Yesterday put my previous blog – ‘Kampala – a city of different perspectives’ – in context. Two people’s starkly different lives, a thief’s, and mine, truly did coexist and collide.
This hasn’t been the best weekend, but it has been very interesting and taught me plenty about the justice system over here and how crime and the police work.
At roughly midday on Saturday I was mugged. Sitting on a boda boda in between Adam and the driver, we were moving along at a slow pace through busy lunchtime traffic in down town Kampala. A thief – completely in my blind spot – ran at me and with what I can only describe as intricate skill, pulled my necklace free from my neck, breaking the chain in two. I wish it had just been a necklace and not my most precious possession, but such is life.
Before I had time to realise what had happened, the man shot across the road. I let out a yelp and mumbled something about ‘necklace’ before Adam comprehended what had happened. As I said – this man had skill and was quick. Without trepidation, Adam leapt off the motorbike, removed his flip-flops and ran out across the road. How he didn’t get run over I don’t know, but within a second he disappeared also. In a panic I told the boda boda driver to follow them. Luckily, by chance, we’d picked a driver who was also a university student with impeccable English and quickly we were in hot pursuit.
When we entered the road they’d run down I couldn’t see Adam and I was scared. This man had mugged me with such ease, I was sure that he was a professional thief and could have a weapon on him. The panic grew and with it fear. The realisation that the necklace was gone and that Adam may be in danger threw me into hysterics. Quickly a crowd surrounded me and people were asking what happened, and if they could help. I didn’t realise this at the time, but there is a very strong mob culture in Uganda. People hate thieves, to the point that if they catch one, they often batter them to death – or close to it. I was having problems articulating myself, when all of a sudden Adam reappeared breathless, but fine, and then two police officers (out of uniform) were saying they knew the guy and where he would run. One officer climbed on the back of my boda, and Adam and the other officer on another, and we were off.
I’ve had some pretty scary boda rides since I’ve been here, but nothing like this. We were weaving in between cars at high speeds; cars had to break to let us through and in the end I closed my eyes in submission. That morning before we set off we thought about taking our helmets and decided against it – if only we’d known what the day would involve, I’d have thought again!
As we continued – I had no idea where we were going – we saw the thief and his accomplice on the other side of the road, clearly having no idea that we were chasing them. As soon as they saw us, they started running down a path that led straight into the slums. Within an instant, Adam and the two officers were off the bikes running after them. My boda driver followed at high speeds and many times I thought we were going to crash or that the persistent bumping would throw me off. I could see Adam in the distance very close behind this man and I thought that they were going to catch him, but by the time we caught up, all of them had entered the deep maize of tin-roofed shacks.
At this point I was still very shaken up, and quite honestly I didn’t trust anyone. So quickly had people come to help and these ‘police’, out of uniform, made me suspicious that this was a ruse, an elaborate plan to get money out of stupid muzungus.
The bike couldn’t enter the slums and so I stayed on the edge with the driver and again a huge crowd of people gathered around me. People were asking what he’d stolen – I presume they’d seen the chase and guessed what was going on. Again I grew nervous. They had been gone a while, and I felt so insecure about Adam running around the slums with people who claimed to be helping us, but could be tricking us. People were on their phones, speaking in Lugandan, and I had no idea what was being said. Adam still hadn’t reappeared, but the driver and some other person – I really can’t remember the chain of events that clearly – told me we needed to get back on the road and meet the others further up. I didn’t trust this, but without Adam and being alone in the slums with people eye balling me – at least that’s how it felt - I really didn’t feel like I had much to lose.
Back on the road, with the driving becoming more erratic as we went, I still had no idea what was going on. We were trying to join a busy road when another boda driver let us out. I remember thinking, ‘nice man’. Seconds later however, something behind rammed hard into the back of us and I heard a screech and a loud crash behind us. I turned to see this same man sprawled on the floor with his bike on its side next to him. Panic rose in me, but for a completely different reason than before. In Uganda, if you knock someone off their bike you are told to keep driving and as quickly as possible. This is not because people don’t care or that people don’t feel guilty, but because of the consequences of mob culture. If you knock someone off their bike and they are severely injured, or dead, even if it is not your fault, the surrounding people in their vehicles will attack you. An eye for an eye is very much the ethos of this country.
I remember looking around to gauge the faces of the people; I remember looking at the man and willing him to get up and to be fine. Luckily he quickly recovered, his reaction being to hurl abuse at us. I breathed out – we were going to be ok and so was he. Across the other side of the road, Adam and the police officers were suddenly there and we turned the bike around. They’d lost the thieves again, but people knew with 100% who it was and apparently our next step was to go to the police post to make a statement. En route, one police officer received a call from someone in the slum saying that they had the necklace and were bringing it to us. We stopped the bike and waited; waited for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually someone turned up. I naively thought that this was it; I was about to get it back and all would be over. How wrong I was. The man unclenched his fist to reveal the chain all twisted and distorted, but the pendants were missing.
To explain, the necklace had a gold ring on it, with engravings in French and a small gold envelope with engravings on the back, that opens up to reveal a little gold letter inside. Both have huge sentimental value to my family and me, and both are very old. They’d given back the chain, but not its precious companions. The chain means nothing and presumably the thieves knew this too. The difference is they mean something to me not for their value – in reality neither are worth much, they’re just a little gold.
