At the bottom of the hill below the GLI campus you can take a right and make your way back toward Lake Victoria. Only a few vehicles travel in either direction. An occasional Boda Boda driver, hands gripping the handlebar, inquires with his eyes whether I need a ride. A steady flow of people walk along the red dirt road. Some look at me curiously but most keep their faces set until I greet them with good morning. They quickly reciprocate, sometimes adding boss or sir. The kids are more likely to sneak a look and smile when our eyes meet. Houses up the hill are spacious and two stories tall. They are set back behind thick walls topped with coiled barbed wire. A scattering of makeshift kiosks offer newspapers, bottled water, and rolexes (the Ugandan equivalent of a breakfast burrito). I am puzzled by signs announcing “this land is not for sale.” There is practically one on every block. Why advertise what you are unwilling to sell? Usually the sign goes up when the listing is offered. Is this resistance to some encroaching land grab or is just a foil against frivolous real estate browsers. I asked a man at a corner store, but he seemed unconcerned and explained to me, as to a child, that the sign simply means that the land is not for sale.
