A Mzungus' Guide to Boda Bodas in Kampala

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Kampala. The second half of the course was based here, so over six weeks I got to know it pretty well. We were studying at Mulago hospital, an institution famous throughout Uganda and beyond. Anyone who’s seen the film Last King of Scotland should recognise it. A sprawling assortment of imposing 70s towerblocks, official capacity of 1500 beds, bursting with maybe 2500 inpatients. Buildings stretched far beyond what they were ever designed to handle, staffed by people doing far more than can reasonably be expected of them. By the time we left, some of the interns had apparently not been paid for three months. To call it a challenging environment doesn’t even begin to do it justice, but it was a privilege to study here.

Kampala itself split opinion in the group. Some people hated it for its dirt, noise, chaos and absolutely abominable traffic. I loved it for its lively randomness. I loved the nightlife, and the terrible music. I loved the fact that I could walk down a main city street and happen upon a goat eating a banana skin inexplicably standing atop a pile of 5 scrap cars. I loved that even pharmacies feel the need to have a soundsystem, blasting out music at 11am. Especially around the outskirts, everything is alive with strange activity. Things spill out onto the roads so you can’t walk along the potholed pavement because someone has set up shop and is building a sofa, cooking corn, sharpening knives. If you want to buy a beard trimmer from a man standing in the middle of a roundabout at 10pm, Kampala may be the place for you. All this activity generates a fine copper coloured dust, which rises gently in the warm air and gives the light a filtered quality, until a sudden downpour turns it temporarily back into mud.

It tried my patience at times (for example when members of the congregation at the church behind the hotel were speaking in tongues through a megaphone at 2am), but having left it behind a week or so ago, my memories of Kampala are overwhelmingly positive. I can imagine the doctors who live and work here full time have a less rose tinted view.

Anyway, when I think of Kampala the one thing that springs instantly to mind is Boda Bodas. The ubiquitous motorbike taxis, thousands of them weaving through the terrible traffic jams of the city like shoals of fish.

Due to their central importance in my Kampala experience, I have decided to write a little guide to Bodas...



A Mzungu’s Guide To Boda Bodas In Kampala

When you first come to Kampala, you think that you will simply avoid getting on a Boda. I call this the denial stage. Kampala is big and hot. The pavements are essentially an obstacle course. Walking is a pain. There are, according to my calculations, approximately 4 taxis in the whole of Kampala. They are expensive, and the traffic means they take at least 3 days to get anywhere. You will get on a Boda. The sooner you accept this inevitable fact, the better.

On our first day in Kampala we had a talk from the director of the hospital, a formidable lady who warned in no uncertain terms that the most dangerous, foolish thing we could possibly do in Africa was to ride on a Boda, and that we were absolutely forbidden from doing so. She’s right, of course. The hospital is full of broken motorbike accident victims. It’s a huge problem. The course director took a more pragmatic approach and bought us a load of helmets, perhaps as a form of damage limitation. Do not get on a boda without a helmet. You may think that carrying a helmet around Kampala would be inconvenient, but it’s not so bad. Helmets can double as a basket to carry shopping in. If a group of you have them with you on a night out, you can wear them to do a synchronised Daft Punk dance. They’re multifunctional, really, if you’re creative. But seriously. Wear a helmet.

Now you have a helmet, the next step is to find a Boda. You may wonder how to tell the difference between a Boda and a normal person on a motorbike. At first, this concerned me too. I was worried that I might cause offence by accidentally soliciting some random citizen who was simply riding their motorbike to work. You don’t need to worry about this. The Boda will find you. Walking down the street, you will be asked whether you require the services of a Boda roughly once every 12 seconds, or once every 7 seconds if you are carrying a helmet. A Boda once pulled up alongside me and asked if I needed a ride, while I was still in the process of dismounting from the Boda I was already on.

So you now need to select your Boda. Many Boda drivers are intelligent, educated men who due to lack of economic opportunities simply can’t find a better job at the moment. Some are homicidal maniacs. It’s hard to tell the difference. The bikes are also variable. Some are personalised with comfy, leopard print seats. Others have footrests made of coat hangers. I like to introduce myself by name, on the basis that they might feel slightly more guilty about hospitalising me if I have an identity. While I am doing this I look them in the eyes, to check they aren’t visibly bloodshot and are both facing in the same direction. This is especially important at 3am. You don’t have to get on the first Boda that shows up. Be selective. I have dismissed one in the past for looking too deranged. When I have identified one that looks both sane and sober, I then smile sweetly and ask them to drive carefully, because I’m scared of motorbikes. This has backfired at least once, when I made the guy so paranoid that he was driving at about 5kph and I had to tap him on the shoulder to tell him to hurry up.

