One evening, three cripples, three ways

Last evening I was going home when I encountered, separately, three cripples going home their different ways.
The first one was coasting down Jinja road toward the traffic lights at Kitgum house. His means, a cool looking black scooter with two little wheels on either side of the back tyre. As I was admiring the vehicle, I looked twice to make sure I had seen his metal-encased lower limbs properly; yes this was not just another fancy bike, but a cripple's funky car. (At this point I beg leave to use the word cripple, for lack of a better word.) I was impressed by the fact that he was very smartly dressed and would not be surprised to find he owned a company. I wondered if he was crippled before or after he was rich - for he looked rich.

Twenty minutes later I get into this taxi and before I know it I am ensconced next to another cripple. This one is a common sight in town: the man with his legs bent forward at the knees. He is also smartly dressed although in cheaper clothes. He has this huge red bag, about one metre wide, in which a huge radio cassette player fits snugly. This is the guy you see at the street corner dancing vigourously to the music from the system. If you like his stuff, you drop some money into the plate. The dancer gets a lot of cash, given that he is trying his best to earn a living. Compared to some bafeere - idlers- who do nothing all day and either steal or beg for food, he has a lot of sympathy.
I sat looking at his feet waving just inches from my nose and it was all I could do not to act weird. He would try to make conversation but in a low mumble that I never managed to catch. I tried to ask him to say it again but he obviously was not that interested in telling me what he was telling me.
As we made our way up the Jinja road to Banda, we all noticed another cripple trying to beat the evening rush hour on his wheel chair. This wheel chair is the kind that has to be propelled by turning hand pedals at the front. Sometimes he would power ahead so fast, probably to get a head of a car that showed signs of eating into the pedestrian walkway that was his highway.

Everyone in the taxi was saying things about his stamina, and what amused me was the cripple next to me also joining in with his muffled voice. He said something about the strength the man can pump out of his arms. In the slow moving traffic, there was a lot of time to observe the guy outside as he passed us sometimes, and then we caught up and eventually left him behind.

At Kireka, the dancer hopped off the taxi and said a grateful 'webale baba' (thank you father) the kind driver who would not charge him for the ride and who was no relation of his. He plonked off in his unusual way into the dark, swinging his red bag around the tall legs of barbecue stoves bearing skewers of sausages, meat and gonja.

These three men made a serious impression on me that night as they hurried home to their wives and children. Yes, they have wives and children.