Shop Class - The Boda Bar

This is a story about Kampala traffic, the multiple steps required to accomplish a seemingly simple task and Ugandan ingenuity.

It demonstrates so much about what is challenging, hilarious, unexpected and wonderful about living in Kampala.

It is the story of Metal Shop. And the Boda Bar.

We bought a car in mid-February. By Uganda standards, it is pretty nice – a 2005 Mitsubishi with fairly low miles. A British guy imported it from Japan a few years ago and took pretty good care of it, which is a challenge on east African roads. Even more amazing, it had very few dents or scratches.

By now you have a sense of how difficult it can be to get around Kampala. Narrow, poorly maintained roads, loads of people and truck traffic and … bodas (small, poorly maintained motorcycles). Everywhere. Going every direction. No lights, no turn signals and a single-minded focus on their next $.25 fare.

It shocks nobody when bodas crash. It doesn’t even seem to bother the driver. Often they only stop long enough to pick up their motorcycle and continue on their way.

I saw a boda with a middle-aged female passenger (wearing a very professional business suit) inexplicably drive straight into a 7 foot deep ditch. A few days later, I saw one boda driver tackle another right in front of the police because boda 2 had apparently knocked over boda 1, causing him to spill his load. We drove by the scene of an accident where, as the passenger was limping toward the ambulance, the unphased boda driver was driving away to find his next passenger.

We have some personal experience as well. About 3 days after we bought the well-maintained Mitsubishi with very few scratches/dings, I was driving along a straight and level stretch of road at about 25 MPH with a boda directly behind me. Two seconds later that boda somehow managed to drive into the right side of my car at 90° as I continued straight ahead. As the driver picked up his cargo, he expressed how this accident was clearly my fault because he could not have expected me to continue driving straight forward at constant speed with the flow of traffic in the middle of my lane.

So, to protect their vehicles from the scourge of boda-based violence, many Ugandans install metal bumper guards called “boda bars.” It doesn’t matter if you have a massive SUV or a small sedan, almost every car has them. Some just in the front, some front and back, some all the way around. We clearly needed one.

But where to buy one in Kampala? How would you install it? How much would/should it cost?

My colleague Patrick (we will talk more about him in future posts) took on the task. I didn’t hear anything for a few days, then he called me early one morning.

“Scott, I’m at your place. It is time to go. Bring some money.”

So, off we went. I had a pocketful of money since, in the US, buying and installing a major structural part on your car would be very expensive.

We drove to and through downtown and wound our way to the edge of one of the bigger Kampala slums. We went over a narrow bridge and past a crowded taxi stand before Patrick told me to pull over.

“Right here. He’s coming.”

I parked next to a less-than-pristine drainage ditch. When I got out, I noticed that this part of the city was essentially an open-air metal fabrication workshop. Outside every tiny, dark shack were men with jury-rigged tools working on projects. Grinders, welders, torches, saws all powered by a single frayed power cord that trailed out from somewhere behind the shacks.

Moments later, the auto-parts delivery man arrived, carrying the wrapped item overhead through the crowd.

I paid delivery man for his efforts and paid his companion for the part (about $125), then turned back to Patrick.

“Now we wait.”

So we did. For 2 hours. As we stood there, I attracted a fair amount of attention. There seemed to be very few (one) pudgy bald white guys in that part of town at the moment. Or ever.

I was offered lunch, snacks and assorted drinks for various prices. Giggling kids came up to touch my skin. A rainstorm blew through. I watched massive mechanical parts broken down and reassembled. I spent about 20 minutes explaining to a gentleman named Alex that despite the amazing erotic power that his various packaged seeds and potions could undoubtedly unleash in my “man parts,” I was very fine in that area and needed no more children. After paying Alex the Pharmacist/Urologist $.28 for his “consultation,” the master welder arrived.

Without a word, he pointed to where I should reposition my car. I pulled right up to the edge of the ditch. He reached inside and popped the hood.

The master brought no equipment save a pair of gloves and some sunglasses. He did not have a level, a tape measure or even a pencil. He crouched down at the front of my car and, like a surgeon, wordlessly reached his hand behind him to his helper for his tool. He welded the supports to the frame. He then briefly backed up, tilted his head and precisely positioned the part on the front of the car where he welded it in place – perfectly level. After attaching a couple more supports (that were painted black onsite rather than blue, at my request, for an additional $2) and a few turns of a wrench, I had a shiny new chrome boda bar.

The master didn’t tarry. He moved on to the next project, another SUV parked next to me along the ditch. He left his apprentice to close the hood and accept payment for his work - $10.

So, if you find yourself in Kampala with need of (i) welding (ii) auto parts or (iii) male libido enhancement, just give me a call. On the other hand, if you find yourself in Kampala riding a boda and see a Mitsubishi Pajero with a shiny front grill behind you, look out.