Where everybody knows your name

One of the things I like best about Kampala is its small town feel – even in Garden City, the mall, which is arguably the most commercialized and modernized establishment in the country (the Sex and the City movie came out there on the same day as in the States). Shop owners are often the sole employees, offering a constant face, warm welcome, touching knowledge of your preferences, and hand-written receipt, whether it’s Monday at 8pm or Thursday over lunch or Saturday at 10 in the morning. The owner of Beirut, my hummus and baba ghanoush supplier, greets me with a, “My good customer!” upon entry. The woman at the deli puts the turkey on the slicer before I even get to the counter. The guy at the butchery and I have a system down where he stores my meat in the fridge for me to pick up after I workout, when the butchery is closed. The woman who owns the lamp store still waves whenever I walk by, even though I bought my lamps over three months ago. The owner of the gym claims he opened early on Martyr’s Day just for me (debatable), the aerobics instructor invites me for Chinese massages, and the guy at Healthy Snacks knows he can count on me to show up for a Red Defender smoothie every Saturday around noon.

My deepest soft spot, however, is for Aziz, the owner of the small but densely packed space where I rent my movies. Aziz is probably in his 50s, Indian, and at the store from open to close, 10:30am to 10:30pm, every day of the week. When I asked when the movie was due back the first time I rented, he told me, “Oh, four or five days, a week. When you finish.” Ah, the trust.

Aziz now makes me tea when I go in to peruse his walls of DVDs. Delicious African tea, with more milk and sugar than tea or water. The way it tastes best.