I wish I could transport you to Owino Market in central Kampala so that you could experience the mayhem for yourself. So that you could walk down the 3ft wide alley ways, jumping over pot holes, balancing on planks as you creep over dirty puddles, and slipping and sliding in the mud that masquerades as the pavement. So that you have to squeeze, barge, and dodge your way past the thousands of traders, hawkers, caterers, and other shoppers, all seemingly walking in the opposite direction to you, leaving not an inch to breathe yet alone to stand. So that you can be overwhelmed by the sights you see - people shouting, people hustling, people cramming goods into every available inch, ramshackle stalls reaching to the skies, held together by prayers alone, piled high with thousands upon
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