I still tremble as I recall the events of that fateful day, when I was attacked by two young men in broad daylight. The memory of their swiftness, the forceful push, and the desperate struggle to protect my belongings is still stuck in my mind. For the years I have moved on Kampala streets, I have never had this nasty encounter.
As I was walking on the streets around Makindye, a Kampala surburb, engaged in a conversation with a friend that I had paid a visit to that afternoon, suddenly, one of the thugs pushed me with a lot of force, shortly after my friend had taken a few steps away from me. I fell to the ground as if it were a sack full of cassava. Before I could even process what was happening, the second attacker pounced, attempting to snatch my bag from my grasp.
Instinctively, I held on to my bag with all my might, refusing to let go. The attacker tugged and pulled, but I dug my heels into the ground, determined to protect my belongings. The struggle seemed to last an eternity, with the young men trying to overpower me.
Just when I thought all was lost, my friend happened to turn around and saw the commotion. She rushed towards us, shouting at the top of her voice, and chased the attackers away by throwing stones at them. I was left shaken, my heart racing, and my left side of the body bruised, but thankfully, my bag still clutched tightly in my hands.
This harrowing experience taught me a valuable lesson about vigilance and the importance of being aware of one’s surroundings. It also highlighted the need for community and the power of swift intervention. I am grateful for my friend’s timely rescue and the fact that I escaped with minimal physical harm that made me take a tetanus injection and several medications.
However, the emotional scars linger, serving as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk in our midst. I hope that by sharing my story, I can raise awareness about the importance of safety and the need for collective action against such senseless acts of violence.
