My Walk to Work

About a year ago, due to rising fuel and food prices, a campaign was begun by members of political parties opposed to President Museveni. It was called Walk to Work. In essence, it was a protest against the poor economic state and a call for the influential and the wealthy to stand in solidarity with those less fortunate by refraining from driving and instead, walking to their places of employment. For weeks on end this campaign evoked chaos in different parts of Kampala. Police and military got involved. Key leaders were arrested, time and again. Violence erupted on several occasions. Tear gas and other forms of crowd control/dispersion were used.

To be honest, the whole campaign never made much sense to me. Probably 90% of the Ugandan population walks to work every day. Making it illegal for specific leaders to walk to work seemed like an odd thing to do. I’m not sure if the campaign accomplished its goal. It certainly stirred up a lot of controversy.

Remembrances of this campaign always cross my mind when I am in Gulu. The reason for this? I love to walk, and being in Gulu gives me the chance to do so. Most people find it strange that I choose to walk from place to place instead of driving my car, but I love getting the exercise and the chance to witness the sights and sounds all around me as each day unfolds.

And so, I thought I’d take some time to share about my walk to work:

As I step out of my room and head on my way, I enjoy the feel of the cool, fresh air around me. The sun is shining, but it’s not too hot yet. Many people are out and about, walking or riding bicycles, on their way to school, the market, jobs, or just taking in the day. The dusty road leads me past homes, restaurants, buildings under construction, NGO offices, and even the Medical section of Gulu University.

The air is alive with sound. Boda drivers come up behind me and hoot, trying to get my attention and offer me their taxi services, but I just shake my head and continue my journey. Birds, chickens, and goats in their own ways speak to one another and raise their voices to greet the morning. Women with babies tied to their backs and jerrycans of water or baskets of produce balanced on their heads share the news of the day. Men sit under the shade of trees or on verandas and listen to the radio. Children laugh as they bathe nakedly in their yards.

After the University, the road narrows into a walking path that cuts through some trees, leading down to a long line of old sewage pipes, connecting one part of town to another. While the smells are not exactly pleasant, the scenery is. A lake to my left; tall, green grasses to my right; a bit of nature in what I once thought was all town. Far off to the right, the buildings of the city center rise and stand proudly.

At the end of the pipe line, the path leads through a residential area, a collection of huts. I had no idea this place existed before this trip. The usual way I came took me straight through town. I was delighted when my friend showed me this new, shorter, and much more enjoyable path.

Weaving my way through the huts, I take time to greet those who live there. Most respond politely, but all look at me with surprise and curiosity, wondering what has brought me here and how I came to walk the path through this part of Gulu. Children gather round and follow me, calling out the never ending refrain, “Munu! How are you?” No matter how many times I answer, the question gets repeated again and again.

I’m never exactly sure how far to go in this maze of homes or where to turn to find the road to the office, but eventually I discover the way and come to the office gate where I begin my work day.