A tale of two cities

Actually, one city and a town.

Kampala

Dirty, dusty streets strewn with rubbish.
Noisy chaotic traffic, every junction a somehow fluid gridlock, with bikes, motorbikes and matatus weaving treacherously between each other, in clouds of belching black exhaust.
A ridiculously overloaded matatu, broken down, with one man trying - and failing - to push it uphill.
Trucks piled high with bananas, one man sitting on top of each load.
The taxi-park viewed from above, a mass of white matatus, hundreds of them, tightly packed in curving rows, others unable to get in or out of the jammed entrances.
Brightly painted schools, their walls covered in pictures and advice ("Respect each other," "Brush your teeth after eating")
Mud in the overflowing gutters, left by recent floods.
Sweaty clammy heat.

Jinja

Lush greenery.
Air thick with humidity and the oversweet smells of flowers and freshly cut grass.
Wide streets with wide grass verges, tree-lined.
Peaceful, empty roads.
A quiet place, a gentle pace of life.