Between love and loss: Bitter lessons from a Boda rider’s heart
Photo: Courtesy
Kampala, Uganda – After receiving an invite on Friday for a pork retreat, of course Kyandondo was the place to be! That Alur man and his team, whatever secret ingredient he adds to his pork, it must be some kind of magic because the experience felt almost mystical. His high priest deserves a monthly stipend!
Later, around 8:30 PM, after the catch-up, it was time to head back to Mukono, famously known as the cradle of infectious happiness.
At UMA, the first boda boda rider asked for 15,000 shillings. I knew this guy had just come from Kenya because he had not yet learned Ugandan math. Quietly, I walked to the Spear Motors stage, where my math got real.
An older rider, probably in his late 50s or early 60s, wrapped in a jacket and helmet, called me over. He looked like a responsible road user.
Me: Muzee, I have 5,000 shillings to Mukono.
Him: I add someone else?
(Now this is true Ugandan math. Boda boda guys add passengers to share the fare because one cannot afford 10,000 alone.)
Me: Why not?
By God’s grace, another man with 4,000 shillings heading to Seeta joined us.
For once, I did not start the conversation.
Just a kilometer after City Tyres, we met a young couple on a boda boda. The girl was reaching back to kiss the guy. Yes, they were kissing on a boda!
Everyone looked. The boda rider broke the silence:
Him: You are her father. You see this nonsense? Children these days!
Me: Why? What is wrong?
Him: Sometimes, there is a point where you as a parent have failed.
Me: But when kids grow up, they choose their own lives!
He cleared his throat, removed his helmet so we could hear him clearly, and then broke down. We had just hit Namboole Roundabout.
Him: I do not know you, young man, but you might have a point. I have five children, three girls and two boys, all with their mother. They have made my hard-earned life a waste and a pain in the spine.
Me: What did they do?
He shook his head in disbelief, his words heavy with pain.
Him: Many think boda boda guys just talk too much, but when we meet passengers like you, we rant about our problems.
Me: Tell me more.
Him: I have been married for 34 years. My wife always loved fancy things. In Kayunga, we were the first house with solar panels and security lights, back when electricity was a luxury. Our children went to the best schools, Nabbingo and Kisubi.
Together, we ran a milk collection depot selling to a Kenyan company that dealt in Nido milk.
Me: Sounds like life was good.
Him: Sometimes, children can be more curse than blessing.
He continued:
After graduating, all the kids came back home. We hoped things would improve, but the girls started having children, and the boys did the same without shame. At first, they took over the house quarters. Later, out of frustration, I gave each 5 million shillings around 2004 to restart their lives in Kampala.
After a year, they began returning slowly. We gave each a plot of land. They sold those plots without telling us. They also sold our property, animals, and farm produce.
Me: Where were you during all this?
Him: I was busy caring for my sickly wife. The kids did not even care. The youngest already had two pairs of twins from two different women.
Me: How did this happen after such a long marriage?
Him: Whatever they learned was their choice as adults, but we did our part as parents.
Me: How did they access property details?
Him: Their mother baby-sat them, and I think she told them everything.
Me: The mother?
Him: Yes. I never knew those kids loaned our house to a moneylender!
Me: Wait, what?
Him: Coming back from Mulago after one of my wife’s fistula tests, our house was locked up. The case has been in court since 2006.
By this time, we had reached Mukono, my destination.
Him: So here I am, a man who was once well-off, now driving a boda boda on loan, with a sickly wife, living in a rented double room shop in Kayunga town — the shop in front, we sleep in the back.
For the kids, I got so tired I chased them away, but that created a rift with my wife. I thought of suicide twice.
Isn’t life funny?
I paid him, smiled, and watched him ride off to Kayunga. It was 10 PM, and the night was cold.
