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I stayed at Borongolo hotel with Mr Barya for almost three days and nights during my seven day visit to the central part of Uganda. On the fourth night, I decided to move around the place outside the hotel. This time, I decided to go alone without a companion. The previous day, my host had bought me a new car replacing the old Pajero which I had driven for over five years and later sold cheaply at pine to top up for the new Klugger. The streets were almost empty and bereft of traffic as I started out for my adventure from Busega through Makindye and Nateete. It was dark and cold. It took me seven minutes to reach the mouth of Masaka road as to per my map. This was too, an almost deserted road save for a few puttering trailers on transit lumbering on the tarmac roads with loads emitting wreaths of smoke from their exhaust pipes and the deafening noise from their engines. I drove through the misty road, I could even accelerate to 140km/hr on a stretch and below 100km/hr through the curves or bumpy parts. I wound through verdant hills and valleys. I was lonely: there is that feeling of alienation, when you can only see the moon above and mist in front and backwards. A few minutes later, I was in a town, Mbarara town as the signpost read. I decided to stop and pretend to be looking for something to put in my stomach in the near by hotel. I would have chosen to go back home but the devil I carried in my pockets, the loads of money I had, the hanging stomach as though I had a school of teens inside bludgeoned me to pull into the parking lot. While I darted my sleepy eyes for a vacant seat in the hotel room to settle in, a friend to my host whom I fingured we had met previously pronounced my name. I moved to his table and we exchanged pleasantries. He worked with an NGO in Kampala. The clock striked ten. It was time to go. We moved together to where I had parked my car. There wasn't any car at all. I breathed heavily. “Don't worry, your car will be found,” he comforted me. Where could I get to my host's place? I thought, where was I? In a place I had spent three days. Mr. Dembe led me to his vehicle and I ensconced myself in the seats of his Ford double cabin as he quickly went to inform the hotel security. I dead silent. “Don't worry, we shall get a quick solution to this,” he said nonchalantly as he opened the car. He later drove me to a certain place, Mpundwe, a village that boarders Uganda with DRC. “I have lost cars too,” he spoke after a long silence between us, “and the place we are going to is a man who helps me recover my cars in a day.” In a day..?? I thought. I smiled and shook my head in disappointment. My heart hesitated to believe and palpitated the entire journey. After several labyrinths of village paths, we came to a hut and stopped. The old man's hut. He had a scrawing son who looked seven, in a tattered sordid pair of shorts without a shirt. He welcomed us and Ied us to the visitor's seat that was permanently planted into the earth. The old man came there after and we narrated him all as it were. He didn't say anything to us but entered his hut. In a few minutes, he started jabbering incoherently. He got out and handed us something that was wrapped up in a green polythene as he said, “ Don't thank me. Rush and place this to the place where the car was. Utter out that ‘ whoever picked the car should return it before dawn.’ We left immediately. I was not understanding anything of all this. Could all such jibbering bring my car? It took us another hour to drive back to the hotel and do as instructed. Damn!!! THE THIEF RETURNED THE CAR AT FOUR IN THE MORNING.