I think I realised at this point that it was game over. Either the pendants had fallen off or the thieves had them, but had no intention of giving them back. We spent the next couple of hours giving statements to the police. They said that they wanted to take us back to the slum to find and arrest the thief, but we were going to have to pay them 20,000Ush for the privilege. Although this is only the equivalent of about 7 pounds, it is four times what the journey was worth in petrol.
This bribery didn’t really surprise me. Although I’d had no contact with the police up to this point, I’d heard many stories about how the police will only help you if you pay them. I had also been told that you only do this post help, because otherwise they take the money and do nothing. This bribery, a common place activity, they legitimately call ‘facilitation’ i.e. they told me, “You must pay a facilitation fee”. As illegal as this may be to the British mindset, the reality is that the police get paid little and irregularly and this is the only way to motivate them.
While we were waiting at the police post, we got to know the boda boda driver that we started out with when I was robbed. His name is Henry; he’s a university student studying communication, however he wants to become a police officer. He was very knowledgeable about crime, most likely picked up from being a boda boda driver in central Kampala. He told us that he worked until six o’clock latest, because it is well known that boda drivers are often ambushed by thieves, who steal their bikes and kill the driver in the process. Sometimes drivers are even decapitated. This really put getting bodas in perspective. Adam – only once, but still once – had got a boda on his own late at night. He was fine, but he was lucky. We think by and large that it’s the boda driver you have to watch out for, and obviously that is a risk factor, but you also have to be careful that while you’re on the boda you don’t get ambushed by thieves who then rob and kill you – and if you’re a girl, most likely rape you.
We also asked Henry what he thought would happen to the thief once he was arrested. He told us that either they take them to prison and then to court, however with some notorious thieves the police simply kill them. Obviously this made Adam and I very uncomfortable. No matter how much I wanted the pendants back, I did not want this man to be killed. I don’t even blame the thief. He’s poor and there I was with gold hanging down from my neck. I understand why he did it and I’m just grateful he didn’t use other means to attain it. I do feel like an idiot, but simultaneously I do think I was very unlucky. It was broad daylight in busy crowds and I was between two men. Considering this man would know all to well about mob culture, he was pretty brave to have done what he did.
Going back to Henry, out of everyone that day, he was the only person that I trusted. He advised us on how to handle the police, telling us when to hand over money, what to give details about and what to conceal.
After waiting for the police to get organised, we paid our 20,000 for ‘fuel’ and we headed back to the slum. Adam rode with the police officers in the car, and I – because I was having trust issues – rode on the bike with Henry. Going back to the slums was not an enjoyable experience. Being white and turning up with the police in hindsight doesn’t reflect well on us. The police are corrupt and cause just as much trouble as the thieves to poor communities. I very quickly became aware that our presence may not be viewed positively.
On the main trading path we spotted the thief and the police jumped from the car to chase him. I suddenly felt afraid and sat in the car. I didn’t want to be there and to be honest there was no reason for us to be. Our faces were being banded across the community – the troublemakers. We were assured by Henry that firstly, to Ugandans, all white faces look the same and secondly, that the community wouldn’t view us badly, but still it worried me.
The police returned some minutes later with a suspect. I couldn’t tell if it was the thief in question, but they put him in the car. Adam and I got on with Henry and we all headed back to the police post. They took the man into the shack and made him sit in the corner of the room. They said they’d searched him and there was nothing in his pockets. He eventually admitted to doing it, but said that the pendants must have fallen off and that he didn’t have them. Later he changed his story and said that if he was released, he would go back into the slums, talk to his gang and bring the pendants back. It was impossible to discern what was the truth and what was his desperate attempt to better his situation. Regardless, he will go to prison, so what incentive does he have to give them back even if he does have them? He knows that the police would intercept any money that I offered, so there really is no reason for him to do anything.
Eventually the police said they were taking him to the central police station and that they would follow up with us later. They tried to elicit more ‘facilitation’ from me, saying they needed incentive, and that they hadn’t eaten all day because they were helping us. We sternly told them that we hadn’t eaten or drunk either and that I would give a reward if I got the pendants back, but nothing before. I explained that I had no guarantees, so why would I give them money. They seemed to accept this, and after signing statements we left with Henry.
As much as I feel like I can trust Henry, Adam and I didn’t want him taking us back to our door. He already said that he couldn’t go back to that slum because his face would be remembered and he’d be seen as a police ally. We didn’t want to put ourselves in a situation where he knew where we lived, if for any reason these thieves wanted to find out. We got him to drop us by our local supermarket, close enough to walk, but far enough away for us not to be traceable. This may sound very paranoid, but its gives me peace of mind.
So that ends the ordeal. As I said at the beginning of this entry, it was a bad day, but it was very insightful all the same. It’s a day later as I write this and already I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that the pendants are gone. I may have lost some things very precious to me, but Adam and I weren’t hurt and that’s the important thing.
I didn’t want to be the type of person that doesn’t wear the things that they treasure and I suppose I knew the possible consequences of that decision. Although this has happened, I don’t want to become someone that puts things in a box at the back of a draw, scared of the possibilities. With anything we do in life there are risks, but wearing that necklace everyday brought me so much comfort and I would never regret that.
The police are hopeful that they’ll recover the pendants and we will follow up with them, but I’m not getting my hopes up.
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