The precautionary principle doesn’t exist here
Today we went to Lake Nabugabo, a couple of hours south-west of Kampala. Fourteen of us went in a matatu, which we hired privately, thanks to the negotiating skills of Rohini. I sat in the front passenger seat, meaning I was cut off from the banter in the back but got a first-rate view of the passing scenery. This means that I was profoundly aware of how lucky we were to arrive at our destination alive. The Kampala-Mbarara road is very narrow. It undulates up and down over the hilly landscape. Without fail, our driver would shift into the highest gear and descend the 100 metre high hills at breakneck speed, honking at bicyclists and pedestrians in the hope they’d have the good sense to get out of our way, because we would almost certainly not be able to stop should they fail to.
Ugandan drivers can’t bear to be behind a slower moving vehicle, so they pass at the first opportunity, regardless of whether one can actually see whether any cars are approaching in the oncoming lane. Blind corner 20 metres ahead? No problem! I suppose in a country with a life expectancy in the mid-40s people are more willing to gamble with such things. Statistically, you have less time to lose.
Africa, in many ways, reminds me of the endless stacks of fruits and veggies you see at market stands. Bowls of tomatoes, green oranges and Irish potatoes are stacked up into pyramids. The peak of each pyramid consists of a single round fruit perched delicately atop another one; reminiscent of the way Acholi dancers here can balance clay pots on their heads. The effect is elegant, yet precarious. Most likely they will not fall, but there is still a very real possibility that they will. The risks taken here seem bigger, with real consequences. This is just a part of life. It is beautiful, yet potentially deadly. But the deadliness is part of the appeal -like an emerald green mamba snake, its sky blue mouth housing deadly poison.
But I digress.
Eventually we arrived at the equator. We all dutifully posed for photographs with one leg in the southern hemisphere and one in the north. We then had lunch at the local café, which offers chapatti chicken wraps and iced lattes. They also sell arts and crafts, with all proceeds going to orphans living with AIDS, which justifies the grossly inflated prices. We strolled languidly through the shop (how else does one move through places equatorial?), examining the crafts while classic North American Christmas tunes played in the background.
“And as we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”
Hit it, Bing!
Ugandan drivers can’t bear to be behind a slower moving vehicle, so they pass at the first opportunity, regardless of whether one can actually see whether any cars are approaching in the oncoming lane. Blind corner 20 metres ahead? No problem! I suppose in a country with a life expectancy in the mid-40s people are more willing to gamble with such things. Statistically, you have less time to lose.
Africa, in many ways, reminds me of the endless stacks of fruits and veggies you see at market stands. Bowls of tomatoes, green oranges and Irish potatoes are stacked up into pyramids. The peak of each pyramid consists of a single round fruit perched delicately atop another one; reminiscent of the way Acholi dancers here can balance clay pots on their heads. The effect is elegant, yet precarious. Most likely they will not fall, but there is still a very real possibility that they will. The risks taken here seem bigger, with real consequences. This is just a part of life. It is beautiful, yet potentially deadly. But the deadliness is part of the appeal -like an emerald green mamba snake, its sky blue mouth housing deadly poison.
But I digress.
Eventually we arrived at the equator. We all dutifully posed for photographs with one leg in the southern hemisphere and one in the north. We then had lunch at the local café, which offers chapatti chicken wraps and iced lattes. They also sell arts and crafts, with all proceeds going to orphans living with AIDS, which justifies the grossly inflated prices. We strolled languidly through the shop (how else does one move through places equatorial?), examining the crafts while classic North American Christmas tunes played in the background.
“And as we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”
Hit it, Bing!
posted by Cara at 8:47 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home