossing the Owen Falls Dam, over River Nile into Jinja proper.

My Jinja experiences and exploits are in our book, Waringa and Other Stories...