“Do you know what is going on here today?” I ask Annette, the banana seller I’m buying a quick breakfast from. She doesn’t, so I explain that people are gathering here to ride bicycles together. We’re standing on Luwum street in central Kampala, looking out at a completely alien scene. With the usual sea of cars, minibus taxis and boda bodas (the city’s famous motorbike taxis) absent, the whole road is visible and looks 10 times more spacious than usual. It has been adorned with colourful paintings – including green cycle lanes – and we can see people walking, talking and cycling, while children run around playing.
It is a playground in the middle of a city where people rarely stop to play; there is too much work to be done. “I don’t know how to ride a bicycle, but I’d like to learn,” says Annette as she observes the scene, sighing: “But how can I learn? Are you going to teach me?”
People are gathering for Uganda’s first ever Critical Mass – the monthly event where cyclists in cities around the world reclaim the streets. But it is missing the air of resistance normally found at equivalent actions in Europe or the US. This is may be for the best. Dissent in Uganda is normally quashed by a police force who are not shy of using rubber bullets or tear gas: this happened most recently in September, when protests broke out against Yoweri Museveni’s plans to remove the presidential age limit. Direct action to promote cycling may not seem worth the risk for many Kampalans.
This Critical Mass was actually enabled by traffic police under the direction of Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA), which helped organise the event, along with UN-Habitat and local cycling organisations. It was held on the last day of Placemaking Week, a three-day event designed to inspire people to rethink and reclaim public spaces, and to show locals the benefits of city plans to reduce congestion by creating pedestrianised areas and cycle lanes.
Uganda is among the highest ranking countries for road traffic injuries in the world, experiencing traffic deaths at the rate of 28.9 per 100,000 people. Last year, the Ugandan capital took the unflattering title of the most polluted city in Africa.
According to Peter Kaujju, a KCCA spokesperson, the area from Luwum Street to Namirembe Road will serve as a pilot non-motorised transport zone, with works on the two billion Uganda shilling (£390,000) project expected to begin this February. “And as a matter of practice, all roads being rebuilt in the city have the carriage way, cycle lanes and pedestrian walkways as well,” adds Kaujju. Whether construction gets under way quickly is another matter: while there are painted cycle lanes in a few parts of the city, they are not the separated lanes Guardian Cities reported on back in 2015, says urban planner Amanda Ngabirano.
But how did Critical Mass, a direct action that often sees cyclists in cities such as London set off multicoloured smoke bombs and enforce huge roadblocks in the face of angry motorists, end up being endorsed by the Ugandan authorities? “The idea came from us following a similar Critical Mass held in Nairobi run by ordinary citizens,” explains Judith Owigar, an organiser of the event from UN-Habitat in Kenya. “So in Kampala I engaged different people to lead it: Fabio [First African Bicycle Information Organisation, a cycling NGO], Red Dirt Uganda mountain bike centre and Makerere University, which has a bike share programme. Then they contacted the cyclist community,” says Owigar, adding that she hopes cyclists in Uganda will take ownership of the concept and organise future events.
At around 10am the cyclists set off (not before a suited big dog from KCCA hops on a bike at the front for a photo op), first to pick up other participants from Kampala’s Independence Monument, and then on to Garden City mall before returning to Luwum Street. By distance, it’s a short ride – about 2.5km – but the hills and the heat don’t make it easy. Still, the 100-odd participants seem to be enjoying themselves, laughing and taking selfies (admittedly not the best way to promote safe-cycling) while a glimmer of protest shines through when one group start chanting “We want cycle lanes” as they ride.
Ivan Watenya, a passerby, asks what’s going on. “It’s very difficult to ride in this city,” he tells me. “And yet, for an environment which should be free of pollution, we need areas where we can ride easily. I would cycle if it was safe – it would increase my fitness too.”
But where there is change, there is always opposition – something those pushing urban development initiatives are all too aware of. Judith Owigar points out people’s reactions to Placemaking Week on Luwum Street, where pictures of KCCA’s urban development plans for the area are exhibited – a move she says makes the authority more accountable to the public.
“For many people, it’s really surprising that the KCCA is thinking of something like this. They have been asking: is this going to actually happen? Are there really going to be green lanes for bicycles? – it’s such a strange concept for people,” she says.
Is it a case of too much, too soon? Many Kampalans may feel they have more pressing causes to fight for than cyclist rights – be they sexism, homophobia or a president who wants to amend the constitution to extend his 32-year reign. What’s more, the city has its fair share of roads without pavements or even tarmac – let alone cycle lanes.
Local businessman Kubo Barabye, 55, is cynical. “This won’t work here. They are spending money putting this green paint on the road, but boda bodas will drive on it, street sellers will move on it,” he says, citing the example of a public park the city authority put in place nearby, which “only lasted a few days before it was spoiled”.
Barabye is among a community of business people in the pilot non-motorised transport zone who are concerned that a reduction in the number of cars will mean a reduction in profits. It is a common perception in Kampala that people who travel by foot or bicycle are poor. “We don’t know how this cycling will affect our business,” one owner of a clothing shop told me. “I don’t understand why they are promoting bicycles … yes, I can cycle. But people have so many problems here, so we don’t think about such things.”
The glossy plans, free T-shirts, hi-vis and speeches from suited officials at the event do seem a world away from the lives of most people here. And trust in the government and city authority is low. “They just care about receiving money and presenting an image that they are doing something, yet they are not doing anything. It’s for their own benefit,” argues bag seller Robert Kisitu, 24. “Do you know why they are promoting bicycles? It will be because a politician or his family member is importing bikes to sell here. They are creating jobs for themselves, not us. And later, after their personal motives have been achieved, they won’t bother about bicycles any more.”
Whether there is anything in these suspicions or not, it’s clear that many remain unconvinced by the initiative. And it is easy to see why, amid their daily struggle, local people don’t see the value of Critical Mass or the construction of cycle lanes. I speak to Edwin Barungi, 26, after he’s finished the ride. “I cycle every week, but considering what Uganda needs, these plans are like a luxury to me,” he says. “You have to change people’s minds before you put the infrastructure there. How many bikes will use this anyway? It’s way ahead of time, but I guess they’re trying to catch up with the rest of the world.”
Only time will tell whether the KCCA succeeds in making Kampala a safer, less-polluted, more bike-friendly city. Those who participated in Kampala’s first Critical Mass seem delighted by the ride, and I hear them excitedly planning the next one. If these events are held regularly, Kampala’s cycling community may play a role in raising awareness of the importance of cycling in a city made so dangerous by motorised transport. But for now, it seems most Kampalans have got too many other things on their minds.
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