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As the world's capitals come and go, Kampala is right up there with the best of them. Lest Mayor John Ssebaana Kizito begins rubbing his hands together in self-congratulation, I should say that this has nothing to do with him. As far as I am concerned, the city wouldn't be any worse without him.
And before you tell me that a child who does not visit thinks his mum is the best cook, I should inform you that I have been around this God's planet quite a bit, from Paris to Windhoek, Lima to Manila. And I am still to find a town as fascinating as Kampala. The weather is good, the air is fresh and the hill and lake views are great, but that is not it. What makes Kampala click are the people - or rather - the medley of people's acts, which make the city one big theatre. Let's start from the main post office on Kampala Road. This building alone attracts enough people to arrest your attention for the remaining part of your life. There are the telephone service vendors - a first in the world - the newspaper vendors, the pencil vendors, and the roasted groundnut vendors. My favourite, however, are the Word of God vendors. They stride up and down the sidewalk, dramatically assuring everyone how the son of God is about to put in an appearance in Kampala, and how they will all end up in hell, unless they quickly renounce their sins. They scream, leap in the air, hit the Bible on the ground, I have even seen one do a triple somersault, but no one gives them as much as a second look. That this never seems to bother them in the least is a miracle in itself. If no one gives the self-appointed street preachers a hoot, it is not for lack of hoots. There are enough - in fact too much - of those from the motorists on Kampala's roads. You would think everyone gets a car horn for a Christmas gift. Throw in a young man in a Toyota Celica with pounding music here and there, and you have the liveliest, some would say noisiest, streets in the world. But the thing I really love about Kampala's motorists, is how they always manage to get themselves into - and out of - a maze. I think it is some kind of Ugandan motor sport - create a car mess and see if you will get out of it unscathed. Let's stop at Nandos for an ice cream. I love this place. Sit at the veranda and enjoy some of the best "optical nutrition" in town. A kundi show here, a boob show there and a bum in a G-string (actually, a G-string in a bum) elsewhere. An old man with a granddaughter for a girlfriend in this corner, and Mzungu woman kissing a Rastaman in the other. Talk of enjoying the peace ushered in by the Movement. I have run out of space and we haven't even got to the taxi park, Capital Pub, Club Silk and Rock Garden Café. Talking of Rock Garden, have you seen that Asian man who is always dressed like a woman, complete with a flashy handbag? What exactly is his case?
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