Ugandan Drive-Thru

Scott discussing politics with the toilet paper salesmen!

Driving in Kampala is a feast for the senses. Not just the driving part, which requires every ounce of your attention, but also when stopped for traffic.

At most street corners, day or night there are dozens of street vendors or “hawkers.” There are, hypothetically, regulations and licensing requirements for these folks but, like many “rules” in Uganda, these are rarely and inconsistently enforced.

The hawkers are both entertaining and irritating. At one main intersection close to downtown, Sally was approached by 27 vendors in the time she waited for the light to change. She has learned how to say “no, thank you” in Luganda but this seems only to encourage the more dedicated hawkers who see her speaking to them as a sign that she is, in fact, secretly interested in replacing her windshield wipers right now or new dress shoes for her “man.”

The list of available products is impressive. You can buy fresh produce, including apples, pineapples, eggs, cauliflower, sugar cane, onions, shelled peas and avocadoes. Hungry right there? No problem because any number of kids will reach their adorable, filthy little hands into their open buckets of shelled peanuts and scoop you out a serving, or 9.

Auto parts are available, including all variety of steering wheel covers, floor mats, auto air fresheners, phone holders, charging cords/attachments and traffic triangles (which were quite popular this time last year when the police decided they would stop everybody to ensure you had them).

No need to go to the store for roach killer or rat poison it is waiting for you at the corner of Upper Kololo and Acacia Blvd. Headed to a wedding or housewarming? Just roll down your window and select a set of pots and pans, garden tools, hangers (plastic or metal), mosquito nets, pot scrubbers, storage tubs and buckets, pillows, bath and dish towels or artwork.

Forgot your nephew’s birthday? Just pick up a soccer ball or a jersey from his favorite team on your way. Same for your husband if you he needs shirts, ties, a sports jacket or rain boots. And of course, drinks and newspapers.

And toilet paper (in case you dared eat even one of the hand-scooped peanuts as you waited for traffic).

And thighmasters. Because, well … I have no idea.

Vendors tend to segregate by gender and product. You won’t see a female seller of art or auto parts any more than you would see a male cauliflower merchant.

Fried grasshoppers, mulondo root (Viagra) and of course - a thigh master all available at your car window.

There are a couple of notable food offerings. The first is fried grasshoppers (in the foil tub above). This apparent delicacy is almost always sold by men who will scramble to the windows of cars and buses who stop at small roadway pullouts. You can end up with a little tub of insects without even coming to a full stop. A few of our more adventurous interns tried them last summer with a verdict of “Meh.”

The other is pineapples, also sold exclusively by men. That is probably because vendors have figured out how to stack 10 in a little horizontal fruit pyramid in their arms as they hustle from car to car. They will sell you the whole armload for about $4 but convincing them to just sell you 1 or 2 can be a challenge.

Finally, mulondo root (the vendor above with the blue bag). The hawkers never stop at Sally’s window to sell this because these stringy dried roots are allegedly a “source of rejuvenation for virility” in men. Just like Viagra, or Cialis. But instead of 2 romantic lovers sitting in outdoor bathtubs holding hands and admiring the sunset, think more “sweaty Ugandan dude breathing diesel fumes and handing random things through your car window.” Allegedly, chewing this root along with roasted coffee beans has amazing effects. Hypothetically. If Ugandan birth rates are any indication, they should, perhaps, sell less of this in Kampala.

While these vendors are annoying, they are some of the hardest working Ugandans you will see. If they have not completed their sale before traffic lights change, they will run with your car up to the next signal, all for a sale that may net them a few pennies. They are there in the morning and at night, in hot sun and standing in puddles, hustling to every potential customer all day, every day.

And the thighmaster-ing, cauliflower-eating, peanut smacking Kampalans are eternally grateful. (Along with those Wazungu in need of TP or 10 pineapples.)