Boda Boda

I did it.  I took the boda boda (East African motorcycle taxi).  To be honest, I'm not really a fan.  After all, this is the traffic in Kampala!

No I didn't ride the boda boda here in downtown Kampala.  

But I did it.  But not there.  I rode the boda boda on quieter streets in my neighborhood.

I know why women wear leggings under their skirts.  It must be for the boda boda.  I figured that the boda boda was in my future when I decided to go out to eat at the Italian Restaurant in near my apartment, Caffe Roma.  I did the right thing and wore leggings under my skirt, and was really glad I did.  

Does anyone know the boda boda etiquette about where to hold on?  I fear falling off with the massive potholes that dot the roads.  I wasn't going far but didn't want to redo how I rode the boda boda in Kenya...by clutching hands on the driver's shoulders as tightly as I could!  And even in Kenya I only rode the boda boda in the country side...on a very straight road.  

The thing about short people like me is that we have short arms.  My good old friend reminds me that people of my size are not so bendy and on this boda boda, there was no way I could reach the back of the boda boda to hold on with both hands.  I'm not balanced enough for side saddle either, but boy do people make side saddle look so easy!

No.  For me on this boda boda, I clutched the back bottom with my right hand and tried not to grip the gentleman's shoulder too tightly as we headed to a small slice of Italy in Uganda.

Notice how the man in the purple shirt has arms long enough to hold onto the back bottom of the boda boda.

I wondered how much Roma I could find in a Kampala cafe but I should not have been so pessimistic.  I kept wondering how on earth these two Italians men, hand gestures and all they arrived in Kampala.  I suppose the average Kampalan thinks the same about me too.  To answer that question I guess is a long story for later.
  
These Italian guys felt like a throwback to the men downstairs from my friend's Rome apartment wearing track suits and loudly playing cards outside their restaurant.  Even the waitresses were practically Italian (but Ugandan) paying little attention to you the entire evening as if saying, I'm on my own time; I'll come to you when I'm ready and forget about you quickly.

Ma che cosa?

Pizza and wine dinner throwback to my old days in the eternal city.  I didn't dare ask for an espresso after dinner.  Let's not push it.