When I moved to my current residence that I have since named “Norman Residence” to make it sound like it is a posh neighbourhood a few months ago, I complained about how it is a ghetto of sorts and got terribly mad at the brokers that conned me and made me end up here.
Apart from the rugged road that is extremely muddy when it rains and extremely dusty when it shines, it is not actually a bad place. A friend of mine told me that I will grow into it and love it with time and I hate to admit that she was almost right.
This article is not about me, it is so typical of me to talk about myself I’m sorry (that is a borrowed line), it is about the poor living and housing standards of the people in the real ghetto.
A few weeks ago, I got the privilege (for a lack of a better word) to walk through the ghettos of Kamwokya, as I was making research for a story, and I got deeply humbled by what I saw.
Guys, people live so, so, so poorly. This was my first time walking through this place and all I could ask myself is, “Lord, how do these people manage to live here?”
The deeper I got in, the scarier it became. Youths seated on the verandas of the poorly constructed houses, some makeshift, with a trench of dirty stagnant water on the side and after jumping that, you land on the entrance of a low budget restaurant we like to call “toninyira.”
The houses, constructed following no plan whatsoever face any side the amateur engineers wanted, so it is common to find a door that leads to the house next to, again, a toilet that was constructed with no plan at all.
How can you even plan things like that on a piece of land that small? There are more chapati stalls in the ghetto than there anything else, for truly, and I mean no disrespect, Kikomando is their staple food.
As I went deeper, I walked faster for I got a little bit scared that something may happen to me for I looked totally different. I had to take out my tucked-in shirt. The faces I looked at were those without hope, the smiles that came from others were truly just to hide the sorrow deep inside, and the worry of where the next meal is going to come from.
You see, Kamwokya ghetto is “un-strategically” located in the middle of affluent neighbourhoods. It is bordered by Bukoto on one side, Kisementi on the other, and the upper side of Kamwokya separated by Mawanda road. When you look at those posh neighbourhoods with buildings big and clean as brand new, it is hard to know that somewhere behind them or on their side, is a cluster of makeshift single rooms that house an average of five people each.
This reminds me of a line from Bobi Wine’s song that goes like, “Olusi osuze njala olusi kikomando, n’olowoza Katonda yakwerabira” which loosely translates as “Sometimes you starve, other times you eat kikomando (a mixture of beans and chapatti, a poor man’s meal), and you think God forgot about you” Truly, you might think God forgot about them.
I could not ask how they survive because I was in a hurry, and as though that question sparks genuine life stories from some ghetto people, it triggers others into thinking that you are mocking them.
Governent needs to take serious action
You see, in serious countries, there’s this thing they call the ‘Projects’, where the government provides public affordable housing to people, particularly the less-privileged.
If this government was serious and actually cared about these less-privileged, instead of donating cars worth Shs600 million to a few individuals like musicians, golden handshakes and all that annoying stuff to anyone that dances to the tunes of the President, they would save up that money and put up housing projects for these people.
Last year, the President appointed Buchaman as his advisor on ghetto affairs, and since then, we don’t know where the man even went to. But put this in perspective. How can you drive a Shs600 million car through a hungry hopeless neighbourhood? That would surely be outright mocking them, and it is probably why Buchaman hasn’t gone there yet, he simply no longer fits in with them ghetto yuts.
In the ghetto, life is hard, man. I was only there for a few hours and I could see, feel, and smell the struggle of our people in this neighbourhood. No one deserves to live in such places. These people are mad at the government because they feel like they are left out, and the small money given to ghetto representatives doesn't get to the intended group of people.
This experience opened my eyes to the realities of the standards of living of our people, and reminded me to forever be grateful with the little I have.
Going to places like that makes us be grateful for whatever we have been privileged to have.
ReplyDeleteThat's so true.
DeleteTs when you get a chance to visit places like that ...that you starting thanking Allah..for you learn that He gave you a better life
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely. God gives us signs every day that we are not as bad off as we think we are and we ignore them.
DeleteWe definitely have to be grateful for whatever we have. There is always someone who wishes they were in your position. I'm happy you had this experience and was able to share it, however I am unhappy my black people suffer so much at the hands of their fellow men.
ReplyDeleteSurely. People in power are so greedy.
DeleteGreat post mate
ReplyDeleteCath