Kampala is a city of many perspectives. In any one second, in a fixed space and time, people are experiencing such openly different existences. It is easy for expats to forget that Kampala – and in the larger context Uganda – is still very much developing. The city is so vibrant, with such generous, friendly and seemingly happy people that it is easy to be shocked by other images you come across. For instance, at night we often get home via our taxi-driver friend in his rather plush car that has two mini plasma screens in it. One night, back in my first few weeks here, a car-full of us were engaged in a karaoke session to the likes of Phil Collins’ “Groovy kind of love”, and Abba’s “I have a dream”. We were laughing; we were relaxed; we were oblivious. I happened mid note to look out of the car window and was faced with a barely-clothed three-year old at the foot of the window lightly tapping, wanting us to open up and give her money.
I wish I could say it was heart breaking, that her face was pleading and innocent. But it wasn’t. She was vacant. She was a three-year old with the expression of a tired, fed-up middle-aged woman finding life too hard. The juxtaposition of five comparatively rich ex-pats living it up in a fancy car and a child living in severe poverty on the streets, with but a car door between us, hit me like a ton of bricks. Versions of that scene on that night have occurred many times since, and each time I feel life is unfair and wrong and I feel ashamed of the privileges that I have. But the reality is that this is a common everyday image in Kampala – two starkly different perspectives coexisting in the same space and time.
That night had other connotations for me, with another poignant reality hidden just beneath the surface. I remember thinking that I loved the music we were listening to – girly, poppy tunes - but that our taxi driver loved them even more. This driver, a truly wonderful Ugandan man, is clearly a homosexual; however if he ever admitted that to himself or anyone else for that matter then he would be imprisoned, and if this current anti homosexuality bill gets passed in Uganda, then he could be sentenced to death. (I will discuss the anti homosexuality bill in more detail in another blog). I doubt that he knows he’s gay – he may never allow himself to accept it because of the horrific realities that he’d have to face.
I actually had a conversation with him about homosexuality a few weeks ago. He brought up the topic and I was shocked my how vehemently he agreed with the bill, and how homophonic he was. I know that this seems to be a complete contradiction - a gay man being homophobic - but I think that, for him, by taking this viewpoint he’s protecting himself. What our conversation also highlighted was how intricately linked religion and anti homosexuality are in Uganda. The bible says that homosexuality is wrong, and so the majority of Christians believe that also. But what I don’t understand is how that then translates in to Ugandans thinking people should be imprisoned or even killed for their sexuality? That isn’t Christian thinking.
Religion in so many ways is fundamentally important and good for the people of Uganda: it gives them hope and comfort in the face of a hard and unforgiving world. But it is also used as a tool for manipulation and oppression. My friend Lorna was telling me that she knows of one church where the pastor asks his congregation to give up 10% of their income for ‘God’. What that actually funds are his flights on his private jet plane. When the people ask what he’s doing with the money – because there is no evidence of it being spent on them – he says that the money ‘directly goes to God up above’. People believe that. They trust him and so they give up the precious little that they have. Obviously this is just one case – and it is probably rare – but if they people readily accept such blatant abuse of their rights, then how else have they been brain washed? Do they also believe that homosexuals should be killed because their pastor has told them that’s God’s will?
Kampala gives a false sense of wellbeing to the transient ex pat visitor. We find the city spoils us with fun and invokes a carefree attitude. But just under that fine veneer, that fragile surface, lurks much harsher truths. Truths that will take probably all of my six months here to even begin to understand.
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