Based on my experience, if you give them the name of your hotel, they will enthusiastically assure you that they know exactly where it is. They will then drive around completely at random, stopping to ask other Boda drivers “where the fuck is Kolping Hotel?!” in Luganda. This will take at least half an hour, and it will be raining.

There is a metal bar on the back of the seat, and you must put your hands behind you and grasp this tightly. If you are wearing a skirt, ensure that you also find a way to secure it in position or the wind will catch it and you will flash everyone on Kira Road.

It is also important to remember that Bodas will often drive in unconventional ways, for example in the wrong direction down the road, on the pavement or over a roundabout. This is normal. If you are a girl, they may also drive very slowly past other groups of Bodas (sometimes twice) and say something like “HEY CHECK OUT MY MZUNGU”. This is also normal, if a bit weird.

Don’t worry about baggage. Literally anything can be transported on the back of a Boda. I got one to carry me half the way across Kampala with three months worth of luggage, including two massive backpacks, laptop, textbooks and shopping. I had so much stuff I couldn’t actually stand up, yet the Boda driver was unconcerned. My arms were so full of bags I had no way of holding on aside from gripping with my legs, so I did have to make him stop at one point because I nearly toppled off backwards while we were going uphill, but overall it was a success.

These are my top five favourite things I’ve seen strapped to the back of a Boda in Kampala

1) A coffin (hopefully empty)

2) Several live goats

3) A wardrobe

4) A full size, fully extended ladder, pointing upwards, sandwiched in between two people

5) Another motorbike

Next important tip - keep your knees and elbows in line with the Boda at all times. They will squeeze through the tiniest of gaps between vehicles, and if any part of your body is protruding even a milimeter further than that of the Boda driver, prepare to have it scraped across somebody’s wingmirror.

Obviously, the exhaust pipes get hot. Dismount the Boda in such a way that your calf does not press against it, branding you. This should be avoided if at all possible as it is a very “mzungu” injury. Avoiding it is easier said than done when there are two passengers on the bike and you’re drunk and wearing a skirt. At least once I have inelegantly dismounted a boda in such a situation, and fallen flat on my face. This is ok, as the embarrassment is only temporary whereas leg burns take a long time to heal.

Kampala locals transport entire families on the back of a motorbike, complete with pets, so you can get two mzungus on a Boda. Easy. If one is a girl and one is a boy, the girl must go in the middle, between the boy and the driver. Don’t ask me why. It is just The Way. If you accidentally try to put the girl on the back, the Boda driver will make you both move and imply that the boy is an unchivalrous cad. Maybe the think being in the middle is safer, or maybe they’d just rather have a girl squashed up against them. Either way, the girl must go in the middle. These are the rules.

Almost anywhere to almost anywhere else will be about 3000UGS. On haggling with Bodas, if all else fails, get your one of your East African friends to negotiate on your behalf. Late at night, leaving clubs and bars, they will sometimes try to overcharge you a crazy amount. It really helps if you have your massive Sudanese mate shouting “THESE ARE NOT MZUNGUS, THEY WILL PAY NO MORE THAN 3000 AND YOU WILL BE USING YOUR BRAKES”.

Finally, as a general rule, if you are too drunk to walk in a straight line, you are too drunk to maintain the degree of balance necessary for a Boda. Don't do it.

So there you have it. Everything you need to know to survive Boda Boda riding in Kampala. Good luck.

(But joking aside, they are dangerous. I have seen the results of Bodas gone wrong at the trauma centre in Mulago, don’t get on them if you can possibly avoid it, and if you have to then WEAR A HELMET.)

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Comments

[ronald]

sweet sweet memories
hahaha! jenny that was a lovely walk down memory lane. had my first boda experience in Kampala, spent the whole trip clenching my butt cheeks imagining scrapped shins and knees, but all good. great article. good times.

[D MJ Binkley]

Survival guide to Kampala and Bodas
Loved your blog...."Many Boda drivers are intelligent, educated men who due to lack of economic opportunities simply can’t find a better job at the moment. Some are homicidal maniacs. It’s hard to tell the difference."