Rastafari

On this day we had planned to meet someone I didn‘t know yet. He was supposed to be an expert about Kampala, doing walking tours through the capital for tourists. During our meeting he shared very interesting facts about Uganda and his ideas about decolonization.

We met in Cafe Javas. He was already there, eating Samosas, drinking iced latte. My friend recognized him immediately and moved forward to his table on the terrace. She already knew him from our last time here. I didn‘t.

When I saw him I was surprised for a moment. His hair looked crazy going in all directions. He had this nice gap between the front teeth which I admire - especially on African people. He smiled at us through his sun glasses.

I greeted him too and we all had a seat next to three business men who stared at us for a moment before returning to their discussion. They hadn’t ordered anything. They just seemed to talk about very serious business.

I ordered a chicken burger with fries. My friend went for iced coffee too.

One of the first questions he asked me was about my profession. "Im a teacher", I said. "Which subjects do you teach?", he wanted to know. "Englisch and Religion".

"Oh so you hate the gay kids".

Okay. Great start of a conversation.

 "Not so?" Now he removed his sun glasses and I could see his eyes for the first time.

"If you teach religion you are supposed to go against the gay kids, aren’t you?" How could I explain to him that this was absolutely not the case. 

"We are actually supposed to teach more of a liberal religion", I told him. „It‘s no doctrines in Public Schools and there‘s always room for discussion. “ The German educational System is supposed to always be oriented towards the values of democracy.

"Ooooh okay". He smiled.

The waitress brought my burger and another plate of samosas for him. We were just eating for a few minutes not talking a lot.

Then he started to tell us a little bit more about his vision. About how he escaped the brainwashed church of Uganda. "I used to be a good Christian boy", he said. Smiling. That he felt guilty for leaving the church at first. And that all his family was praying for him. But he wanted revolution. He wanted to be a Rastafari.

"And the Rastafari are also Christians", he said. I rose one eyebrow. "You don’t agree?", he asked me.

"They also believe in the Bible and stuff", he added.

I told him that I knew a little bit about the Rastafari from the movie One Love about Bob Marley.

He laughed . "That’s the most mzungu shit I ever heard", he said. I laughed as well. I said it only to provoke him a little.

"Maan all the years people wanted to make me feel guilty for leaving the church. I mean I wouldn’t say I’m a lost sheep or something. I just don’t like how the Christian colonizers brainwashed our entire nation and stole our true identity."

I felt him. He left a lot behind to be the person he is today. He was aware of many details of the Ugandan history and original culture. It was interesting to talk to him. He complained about how white people want to ‘‘help‘‘. And that most organizations and helping projects are not really sustainable. "Man everytime an Elke or a Gerhardt or a Heike from Memmingen or whereever they‘re from want to help and send money I just tell them that this isn‘t the right way." He finished his samosa. "We need a change from the inside out." My friend and I laughed hard about this stereotypical German names. He knew many people from Germany. And he didn‘t even judge us for failing to understand. Failing to understand the real problem. Failing to understand his vision.

He took a sip of his iced latte and ordered another one. The ring on his finger stroke my eye. It was a small shell embedded in a golden ring. ‘‘I like your ring‘‘, I said. He looked at it. ‘‘Really?‘‘, he asked. ‘‘Now look at you a good Christian girl telling me she likes my ring. Others tell me a ring like this must be enchanted. They all suppose it to be connected to witchcraft.‘‘ He told us that some people here pretend to be witch doctors and use peoples‘ faith in supernatural things for their own benefit. Later in the city he showed us an advertisement poster of one of these doctors called Dr. Banda. He told me that we can ask for such a ring in a souvenir market later. 

 I tell you, with his looks and aesthetics he could run a New York fashion show. But that made him outstanding for the people here. Something like this is rarely seen in this country. He wore African style but very modern. I told him I could see him in Paris or New York.

"Not in Berlin?", he asked and laughed. "Oh you would fit in well in Berlin", I told him. But we all knew that his destiny was making a change in his own country. Then he started to talk about colonization again.

"And the way women were told to dress modestly maan." He shook his head.

"Women in our tribes used to work shirtless and their ass all over the place bam bam", he made a gesture with his hands. We all had to laugh. "And nobody cared", he said. „There was nothing sexual about it. Until the white colonizers told us myths about temptation and modesty." When talking he cussed a lot.

My friend and I listened patiently. And I liked his ideas. I could see the pain about his people in his heart. But the way he talked about the church was brutally painful. I was aware  that Christian faith can easily be instrumentalized here, just as in many other places of this world. Still I believed in the one true Christ and his church. Although I knew there‘s a lot going on in big churches, especially in some African mega churches.

"I love that you want to break free", I said. Which was true. "But still, one day you are about to face Christ, your Lord and Savior". He looked at me.

"Man you talk like my mother", he said and laughed.

 I was lacking the words to express that it was not God‘s will how colonization and exploitation is still destroying African culture.

We talked about the president and Bobby Wine and other politics. Indeed he was a revolutionist. He didn’t really care what people think about him. He showed us the rainbow flag on his website. "That’s a little hint for all my white fellows", he said. He told us that most Ugandans didn't know about the flag or its meaning.

Then we started the tour.

Across Kampala. The capital of Uganda. A city of crazy traffic and lively negotiating. He knew a lot of secret spots. People called him Rasta like they called us Mzungu. He moved like a snake between the taxis. I fell in love with his spirit this day. And I hope he manages to start the revolution. And that there  might be a way to combine his vision with God’s vision. Because indeed the people of this country are thirsty for an Exodus to happen.