Kampala, Uganda, was still a noisy and overwhelming city. It was still imperfect, still stiflingly hot, and it still took some getting used to.
On more than one occasion, I saw motorcycle taxis weaving in and out of traffic while minibuses jostled for space along the city's narrow streets.
Despite all this, I had come to love Kampala.It was during a childhood holiday that I had met Tuk (pronounced "Took"), a loud, majestic kid who sold pineapples in the market and spoke almost no English.
I did not know any Luganda, the local dialect, yet somehow we became friends during that month-long vacation.
PLACES REMEMBERED
Now, more than 12 years later, I was in Kampala again, eager to revisit the sights I could remember.
Spurred on by distant memories, I left my guesthouse in the early morning to explore the few places that Tuk and I had once frequented.The old Pink Flamingo eatery, where we would eat lunch and play table tennis for a few shillings a game, was still standing, though it was now painted a vibrant yellow.
Just like all those years ago, patrons still lounged around while others danced to pulsating reggae music.
My landlady was kind enough to give me a tour of the old Nakasero market, where Tuk had once sold his pineapples.
It was as chaotic and bustling as I remembered, and we easily spent a few hours browsing the different stalls.One particular stall that caught my eye sold genuine South Asian ingredients, such as turmeric leaves, roasted ghee and ready-to-eat chapatis, a kind of flatbread.
The next day, my landlady helped me locate Tuk. We learnt from an elderly hawker at Nakasero that he now lived in a quiet suburb across town, having moved there several years before.SILENT PARTNERS
As we sipped tea, he told me all that had become of him since I had last seen him.
His wife marvelled at how we had become friends despite our lack of a common language. I explained how we had communicated through gestures and a children's picture book.Later, Tuk invited me to Kabuli, the little village where he had been born and spent most of his holidays - it was two hours east of Jinja.
Getting there involved a ride on a fishing boat that chugged across Lake Victoria, inexpensive and with amazing views of the little village's steep green hills and its tiny huts.It was a humble, serene setting along the shore, where multi-coloured fishing boats anchored and fishermen fixed their nets.This was home for three slow days, spent learning to fish and going on long hikes.
Finally, Tuk invited me to an eatery in Kampala where, just like old times, we tried to play some table tennis, and communicated through hand gestures, our words passing each other with little understanding.
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