The politics of the boda boda
Few things in Uganda are revered and reviled in almost equal measure as the boda boda. The two-wheeler, which comes in handy when the country’s cities reach gridlock during peak hours, has many desperate lows. Recent anger at the motorcycle taxi has been fuelled by the idea that the true index of the collective heart of its operators was on full display when a national rugby player, Sydney Gongodyo, was caught in the cross-hairs of vigilantism.
The mob in the Kampala suburb of Bukoto, whose violent temperament instantly asserted itself at the allegations of a mugging, for the most part, was comprised of boda boda riders. Much of the criticism in the aftermath of Gongodyo’s death has consequently been aimed at that constituency. “…his face, as you see, it was distorted by these savages. But as you can see in the pictures, he was a very handsome young man, [and a] very obedient son,” Mr James Gyabi said of how his son, ruthlessly ploughed down by a boda boda rider in his last hours, was mortally wounded.
The coroner, who conducted a postmortem on Gongodyo, had a lot on their plate, documenting as many as 17 skull fractures and a loss of vision brought on by the grotesqueness of the mob attack. It was apparent, Mr Gyabi noted at Gongodyo’s burial on Tuesday, that “my son died in excruciating pain.” The grieving father is not alone in drawing critical attention to an outrage that deserves to be condemned. There is almost complete unanimity that the people who constituted the mob that brutally descended on Gongodyo in Bukoto took leave of their collective senses.
Arrests made thus far have already breached the double-digit mark. Yet the capture of one of the notorious participants in the mob violence, barely minutes after Gongodyo had been laid to rest, underscored just how indispensable boda boda riders have come to be in Uganda’s surveillance architecture. As Mr Obed Mugwiisa, allegedly captured in various citizen-generated videos and images mercilessly pummelling Gongodyo with a log, ran out of runway, having been at large for nearly five days, one of the boda boda riders who took part in the high-profile capture said something telling.
“I was with [the Uganda Police Force spokesperson Kituuma] Rusoke at Mulago today, and assurances were made that [the suspect] would be apprehended,” a male voice droned on as the suspect was encircled by fellow boda boda riders evidently doing the bidding of the police. A statement that the police put out following Mr Mugwiisa’s arrest did not disclose the nature of the operation. For many, it didn’t need to. The relationship that has over the years been cultivated by the two parties, making sections of boda boda riders vital cogs in the country’s security apparatus, comes as anything but a vulgar surprise. It was Mr Abdallah Kitatta and Boda Boda 2010—the vigilante outfit of motorcycle taxi operators he marshalled—that brought this terrible secret into plain view before the former’s spectacular fall in January of 2018.
Before doing jail time after being convicted of illegal possession of firearms and ammunition, Mr Kitatta was a force of nature. Self-willed, demanding, and uninhibited, he once described himself as “the link between the boda boda fraternity and the government.” Unimaginable horrors transpired on his watch. Many have scars to show for either wittingly or unwittingly squaring up to the erstwhile Boda Boda 2010 patron. Others are six feet under.
“We cannot be intimidated. Their time is up. We are going to hunt them down like cockroaches,” Mr Kitatta once warned anyone who dared to make his vigilante group of boda boda riders the subject of snide remarks. His was the sort of power that no one thought possible when the boda boda announced itself to Ugandans in such an understated manner. Its modest dimensions were encapsulated in an unremarkable calling card of toing and froing either side of the Ugandan and Kenyan borders.
The cross-border trade that turned the so-called no man’s land into a flourishing commercial rendezvous installed cyclists in the transporting business as a permanent fixture deeply woven into the fabric. Their labour-intensive art, so crucial in circumventing tedious paperwork at the border, was christened the hail cyclists used to capture the imagination of potential customers—border-border. Or, to use the unmistakable eastern Uganda intonation, boda boda. Its labour-intensive nature notwithstanding, the manually cycled boda boda continued to be a roaring success after becoming ubiquitous in eastern towns (now cities) like Mbale and Jinja.
