Rain Stops Play

In England rain stops summer pleasures like cricket and tennis, but many other aspects of British life continue unabated by weather. With the exceptions of snow and hurricanes, the hardy men of Rugby and real football (soccer) fight on through the wettest afternoons. Rain shall not deter the stoic Capital man from building cities like Manchester or London. Come rain or shine, it’s off to work we go.

The sun shines in Uganda’s capital at least 75% of each day, 365 days a year. It's no wonder it was once the favourite god, prior to the coming of Christ through His classic missionaries in the late 18th century. Today, believers in Livingstone's Commerce are everywhere: on bicycles, motorcycles, in mini-bus taxis, on foot everywhere, crossing the roads left-right-and-centre. Street-side vendors every few feet of the pavement (sidewalk). People talking on public phones, informing their liaison they’ve arrived in town and “sorry I’m late – traffic jam”. Bare foot kids from Karimajong with begging hands and chants of "please sir, give me one hundred" cry at the stream of cars - babies slung around the neck for extra effect - a deadly aroma of guilt and contempt riding inside. A few appeasing coins slip over the top of slightly opened car door windows. Young men walk around selling daily newspapers, 2nd hand chinos, CDs of local music wannabes and pirate DVDs, cell phone accessories, mens belts, shoes, padlocks, peanuts etc, etc.

Women take steamed matoke or rice and beans from small cook houses to hungry customers in offices. Shoe shiners brush up several pair of smart shoes while the owners walk around their nearby office block in a set of rubber souls. From beggars to smartly dressed office workers, the town is the model of hustle and bustle. But that is when the sun shines.

When it rains it usually pours down and as the density of heavy rain drops rapidly increases, so does the pace at which legs move towards the nearest shelter. It is actually the only time you see anyone move so fast and the city streets cleared of pedestrians and motorcyclists in the blink of an eye. Perhaps the odd boda-boda rushes to drop off their last fleeting fare. Within a short time everybody has run for cover under the nearest pavement overhang, many clustered around the mail boxes at the main post office, or under an old colonial shop veranda somewhere.

It becomes a little easier to move around in your car. Tyres bounce better through waterlogged potholes and some drivers have pulled over because they don’t have the luxury of a working wiper-motor. Other drivers plough through the foot-high streaming streets like a sheep through Dip.

Nobody walks for fear of being soaked with a red-brown muddy wash overflowing from the silted dead-end drainage system. Everybody watches the rain, waiting for it to stop before anything resembling movement can recommence. Even those at their workstation will watch expectantly through the doorway or window wondering how long it will take for the Intermission sign in the sky to cease and permit business to continue as usual. Don’t expect full attention if you enter a shop. The excuse for lateness shifts from the traffic jam to the weather - African Time continues.

Rain has interrupted the rhythm of life and all eyes are on the heavy graphite cloud above. Within an hour the tropical nimbus has ambled north and our equatorial sun beckons the punters out to play their survival rhythms once again on the streets of this lively, friendly city, Kampala.