Let’s face it, no city is nice in the rain. But this statement is particularly true about Kampala, as I’ve recently had a chance to find out.
I get up at 6 am, mindful that traffic in and around the city can be frantic. The sky is heavy with rain clouds and by the time I leave the breakfast room at my hotel it is raining. No, wait. To say it’s raining is a serious understatement. It is pouring, pissing, weeping with rain so intense that you don’t see drops or strings of water, just a constant wet wall.