Originally, I just wanted my money back because there was no way I wanted to pay $40 to the people who hit me in the face. However, as I started searching for contact information online, I discovered a post that said "caution" and basically said that you should be careful of fines and pay right away because people were frequently beaten up in the parking lot for failing to do so. When it occured to me that this was merely an escalation of previous and frequent violence, which he expected to get away with, I decided that I had to do something.
Kampala Legal Process:
1. File a report with the police: The majority of people I have talked to have told me that the police are useless and will not do anything. I figured that if they are corrupt, then charming them a little couldn`t hurt. I gave my statement to a police officer named Vincent. He actually would have been quite charming if he hadn't been vigorously picking his nose the entire time he told me he loved me. My statement was handwritten on a piece of blank white paper and I wrote out my name and details at the top. He recorded the incident in illegible writing in a large ledger.
2. Obtain medical evaluation forms: Vincent took me next door to a shack at the edge of a small, impoverished neighbourhood. The shack read "photocopying", but the window was closed. He called to some woman washing her clothes in a bucket in front of her house and she walked off. Another woman came over and opened up the shack. It costed 1,600 Ush to photocopy the forms. Considering that is more money than many Ugandans make in a day, I find it unlikely that many Ugandans would make it even this far in the legal process.
3. Obtain medical evaluation: The next morning, I headed for the hospital to obtain my medical examination. I have a sneaking suspicion that a visit to Mulago hospital may have been the inspiration for the movie The Labyrinth. When I first arrived, a girl on the matatu directed me to the other side of the hospital grounds to the information desk. The information desk directed me back where I came from to find the police assessment centre. I stopped into a building to ask for more directions, but the workers at the front said they were new and that I should ask a woman at the back sitting on a bench next to the desk. When I told her that I was looking for the assessment centre she said this was it and to wait for the receptionist. She returned 20 minutes later and directed me across the street (there were also radioactive signs everywhere so I was glad I got to spend so much time there). There were no signs, but inquiry informed me that I had found the area. I asked at the first building and they directed me down the maze of crossroads. At a fork in the road, I came upon the first sign and headed down towards another building. I passed a signless building, which I hoped wasn`t the place. I passed two large windows that were blocked all the way to the ceiling by a mass of what I presume was an unorganized pile of patient files. After further inquiries, I went through the next building and circled around almost back to where I had started. I found a small building with two police men in it that I thought must be it, but they directed me back to the gates where I had first entered to enquire with the police officers there. They directed me back towards the radiology building and around the corner to another group of police officers who finally directed me to a neighbouring building. The first room I saw was filled with coffins, but a guy named Ronnie finally directed me to the room next door. I had spent around an hour wandering around the hospital at this point. Ronnie called the police surgeon and said that he wouldn`t be there for another two hours, so I went to get lunch.
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| My journey through the hospital |
I returned to the hospital after 2 hours and Ronnie was gone, so I asked the woman making notes in a large ledger. She said she didn`t work there and was just doing the work herself because it was the only way it would get done. A woman sipping a soda walked in and gave me a look like she might work there, so I tried again. I guessed right this time (although she was doing less work than the woman who didn`t work there) and she told me the police surgeon would be there in another 2 hours. I told her that I had heard that line before and would like to be certain that he would actually come this time. She walked out and a man in a suit came in and told me that the doctor would never come and that I needed to go to Bwaise and pay 10,000 Ush to get the assessment. I didn`t really want to pay more money into this process, so I asked why two people had told me that he was coming if that wasn`t the case. When I pointed out who it was, soda woman finally took the straw out of her mouth and confirmed she had indeed told me that. Suit man began lamenting and scolding Ronnie, saying that it wasn`t his job to direct me, when finally another man piped up and said that the doctor would be there in five minutes. Three hours later I had mastered the Hanoi game on my phone, soda woman still had not done anything that looked like work, and they informed me that the doctor was too busy with autopsies and wouldn`t be able to see me.
I went to Bwaise and the examination took about five minutes, just enough time for the doctor to fill out the forms. He barely even looked at me.
4. Obtain stamp from hospital police station: I headed back to the hospital to get the stamps from the police station. I also needed another photocopy of the forms, which Ronnie helped me get.
5. Submit forms to police station: I finally arrived at the police station, but the police there told me to call Vincent as they didn`t know how to help me. Vincent showed up, slid the papers under a door, told me he loved me, then asked me for money to buy phone credit.
6. Witness Statement
7. Follow-up: I left Kampala at this point, so not sure what this entails. They said they would stay in touch with the people remaining in Kampala.
What I learned from this is not how annoying it is to get anything done in Uganda (I already knew that), but that it would be nearly impossible for the majority of Ugandans to pursue this process as they would not be able to sacrifice two days of work and would not be able to afford it. I suppose this is what gave the bouncer at Cayenne so much confidence that he wouldn`t be punished.
I continued pursuing the matter with Cayenne as well. I finally spoke to a western woman who seemed very reasonable and said she would contact me when she reviewed the tapes. I finished the day, finally confident that something would be done.
That night, I received a phone call from the woman at Cayenne who told me she reviewed the tapes and couldn`t find any evidence that he hit me. She wouldn`t say it outright, but basically accused me of lying. I had spent the entire day and a half previous pursuing this and now my only hope at Cayenne had been shattered and the police wouldn`t likely do much without the video evidence. That bouncer`s line right after he threatened to poke my eyes out kept ringing in my head; he knew they wouldn`t believe me. This was the second time I cried since I got to Africa.
After a mental break at Sipi Falls, I decided to give Cayenne one last chance to make it right or I would use the only weapon I had left: tell my story to anyone who will listen. I made a meeting between me and Alex, the head of security, and the head bouncer. They made such logical arguments as:
- if he hit me as hard as he could, I would be in the hospital. Therefore, he couldn`t have hit me at all
- Nairobi is very dangerous, and there the situation would have been worse.
- bouncers are very stressed out because they may have situations going on at home
- since I want the person who hit me fired and I want my money back, this was proof I was lying.
They proceeded to try and convince me that I hit myself in the face and explore other methods to accuse me of lying. They admitted that he had threatened to poke my eyes out, but they felt this was a non-issue. Finally, I stopped the conversation in the middle of yet another circular and non-sensical argument meant to convince me that I was a liar, said goodbye, and walked out.
African customer service at it`s finest.
