How Would You Like Your Death Served? a Guide On How to Die On Uganda’s Roads

Added by Akan Awe on June 1, 2018.
Saved under Business, EASTERN AFRICA, Opinion, Transport, Uganda
Tags: Road Accident

First things first: Decide whether you want to die as a “soldier” – that is, as an active participant in the matter, or as a ‘civilian’ – a mere statistic. The latter is easier, but rather uninteresting, making up most of the 10 people killed daily on Uganda’s roads every year.

You take a stroll on the pavement minding your business and, sooner or later, a swerving boda boda rider will “fetch” you and deliver you to your maker. Or you cross the road at a zebra crossing. If it is your lucky day, you will, ah, run into a motorist who, driving while reading a WhatsApp message, will promptly delete you from the group of life.

You could, of course, also fall off the cliff like a lemming. One moment you are in the back of the matatu or bus reading a novel; the next you are lying in a box while passages are read for you out of some holy book.

It is more interesting to go as a soldier – or “die like an officer”. If you are new to this, a cadet, so to speak, and do not know how to drive, stay away from driving schools or instructors. They will waste your time and money and your friends will laugh at you when they see you in the streets learning how to drive yet you can buy a driver’s licence even if you think ‘driving on the shoulder’ means doing so with your hand sticking out of the window.

Thus fully equipped with a lack of driving knowledge, traffic rules or respect for other road users, you are ready to buy or borrow a car. Go for the oldest you can find; the taxes on newer and safer cars is ridiculous, so find a discarded tin from Japan that went out of production before airbags were invented, and which still uses a carburetor. The more worn out the tyres and brakes, the better, you want to slide effortlessly into the afterlife, right?

Once on the road, be aggressive, soldier! In particular, look out for motorists with cars that look smaller or older than yours that overtake you then show them what you, your jalopy, and the inside of your skull are made of. Race them in the sugarcanes, race them in the built-up town centres, race them during heavy storms and race them during the night. Race them to the death!

The sugarcane plantations are a good place to die. Look out for tractor-trailers belching smoke as they lug cut cane to the nearby factories. Do not worry too much if you can’t see them – they often have no taillights or reflectors and are there to be felt, not seen. Don’t find them; they’ll find you.

That dark thing on the side of the road? If you are unlucky, it will be just mist rising off the warm road. With any luck, however, it will be a trailer or lorry parked without signage or lights on the side of the road with just enough space under the chassis for you to squeeze under.

If you are a ‘company commander’ driving a bus with passengers or a ‘brigade commander’ with a trailer full of heavy steel bars or cement, make sure the speed governor was removed or disabled – no one has checked for these things since 2005 – and see how fast you can make it go. If you have the guts to slam the pedal to the metal long and hard enough, you should find metal to open up your guts and torso.

There is, of course, the risk that the impact is not severe enough to serve your death instantly, but don’t worry; this is one of those cases where what doesn’t kill you instantly doesn’t make you stronger, but only kills you slowly. Area natives, disguised as ‘first responders’ could finish the job and happily break your neck in exchange for your wallet and phone.

If that fails, give it time. Some busy bodies might try to save you from yourself by taking you to a hospital; without ambulances and proper first aid, there is hope. If being dumped on the back of a police pick-up doesn’t push you over the edge, you might have to wait until you get to a health facility an hour away. Here, with luck, you will find no blood, specialised accident and trauma centre or supplementary oxygen, allowing you to be served to the gods slowly.

In the days after, there will be a bit of shock and plenty of thoughts and prayers. You might even get a few national days of mourning, but soon you will join the statistics. The rain will wash the blood off the roads. Others will take your place. These roads were made for killing.

Mr Kalinaki is a poor man’s freedom fighter and an accident survivor.
Twitter: @Kalinaki.

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