The Tint on The Car

For reasons best known to the army commander, Aronda Nyakairima and his security detail, he is driven round in a 4x4 SUV with personalised number plates and its windows fully tinted. There is also a minister who is driven in a sleek blue Mercedes-Benz and whose government plate number ends with the letter H. The Mercedes is fully tinted just like the 4x4 of some army chap whose army number plate ends with 0131D

A good number of government officials, especially those involved in security, tinted cars are the way forward – their mali dadi. But why drive around in cars with full tint? Are they scared of being seen and pointed at as being sinister people? A cause for food for thought don’t you think?

In the Idi Amin era, the favoured car by his State Research Bureau was the Datsun with UVS number plates. During the Obote II days, his NSA didn’t have time to indulge in tinted cars. You were simply told to ‘panda gari’ (a pick up) and that was it.

Getting into the cowardly tale, I don’t think I am breaking any state secrets but in Uganda today, the car favoured by plain clothed security agents is the Toyota Premio with – if you guessed it, give yourself a pat on the back - fully tinted windows. If you doubt me, just ask Kalundi Robert Serumagga who was bundled into one albeit, in the boot.

Johnny works for Silk Events. And though the muscle about him is terrifyingly on the larger-than-large side and he could plummet into a coma anybody that dared take him on, he is a mild mannered person who rarely loses his cool.

His ride is a Premio, with full tint on all the windows. So dark is the tint that, it is next to impossible to see out of the windows. He even had to cut part of the tint so could peer out into his side mirrors.

I have borrowed Johnny’s car and I am headed to Portbell. Driving through Bugolobi, there is a jam at the MTN Switch junction. As we wait for the jam to start moving, three tinted Premio’s overtake and squeeze up in front of me. Normally with such a move, I view it as an invitation to a verbal melee and if need be, a physical one. But for some reason, I am feeling lethargic that I pass on stirring up both the verbal and physical melees.

As we start to move, there is a pick-up that is also trying to force its way through and now I am not feeling lethargic any more. I have been rubbed the wrong way by a driver who thinks he can just push in. Hmm, he is kidding! My window winds down and out pops my mudomo (mouth) that unleashes a volley of not-so-kind words at Pick-Up Driver.

Satisfied with the unleashed vulgar words, I however don’t get very far because there is a tapping on the roof of the car and it’s when I spot him. He is wearing shades, black trousers and he has a gun – an AK-47 to be precise. Obviously, I go into freeze mode as I try to retract the vulgar words that I had hurled at Pick-Up Driver.

But AK-47 Man is seemingly not bothered by my foul mouth. He is perturbed because he’s noticed I’m trying to turn right at the junction to head to Portbell and he is violently hitting the roof of the car and telling me to turn left – as in heading towards Nakawa. I am however insistent that I am turning right. My insistence is broken down when his colleague produces a pistol. The pistol convinces me that turning left as I have been instructed is the right move.

I follow the three Premio's on what I can only describe as a death defying speed past the catholic church – Lady of Africa where, I have flashbacks of a nervous OPP and Ojuts freaking out because they are about to walk down the aisle and down the back streets of Mbuya and into a guarded complex where, I have just enough time to flicker my eyes at the sign post at the entrance which reads, Nakawa Magistrates Court.

Have I been arrested or abducted? Have I offended the state or the person of the presidency? In a blazed state last Friday, did I mouth off abuse at President Museveni and was overheard by an agent from ISO? Had I leaked state secrets to Kigali or Kinshasa?

Inside the Nakawa Courts complex, the Premio’s squealed to a halt by the holding cells and no sooner had they stopped, the back doors flung open with armed men pilling out and taking positions round the cells and perimeter wall.

For a moment I felt I was in a Ugandan movie re-make of Mission Impossible II except, that the music in the background from Sanyu FM, was hardly appropriate or high octave. It was the lovey-dovey song, Jim by The Afrigo Band. You see my point?
Once Men With Guns were satisfied that all was well, that the complex had been contained, out came men who were handcuffed and with their legs in chains – almost like it is in a gulag in the depths of Siberia.

While all this was taking place, I tried to figure out how I came into the picture. Was Undercover Agent going to deal with me later? Had he really overheard me as I abused the person of the presidency last Friday? Will I be taken before the magistrate or merely driven to a safe house in cuffs and in the back of a tinted Premio?

And just like that, I became the centre of attraction – perhaps because I was not wielding some form of armament and I stood out. In Swahili, the conversation that ensued went along these lines.

Man With AK-47: “Who are you?”

TB: (and thinking my response was under my breath): “As if who are you?”

Man With AK-47: “What did you say? I ask you to identify yourself and you ask me who I am?! Do you know that this is a secure area? Why are you here? You, arrest that man!”

TB: “But affande, you are asking too many questions and you have not given me the time to think or answer them. I don’t know why I am here. Pick-Up Driver told me to follow you here.”

Man With AK-47: “Don’t you know this is a secure site?”

TB: “I do, but ask Pick-Up Driver why I am here.”

Man-in-Shades: “Affande, he came driving this car.”

Looking at my car – well not my car but Johnny’s and then back at me, Man With AK-47 walks towards me and says, “but don’t I know you? Ah, let me see. You are Bakumunhe not so?”

Here we go again. My surname has been mispronounced for the sixth time and it is barely 10:30am so there is a need to bookmark the story and make the necessary corrections.

Not that I have anything against the Rwandese or anybody who happens to be a westerner – say a Mukiga, Munyakole, or a Mutoro, my surname does not have the letter ‘A’ in it and therefore, it cannot be pronounced ‘Baku-mu-nhe’ as most of you are so fond of pronouncing it. Rather, it is pronounced ‘Buku-mu-nhe’ (silence on the ‘H’). Are we together? You got my drift?

Back to the story. I had thought of telling Man With AK-47 all that, but I figured it might not be a wise move because (A). He is holding an AK-47 and (B). He could put me ‘indani’(security speak meaning ‘locked up’).

The conversation resumes.

Man With AK-47: “There must be some mistake. I think my people thought you were one of us. But why are all your windows tinted? You want to hide from the police is that why?”

Man With AK-47 is throwing all sorts accusations at me and just because he has an AK-47, he thinks he can bully me?! Shia! Let me show him how hard I can be! However what I throw back at him is hardly macho talk. I merely quiver, tell him it’s not my car but Johnny’s and practically beg for forgiveness.

They then search the car, ask for ID which, I didn’t have and just before they let me go, they gave me some sublime warnings. With that, I was free to go. And as a reminder to Serumagga and anybody out there who has fallen out with the state, when a Premio with tinted windows turns up at your home or office, I suggest you grab your passport and make a run for it! By the way, I think the previous sentence might get me into trouble but, what the heck for by the time the security agents read this, I would have crossed Busia border and into Kenya!