The West has no Smell

Uganda smells overpoweringly of a zoo crossed with a mechanics garage. I shouldn't be surprised really, a common comment from returning travellors is that the West has no smell. But all of Uganda smells strongly and seems rather reluctant to leave. The most it offers is a brief reprieve. Sitting in my inn room outside Entebbe, I get engrossed in a book on the war in the north. Distracted, I walk to the window to glimpse the horizon and Uganda comes in to greet me.

It's inescapable. Not that it's a particularly unpleasant smell, mind. A mixture of manure, petroleum, sweat and burning rubbish define a nation that hasn't known true peace since independence and probably some time before then. It smells real and unveneered. It doesn't try and perfume over the reality of life in East Africa. It's the smell of a people that struggles hard everyday for mere existence.