These days there are three types of people that you can see in a Kampala traffic jam.

First there are the many of us in 14-seater matatus locally called taxis and more recently, “kamunye,” which means hawk. They are called so because of their speed and recklessness as they go about picking up passengers, the way a hawk picks out its prey.

The people inside a kamunye are generally unhappy and most have given up hope of ever becoming happy. They had pegged their happiness to getting material wealth, which includes a car.

In their lamentations, they tend to ask why all those cars in Kampala don’t include one of that belongs to them. They look enviously at the second type of people stuck in the jam in private cars.

This second type are either driving saloons or SUVs. Those in SUVs, especially the ladies, look down, literally, at the passengers in the kamunye.

There is a certain way a woman driving an elevated SUV stuck in a jam casts a pitying sideways and downward look at the passengers in a kamunye as she waits for the traffic to start moving again. Should your eyes happen to meet, the SUV driver or passenger looks away in guilt, like someone who doesn’t intend to give any alms caught looking at a beggar.

Those in saloons and SUVs do not want anything to do with those in the kamunye. They do not want to be reminded of those days when they used to commute in these collective contraptions.

They have arrived in the good life of self-drive, and do not want to know what happens in the other world of kamunye. They are inside a nice car with the windows up enjoying AC, while the masses are packed in the sweaty kamunyes.

Both the kamunye crowd and the self-drive lot curse the third group — those on boda boda bike taxis. But these are the only people who are full of hope. In fact, you see them but they are not stuck in the jam, they are whizzing past you, even at the traffic junctions. They have things to do.

The boda boda passengers include Indians, whom you will hardly find in the other two groups. In Kampala, only rich Indians drive private cars.

The others are on boda boda, on the way to becoming rich. Many of the black Africans on boda boda in the city are also on their way to becoming rich, and cannot afford to waste time seated in traffic jams.

They are making a delivery somewhere or are picking up something important and time is of great value to them. Some of them have parked their private car somewhere and will pick it up in the evening to go home.

Sadly, there is no fourth category, one which I would have loved to see — those riding bicycles. We can list many reasons why bicycles would be good in the city, from enhancing physical fitness, reducing pollution and saving lots of money on fares and petrol. But as long as the authorities do not see value in creating cycling lanes, nobody would risk their life on a bicycle in a city of bad drivers — bad not only at driving, but sometimes bad hearted too.

If you doubt this, ask the boda boda riders what happens when they try to overtake a kamunye.