Kampala, Uganda’s capital, was also soon bitten by the bug. The manual bicycle was on its way to becoming a symbol of not just rural mobility but also economic independence. When the downtown folk on the margins settled down into a routine of work and sleep, the boda boda established itself as a mainstay.
One businessman, however, thought the envelope could be further pushed. It is this defiance of routine that, despite rubbing off wrongly on critics, convinced the late Bulaimu Muwanga Kibirige, alias BMK, that a revolution could be teed off by transitioning from manual bicycles to motorised motorcycles. “The introduction of motorcycle-based services resulted from the initiative of a local firm, BMK (Uganda) Ltd. A trade visit to Cyprus in 1992 exposed the owner to the use of motorcycles by local farmers. This example and the knowledge that Japan disposed of large numbers of second-hand and reconditioned motorcycles led to their introduction into Uganda in the same year,” John Howe wrote in a 2003 peer-reviewed article.
“BMK was alone in the market until 1994, when several other firms followed. It was at this time that the phenomenon appears to have taken off […] Between 1994, thought to be the point of service take-off, and 2,000, some 90,000 motorcycles were imported. The overwhelming majority of these are operated commercially and—allowing for scrapping due to old age and accidents, and pre-1994 baseline import levels to reflect non-commercial operations,” Howe further revealed.
Writing in his memoirs, My Story of Building a Fortune in Africa, the late Ugandan tycoon, BMK, provides granular details about how he imported used, motorised Japanese motorcycles. Hundreds received the two-wheelers on credit-friendly terms, making the machines even more ubiquitous. The foundational base upon which the boda boda sector, as we know it to be today, would squat had been laid. The juggernaut would thunder through not only Kampala’s central business district (CBD) but also its suburbs. Not long after, major towns across the country would jostle for a slice of the pie.
Spreading like wildfire, the boda boda became the get-out-of-jail card of many young people for whom youth unemployment dealt a bad hand in the 2000s. And still does to date. Yet its consequences have proven to be double-edged. For every bill paid or food put on the table, there are accusations of boda boda riders possessing more than just a hard-wired inclination to grind and fiddle. If they are not being accused of the role played in the broader ethos of state-centric control, as indeed Mr Kitatta was, then it is for visiting grievous crimes upon hapless residents in Uganda, as indeed Mr Mugwiisa is.
Less acknowledged, but no less instructive, are the self-inflicted setbacks. For one, studies have shown that the vast bulk of the anywhere between 300,000 and 800,000 petrol-powered boda bodas that are currently in use in Kampala predispose their operators to lifestyle diseases such as hypertension, diabetes, and obesity. This is mainly due to the punishing work schedule the boda boda riders take up. The sedentary hours on the bike, poor dietary habits, and high-stress navigation, per a study by University of Cambridge researchers, create a chaotic mix of peril and promise. The fact that the likely outcome is mostly the former means that the two-wheelers only succeed in compounding the country’s disease burden.
“Urban boda boda drivers in Kampala are typically men, with limited alternative options for gainful employment. Many of them joined the informal transport industry after migrating from more rural areas. With limited job security and resources, they face a high burden of health risks due to their occupation, which carries the risk of injury alongside the disease risks associated with air pollution,” the team from the University of Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership (CISL) revealed in a report.
But it is the injuries they inflict on others that—perhaps rightly—stick out like the metaphorical sore thumb. Since the start of this year, anecdotal evidence has pointed to a telling spike in crime attributable to boda boda riders. And it’s not just the accidents brought on by operating wantonly. From phone thefts to mob violence, boda boda riders have appeared grimly determined to leave behind a trail of destruction this side of the year. The passing of Gongodyo has shown just how bad things can get. It remains to be seen whether the high-profile death can deliver the moment of introspection needed to course correct. Critics say regulation of the chaotic sector at the front of the queue. Ditto de-politicising a sector that seen through the lens of many appears untouchable. So much for the humble beginnings at the Uganda-Kenya border.
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