A Play Of Light And Shadow

There was a scraping noise and the driver and another man appeared, dragging a 20-gallon tin of water. We filled the radiator and paid a shilling (15�). The driver wanted change, but Akii popped him on the shoulder and told him to start the car. The starter ground away for two minutes. We got out and pushed, swearing at the boy, who kept engaging the clutch before we had the car moving more than half a mile an hour. Finally the engine caught and raced, and we were covered with red dust stirred up by the exhaust. We jumped in and were off. We had to push again at the second roadblock, under the baleful stares of un-amused soldiers, and as we rolled into Entebbe the radiator burst. Akii wouldn't let me pay the driver, so the boy lurked, vulturine, on the edges of our vision as we entered the terminal.

The check-in line for my flight to Nairobi stretched across the room, a caravan of disconsolate Asians sitting on chests and crates. I took my place at the rear. Akii looked at his watch, borrowed my ticket and strolled toward the harried clerk. The man glanced up, did a double take and beamed at him. In 30 seconds Akii handed me my boarding pass.

"You're shameless," I said.

"You have to remember...."

"I know. Uganda has never had anyone like you before."

He made sure I would pass customs and then left me. I watched him go, moving through the throng of waiting Asians, followed by a few worshipful eyes and a teen-age cab driver, into the warm, humid Uganda day. As in Munich, an example, a counterpoint, a glimmer of happiness over a landscape of rejection and sorrow.