Kampala

I have news for all you New Yorkers who think you’re tough because you live in ‘the city’. You’ve got nothing on Kampala.

Excited that city buses only allow 3 people per row

A city at the heart of a country in the heart of Africa, Kampala is real and raw. The striking contrasts between Uganda and Rwanda’s capitals were both refreshing and overwhelming. Riding around town on a piki-piki (one of Kampala’s many old motorcycles) and enjoying the delicious variety of street food was very fun; almost getting run over by a piki-piki while trying to avoid the monstrous, smelly piles of trash was not.

I didn't spend long in Kampala, but I really enjoyed my time there and found most of the people I met to be very friendly and welcoming. My friends and I wandered the streets of downtown, rubbing elbows with policewomen in boots and skirts, dodging fruit vendors that appeared out of nowhere, drooling over the various fried food options, and haggling with mamas in dress shops. 

Police women in uniform

Distracted by, well, everything, the sun began to set before we found transportation back to our hostel. Zig-zagging through the downtown taxi park, I was somewhere between uncontrollable giggles and a panic screams. Kampala's main commuter station made Kigali's Nyabigogo look like a dentist's waiting office.

Thanksgiving Feast of Rolex and sausage