Uganda Tea Bags and Kampala’s Lord Mayor

 Entebbe airport, unlike Johannesburg, has free WiFi.  And the speeds are good - at least when the waiting lounge is empty.   When my flight is delayed, I realize that there is no information desk (at all) in departures, but for a Googler that’s minor compared to WiFi. 

The airport, fresh from the ‘80s,  houses multiple small duty free shops, all of which stock exactly the same produce, but - wait for it - at different prices.  So for exactly the same Uganda Tea Bags you could either pay $4 or $6, or any other price within a $3 dollar range.  Unique market forces at play, clearly, and more physical exercise for the more discerning customer who is willing to walk from store to store to find the best deal.  No names mentioned.

I am supposed to be flying Air Uganda, but on arrival they insist that I check in at Rwandair.  Ok, mix’n’match.  Then, having been informed a week earlier that my Air Uganda flight was going to be pushed forward, they then announce that the Rwandair flight will be delayed.    “Ten to Five”, they say over the intercom, “Ten to Five”.  The prospect of another 8 hours at the airport is far from thrilling, but about half an hour later I realize that they mean “Ten Two Five, Ten Two Five”,  as in Ten Twenty Five, which is thankfully only an hour or so away.

In other airport observations, the Rotary Club of Entebbe has a long line of see-through charity donation boxes against a wall.  Rotary Clubs, whilst American in origin, are always the dead giveaway of a British postcolony, and seem to be one of the longest lasting postcolonial institutions (possibly with the most elderly members too).  Meanwhile a military aircraft with a US flag on its tail has just landed on the runway overlooking Lake Victoria.  A group of UN peacekeepers from Bangladesh are waiting inside, all crisply kitted out.  Entebbe is the hub for all peacekeeper movement in and out of the troubled eastern DRC.

Back in Kampala, the city’s Lord Mayor, who is a major opposition figure to President Museveni, was arrested a few days ago, apparently for no good reason, and yesterday there was a strong police presence outside the city court house, where I saw an insignificant crowd gathering to jubilate or protest, depending on the outcome.  Last night the mayor was acquitted, but by 6am this morning when my driver collected me, he had been re-arrested.   Indeed, familiar themes from another country to the south: the utility of harassment and the instrumentalization of disorder.

Said driver, who talks non-stop about local politics all the way the airport, despite the early hour and despite having had only about 4 hours sleep, tells me that there are laws around public gatherings, and that any planned gathering greater than three or four needs to be reported to the police in advance.

The city reminds me of Harare – albeit with an extra dose of jungle, traffic congestion, pollution and homophobia.   There are rather a lot of laidback police and security guards around, wielding AKs, sometimes whilst lying on the grass.  Yet people are relaxed and it’s far safer than somewhere like Johannesburg, despite the increased building security checks following the Westgate terrorist attack in Kenya. 

  

Eventually I board a two-prop 30-seater Rwandair plane, welcomed by possibly the most articulate, pleasant and polite steward I’ve seen in the past two years of international travel. And he warns us sincerely that our descent to Kigali, during the height of the tropical rainy season, is likely to be a bit nerve wracking.