Rags to Riches?

1. The City

It was with a sense of immense achievement that I stepped off the bus and set my worn away sandals on the streets of Kampala City. At the age of eighteen, I felt pretty much an adult. I had been saving since I had to drop out of school six years ago. I remember grandfather’s words when he dropped the bombshell, as if it were yesterday.

“You have studied enough, my son,” grandfather told me when I showed him my Primary 4 report card that year. “It is now time to let your younger brother’s also go to school.”

May be my report had been so discouraging or so good that he felt I had learnt enough … Whatever it was, I dropped out of school and began my long journey to freedom, life and money. Lots and lots of money! That is what my naïve young ambitious mind told me. All I had to do was save enough money to go to the City and then I would find some real work, earn lots of money and become rich.

And so I began saving as much as I could from the hard labour I provided to neighbours, schools, and pretty much anyone who needed a strong bodied young man. I had a tough, old metal can that must have once housed powder milk or something. The lid fit firmly and I had my own special hiding place which I cannot divulge even now in case I need to use it again. Whenever I had collected enough I would go to the shop and exchange my small change for a larger note. Of course I have felt discouraged at times, but I was determined to become someone useful in society. I needed to become rich!

Now here I was, six years down road actually in Kampala! I took a deep breath of the city air, looking around. Unfortunately for me, the bus was just moving off and I drew in a lungful of exhaust fumes! Coughing uncomfortably I looked around for Mr. Mugaga (not his real name, but what everyone in the village called him). Mugaga was the richest man in my village. He was my mentor and my inspiration. I cannot remember how many time he told me the story of how he began with nothing, came to the City and made his riches. We would all sit at his feet and listen over and over again to his stories of life in Kampala City.

I looked around now at what I could see of Kampala City. The sun was going down making the sky turn a purple grey colour mixing with all the car fumes and dust. There were people everywhere all busy going somewhere or trying to sell something. In all my life I had never seen so many people in one place! The noise was quite a shock to my remote village system. Someone grabbed my arm and my heart began to race as I turned round.

“Mr Mugaga, you are here!” Relief washed over me like a warm drink on a cold night.

“Welcome to Kampala, Samu,” Mugaga gave me a quick hug. “How is everyone in the village?”

We exchanged greetings as he led me across the street into a taxi park. It was difficult to talk as we had to dodge people, taxis, boda bodas and cyclists. I held my small bundle of belongs close to my heart. I didn’t have much, but I did have my special rusty old can.

We were soon seated in a taxi and heading to Kikoni where Mugaga lived. I looked out the window at all the buildings we passed trying to take it all in, even in the fading evening light. I admired the shops full of merchandise and people. I envied the people. They lived here and knew their way around. Everything was normal and familiar to them. My heavy heart lighted as I realized that soon, I would be one of them.

When we finally arrived at Mugaga’s house, I was a surprised. It was not what I had been expecting at all. Mugaga had the biggest house in our village, and he was the first person to have a mabati roof (iron sheet roof). I had only admired Mugaga’s house from a distance, but I knew we all knew that it was full of all sorts of riches. The word in the village was that Mugaga’s house had four large rooms! Now here I was looking at a muzigo (one roomed house) in a large kikomera (walled enclosure) full of mizigo (plural of muzigo).

“This is where I stay in the city,” Mugaga said as he opened the door. He must have read the expression on my face, because he continued to explain. “I save all my money for the house in the village. There is no point in building a big house here when my home is in the village.”

I couldn’t accept his explanation and there and then I decided that when I was rich, I would build a home in the city and one in the village. I tried to shrug off the deep sense of disappointment that threatened to overwhelm me. My mentor had let me down.

It had been a long day for me and after supper, which Mugaga bought from somewhere, I went straight to sleep on a mat, excited, expectant and exhilarated about this new journey I was making from rags to riches. As I dropped off to sleep, a thought lingered in my mind. Imagine they buy the food already cooked in the city! Will I ever adjust to this modern way of living?

To be continued.