Today, on the way from Mengo hill to Mulago hill, I tried to be as normal
as possible:
- Hopped on a mutatu, edging my way ahead of another person in that social game of chicken which is the result of a complete lack of lines. I had waited long enough, so I deserved to get the next matatu. Failure: I asked the conductor, in English, whether this matatu was going to New Park. I still can't figure out how everybody else figures this out.
- Rode the matatu to New Park, scrunched to the side. Failure: I couldn't help myself: I had to look out the window as we rode, because there is so much to see. (Everybody usually just stares straight ahead.)
- Got off the matatu in an orderly fashion.
- Made my way from where the matatu left me to New Park without even getting confused about directions.
- Walked to the proper corner of New Park to where I knew the Mulago matatus lie in wait.
- Failure: I asked someone whether this was the matatu to Mulago. While I was asking, another person jumped into the last seat. So I had to go into another mutatu and wait for it to fill up.
- Failure: after saying webale to the person who directed me to that mutatu, I simply did not understand the long, fast stream of Luganda (the major language in Kampala) he gave in response.
- Failure: there were two children crammed in next to me. They stared at me and called me mzungu. (I don't think it's common for mzungus to take matatus in the morning, especially alone, solely because most mzungus are too lofty to do so.)
- At an appropriate moment, softly (everyone speaks softly here) called out konducta (I still don't know whether that's Luganda or just
conductor
with an English-style accent) and paid my fare. - At an appropriate moment, softly called out masao so the matatu would stop and let me off.
- Gave a completely nonchalant and impersonal webale (
thank you
) to the conductor and received a completely nonchalant and impersonal kale in return.
So, while I may make mistakes, they're mostly unavoidable, owing to my being white. As I walked away from the matatu, I felt a bit of pride: I am now at the point where not only am I comfortable with a normal Kampala lifestyle, but also my fellow passengers can see a mzungu who isn't a complete tourist.