Kampala definitely fits the description of the city that never sleeps. The stores are buzzing with people and the roads are busy carrying hard-workers home at all hours of the night. Ashiram and I were driving home late one evening from across town with tired bodies and sleepy eyes. As we approached an intersection, the light turned yellow. I caught myself from raising the alarm thinking I might have the traffic light system wrong here. The light shifted to red as we coasted through the intersection. Immediately, I saw a traffic officer standing tall in his black boots and white uniform signaling to pull over. I looked at Ashiram and gently mumbled, “We ran a red light.” I’ve heard the stories of frustration that involved Mzungos (the term used when referring to white people) encountering traffic officers. The traffic officers would wave them down and point out an unusual issue with their vehicle after the routine inspection. Usually, the Mzungo offered some sort of bribe or food in their car to be released. I silently prepared for a similar experience where the color of my skin would falsely indicate to the officer the amount of money in my wallet. The […]