Remininscing Mbale, Episode 3: Murphy's Law.
Anything that can go
wrong will go wrong...
I was efficient in what I did. I covered more ground than I was expected to. Hence four out of five days, I worked hard and worked smart, improving rural transport. Yes, Fridays for me became travel days, I could not wait to meet my girlfriend, now wife, or to shoot pool with Peter at club 5, catch the new movie at Cineplex or the occasional beach party with friends. Weekend for me started Friday morning, right after briefing my boss on my progress on the various filed activities. I insist, I did not cheat the company out of its time rather I had perfected my time management. I remember those days, when my boss would be late for the Friday briefing at his (curiously not mine) breakfast restaurant, he would find me fuming as though I wasn't paid to work on Fridays! Most time Friday was also payday. Imagine my first job and I was paid per day and I had the option of receiving my money weekly or monthly! Eeh that was the life!
Each week I would sneak off right after the meeting – with a pocket full of money and a heart full of sunshine – hoping that Boss man would not call me from office to meet again and clarify about some random idea/ activity. On a few occasions I would actually ask him for a day off to go sort out home issues.
Sunday afternoons would find me on a bus for Mbale, but there were a few times when I felt a bit lazy and chose to leave on Monday morning. It was in those circumstances when Monday morning found me in Kisaasi rather than Indian Quarters, Mbale (mistake number 1).
I tried to catch the 6am bus for Mbale, and missed it by a full 15 minutes, blame it on the Kisaasi taxis. I had two options, A minibus (coaster) that takes about 6 hours for a journey of 4 hours, sits more passengers than a 62seater bus and stops for a customer to sneeze! Or a bus leaving at 6:30pm... Clearly I chose the bus (mistake number 2), to the minibus conductor's chagrin.
An sure enough by 6:40 we were en route and that is when I was Informed that the bus would stop in Jinja town first before continuing to Mbale! We had the customary stop at Namawojjolo for roasted chicken, liver, beef and gonja [roast plantain]. But passengers! They were eating as though they hadn't eaten in weeks!
8:30 am found me in Jinja.
About, 9:20 we were leaving Jinja. Arrrrrrgh
About 10 minutes later I got a call from none other than my boss inquiring where I might be since he was in office already. I made the third mistake: I lied. don't ask, I don't remember what I said. But I must have told him I will be there soon.
20 or so minutes later, the bus' fuel tank got loose and due to the potholes along Jinja Bugiri road, it broke off and we managed to flatten it with the rare 4 tires (it was a 10-wheeler bus).
30 minutes later the minibus caught up with us. And added about 20 more passengers into its belly! Minibuses! I remember the conductor asking me why I had refused to board his bus earlier. To his surprise I refused to enter again (mistake number 4).
The next bus arrived soon enough and we boarded. I was laughing quietly when we passed the minibus again but then things changed instantly. We were informed that the bus we were now using was passing via Tororo then Mbale (adding about 30km and another precious hour to the already long journey).
And sure enough it was after 1 pm when I arrived in Mbale!! As for my boss, the truth reached him on foot three hours thirty minutes after the lie had jetted.
I was efficient in what I did. I covered more ground than I was expected to. Hence four out of five days, I worked hard and worked smart, improving rural transport. Yes, Fridays for me became travel days, I could not wait to meet my girlfriend, now wife, or to shoot pool with Peter at club 5, catch the new movie at Cineplex or the occasional beach party with friends. Weekend for me started Friday morning, right after briefing my boss on my progress on the various filed activities. I insist, I did not cheat the company out of its time rather I had perfected my time management. I remember those days, when my boss would be late for the Friday briefing at his (curiously not mine) breakfast restaurant, he would find me fuming as though I wasn't paid to work on Fridays! Most time Friday was also payday. Imagine my first job and I was paid per day and I had the option of receiving my money weekly or monthly! Eeh that was the life!
Each week I would sneak off right after the meeting – with a pocket full of money and a heart full of sunshine – hoping that Boss man would not call me from office to meet again and clarify about some random idea/ activity. On a few occasions I would actually ask him for a day off to go sort out home issues.
Sunday afternoons would find me on a bus for Mbale, but there were a few times when I felt a bit lazy and chose to leave on Monday morning. It was in those circumstances when Monday morning found me in Kisaasi rather than Indian Quarters, Mbale (mistake number 1).
I tried to catch the 6am bus for Mbale, and missed it by a full 15 minutes, blame it on the Kisaasi taxis. I had two options, A minibus (coaster) that takes about 6 hours for a journey of 4 hours, sits more passengers than a 62seater bus and stops for a customer to sneeze! Or a bus leaving at 6:30pm... Clearly I chose the bus (mistake number 2), to the minibus conductor's chagrin.
An sure enough by 6:40 we were en route and that is when I was Informed that the bus would stop in Jinja town first before continuing to Mbale! We had the customary stop at Namawojjolo for roasted chicken, liver, beef and gonja [roast plantain]. But passengers! They were eating as though they hadn't eaten in weeks!
8:30 am found me in Jinja.
About, 9:20 we were leaving Jinja. Arrrrrrgh
About 10 minutes later I got a call from none other than my boss inquiring where I might be since he was in office already. I made the third mistake: I lied. don't ask, I don't remember what I said. But I must have told him I will be there soon.
20 or so minutes later, the bus' fuel tank got loose and due to the potholes along Jinja Bugiri road, it broke off and we managed to flatten it with the rare 4 tires (it was a 10-wheeler bus).
30 minutes later the minibus caught up with us. And added about 20 more passengers into its belly! Minibuses! I remember the conductor asking me why I had refused to board his bus earlier. To his surprise I refused to enter again (mistake number 4).
The next bus arrived soon enough and we boarded. I was laughing quietly when we passed the minibus again but then things changed instantly. We were informed that the bus we were now using was passing via Tororo then Mbale (adding about 30km and another precious hour to the already long journey).
And sure enough it was after 1 pm when I arrived in Mbale!! As for my boss, the truth reached him on foot three hours thirty minutes after the lie had jetted.
