African Diaries IX
“There’s no planning here!”
“There’s no planning here” is something I have heard consistently in Uganda. Dr. K. was no exception, but he made note of the change in tone in recent years:
“I have worked extensively on public private partnerships (PPP) and helped the government write the legislation for it.”, he cheerfully added. PPP’s are not new to Uganda, however. In fact, since 2005, electricity distribution has been handled by such an undertaking and it is no secret that the Chinese have been building majority of the country’s new roads.
But the new Act is a brave new world and what it can achieve to regulate future PPPs is what gets Dr. K. especially excited. Most recently, the Kampala — Jinja Expressway procurement has released its evaluation of responses to its Request for Qualifications (RFQ) and among the shortlisted consortia, Chinese, French, Portuguese, Austrian, German, Polish, Turkish and Korean firms make up the world cup finalists.
Slowly (or not) but surely, Uganda is making in-roads (excuse the pun) into PPP-fuelled developmental growth. Dr. K. is now training Master’s students and executives on expedited PPP programmes.
Still yet, it leaves me scratching my head as to why Uganda has not invested in building pavements on roads. But then again, it turns out, that’s a question I was going to end up asking myself over and over again wherever I went across the continent. To my surprise, however, Kampala also seemed to have less asphalt than Addis Ababa, and no matter what others might have you believe, that is not why the city suffers from some of the worst traffic experienced in the world. And with it, the poorest quality of air, too.
Uganda gained independence in 1962. In 1963, Makerere University, originally established in 1922, has become the University of East Africa, and in a Uganda, still dominated by English planners and architects, it added new colleges and halls of residences with some of the country’s finest examples of modern architecture in what has become the most planned and orderly piece of the city. Dr. K. teaches at its Department of Architecture and Physical Planning where A. also lectures part-time.
Not only did the campus offer me sights of some beautiful architecture, but through its “Modern Africa” exhibition, I made a quick list of other sights, not only across Kampala, but Accra, Abidjan and Dakar, some of my upcoming destinations. A few buildings later, I had almost exhausted my patience with rhombic and regular hexagonal shapes and the terracotta hues as a lot of the facades deliberately matched the distinct red of the earth on which they sat, whose dust was consistently filling the air, courtesy of rampant traffic and dry air that had very little to settle the consistent dust in the air.
Outside the campus, the world was at a very different pace! I guess, the right way to put it is that the campus itself was a world of its own, as is most often the case in these cities. As I made my way down and up Gadafi Road, to retrace one of the paths we had cycled with A. the day before, as per her suggestion that “if you walk towards the Central Kampala Mosque, you will see how it has been situated to radiate all the main roads to and fro”.
The mosque, also named after Col. Gadafi, like the road leading to it, is easily the most prominent building, situated on one of the hilltops of Kampala, nicknamed “the city on seven hills” (!). That a mosque should be so prominent visually and planning-wise in a country whose 82% of its population is Christian goes to show how much the once-popular Libyan revolutionary dictator tried to exert his influence with his Pan-Arab turned Pan-African ideals. It wasn’t going to be the last large mosque in a predominantly Christian country I was to see, however.
In any event, getting to the mosque turned out to be a much bigger ordeal than initially imagined. Despite having cycled up and down its hills for 2 hours, the day prior, the midday’s sun on a small hike up a hill was really getting to me, and even though the usual curiosity and harassment from passers by wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Addis Ababa, it made for a slightly stressful journey.
By the time I got to the mosque, I could get by by claiming my Turkish (and formerly Muslim) identity to get in to the grounds for free and get a sight of Kampala’s Muslim community before my phone died and I embarked on an hour’s walk through the city’s crazy (crazy!) Nakasero Market (see below for more on that!) to finally get a bite and evaporate my extensive sweat with some strong air-conditioning at a decent restaurant.
F. has been here for well over a decade. “I’m only interested in architecture, and frankly, we have a good range of clients now. There’s desperate need of planning, though. But lack of it is not something that gets in our way”.
I hear him. I mean, how many other European architects establish themselves in an African country and become chief executive local architect for Renzo Piano who comes to design his first building on the continent?
The pediatric hospital in Entebbe will be a regional centre for children’s care, a much-needed investment, located near the international airport that serves Kampala and rest of Uganda. It will provide easy access to patients beyond Uganda and alleviate some of the pressure from the capital. Dr. K. was adamant about, this point, too:
“Due to lack of planning and foresight, Kampala, which was already the social and political capital has now also absorbed all industrial, financial, and other uses, and the country has become too monocentric”.
Nowhere are the results of that monocentricity more apparent than the layout of the city. Its hills and the valleys cutting through them (pronounced by the path of the Nakivubo Channel, although there’s hardly any water to be found along it) make for its exciting but also challenging overall topography with the city’s commercial centres culminating between Old Kampala (centre of old town) and Central Kampala (with modern centres of business). In that tightly squeezed geography are the city’s main post office, bus station, parliament building, national theatre, main stadium, oversized mosque, and a few rises. This, in what is otherwise a sprawled, typical medium-density African city with generally single to two- or three-story buildings.
