Who's the Boss?

We’re going on a trip together; pack your sunscreen, mosquito repellent and shillings. Did you remember to tuck in your mosquito net and take your malaria pill this morning? Yes? Well then we’re off! Hold my hand, dear reader, as we walk past the turkeys and children screaming “kristini!” Don’t worry that they call you muzungu, they just don’t know you yet, just yell back “Bye Bugandan!”

Always look around you, this potholed path to the highway always manages to make me queasy as the botabota driver’s ride up and down, their motorcycles inches from us.  Now at the road we need to catch a taxi. First an unmarked car pulls over, ignore him reader, unmarked taxis are infamous for taking, robbing and ditching tourists in deserted areas. We’ll wait 5 minutes for a marked taxi. 

A taxi comes by...but uh-oh, the driver is waving at us, that means there is a problem with the van and he can’t pick us up. Another taxi goes by, this time they are full, I can see as they pass, people are sitting 6 to a row where there is only seatbelts for 3. Another taxi goes by and he’s flashing his turn signal lights. That means he thinks you’re cute! Don’t blush, it’s funny. I think we should walk up to Keytgume and catch a taxi there, it might be easier.

As we walk into town a man approaches and talks to me. When he walks away I tell you he was asking for directions. Later, when we are looking at fabric in the market, I will admit to you he praised your beauty and asked you to marry him.

Waiting for the taxi you begin to look around the trading post. You see black cow with uncut horns, his back hoof is looped in a rope, and the other end is being pulled by two men. The cow is being forced to hop backwards on three feet and crashes down to the ground, on the highway. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling angry and shocked to see this animal so poorly treated. The man goes to the cow’s tail and twists it hard; the cow emits a wail and stands. Unfortunately for the men, this cow is now upset and decides to retaliate. It discharges putrid green poo all over the man and runs into town. The men chase it and hit it with thick branches. They beat the cow again and again as the cows eye widens in terror.  Each time the cow is hit you breathe in deeply. The woman we were buying mango juice from laughs at you and yells out in Lugandan to the others “Look the muzungu doesn’t like it when you hit the cow!” Several people around us laugh. You are about to march over and beat that man with his own stick, but I hold onto your shirt and keep you close to me.  The cow sits down again, letting the men rain frenzied welts onto its body. The man stands closer, twists the cow’s tail to get it to rise again. This was a mistake. The cow jumps up and rams into a fruit stand, the pineapples, clothing and fish go flying into the air. Encouraged by the laughter of everyone in the village, (minus the two men) the cow charges in the opposite direction, a beauty salon. The men rein the rope, still attached to the cows foot, hard but the cow continues to advance, hair extensions crown his horns and he scrapes his horns left and right, inflicting damage to the cement store walls. Eventually he is pulled out of the store and forcefully led down the small street, away from the laughing crowd.

Our taxi arrives. 4,000 shillings ($2) if you please.