Amidst this mish-mash, one area stands out. If you are approaching Nakasero Market area from the north or the west of it, after a few steps, you will realise that you are no longer controlling your own motions and are being sucked into a universe, a quintessential African street market universe where there is no hierarchy between any moving object or living species with the ultimate goal of any being transported as quickly as possible from one corner of the market to another… and it will often look aimless and inefficient.
And perhaps a lot of that hyper-paced cross-movement of hyper-consumerist goods of varying quality is what keeps the economy of these age-old markets productive, self-sustaining and scalable. Or perhaps there’s something more beyond it, but it is impossible for the naked eye to see amidst the chaos. The first-time experience is like opening your eyes under saline water, fighting the burn whilst desperately trying to find your way. Second-time is a little gentler, like adjusting your vision in a dark room while carefully treading your way.
Either way, there’s absolutely no reason why any of city’s many minibuses should be travelling through these what are otherwise wide, but feel like Venetian-scale streets due to the enormous traffic of humans, plastic, chickens and dreams passing through it. Yet, they do, and you watch them in awe, as they take a good half an hour to move… about 10–15 feet.
And just when you think you’ve accustomed yourself to stay away from hagglers, watch your step to not step into a gutter, keep your head down to prevent getting hit by a flying chicken or a 25-inch metal bar that someone’s carrying over their shoulder, you get run by a crowd of people who are running towards the direction you came from, in an orchestrated fashion, shouting in their local languages.
Before you know it and can just about make out the only words that come out of their mouth that you can make a sense of, you already smell and taste it:
“Pepper gas, pepper gas!” And you have, now, truly tasted Kampala’s heart.
The most exciting aspect of the 3.5-hours delayed journey from Kampala towards the Rwandan border is the crossing of the imaginary equatorial line from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern one. This being a bus taken mostly by locals, and perhaps with the massive delay and constant pulls over by the police not helping it, there was no ceremony, not even a pause or an announcement by the driver as the crossing happened. So, there went my chance to pose with half of my body in the North and the other in the South. But, when you do that… does part of your blood flow in one direction and the other part in the other?
While I was not going to be able to find the answer to that, I was on course to spend a calm evening and a beautiful day at Lake Bunyonyi for a much-needed respite from the hustle and bustle of Kampala. It was a perfect substitute to a gorilla safari (which I wouldn’t be able to afford with lack of time or finances, anyway). Relatively quiet as it was just before the Christmas holiday period, I was the only other guest in my lodge apart from a Caucasian-sub-Saharan African couple. As the schools were also closed, I had little expectation to meet any locals on what is a massive lake with 29 islands spread out all over it.
So, it was a great surprise, on my half-day of canoeing, that, thanks to my guide, I got to visit Bwama Island and met E. and G. who are two staff members working at the only clinic on Lake Bunyonyi. It specialises on pre-, and post-natal care as well as giving out training to residents of the islands on all essential issues such as prevention from malaria, HIV, dehydration, malnutrition, etc…
“We survive by donations from visitors and international organisations”, E. said. I got the gist of where he was going with that, but casting doubts aside, I was interested in hearing more.
“I’ve written a report to the central government regarding our lack of resources. They have given us an engine boat, which is great, but we have no fuel to keep it running, and it is essential we can reach our patients, especially women, because it is very difficult for them to canoe themselves here, particularly when in desperate need.”
He showed me the report on his phone and it is no less than impressive!
With the little cash I had left (as I was about to leave Uganda in a few hours), I did all I could, but moreover, I promised to spread the word for him and his clinic. This is a centre that provides such essential care that could save lives of a lot of women and their children.
As I was leaving Lake Bunyonyi, and Uganda in a matter of hours, I couldn’t help but think about the contrast between the hospital being built in Entebbe with money from the Italian NGOs and a starchitect Renzo Piano’s pro-bono work, with F.’s help and the humble clinic at the Lake, frequently visited by Slovenian healthcare workers and supported by an international community of volunteers.
For what it’s worth, “there’s no planning here” could be an overstatement. Yes, there seems to be a lack, even a total disregard for certain notions of planning, especially in infrastructure or basic, much-needed elements like pavements for pedestrians but at the same time, it would be overlooking the genuinely positive, exciting energy I have felt through and through with the Ugandans and those who live in Uganda, whom I have met.
Be it Dr. K., or practitioners A. and F., the crafty B., or E. and G. at Lake Bunyonyi, and everyone else in between: they have plans, big or small, but concrete plans for themselves. And these often include something for Uganda, a country whose dynamism left me with so much enthusiasm and so much to look forward to. I’ve felt a bond with Uganda and I sincerely hope to keep it.
