Kitintale's gulf where the youth sniff petrol to calm their nerves

For the next 12 weeks New Vision will devote space worth sh380m to highlight the plight of slum dwellers as well as profiles of those offering selfless service to improve conditions in these areas. Today, GILBERT KIDIMU brings you the story of gulf, a slum in Kitintale

I get off the taxi on old Portbell Road facing a dirt road that leads to Gulf, a slum in Kitintale Zone 13. The vague traces of tarmac are a clear indication this was once tarmac road.

As I walk towards Gulf car washing bay; trucks, taxis and cars heading to and from my journey’s end, drive past leaving thick clouds of dust. Shops, chapatti stalls and makeshift restaurants occupy every space that is not occupied by a house. The makeshift restaurants, as I later learn, sell all meals of the day, and telling from the crowd of people, business is booming.

If you went looking for Zone 13 in Kitintale, you would probably hit a few dead ends before getting there but if you looked for Gulf, you would be there in no time as everyone around knows it as that.

The washing bay is no doubt a hive of activity. Young men, mostly in their early 20s, are busy washing automobiles. On the left other young men are sitting on benches at verandahs of restaurants having breakfast. Next to the cluster of restaurants, on a wooden bench sit two boys, brothers, as I later learn, making paint.

Other men are just talking and debating in groups of twos, threes and fours. A group of three is debating on which, of Lionel Messi and Christiano Ronaldo has better soccer skills.

Twice I come across a man smoking.

Just that moment, out of the houses rushes another man carrying a 10-litre jerrycan of petrol, and heads to the washing bay. This is no ordinary washing bay, as Swaibu Mutyaba, a university student who has lives near gulf washing bay all his life said.

Origins of Gulf

It was just another washing bay back in the 1980s until some soldiers came up with the idea of making the area a place where they could sell fuel cheaply to the residents. That’s how the name Gulf came up.

Gulf was often raided by the army to recover the stolen fuel. The fuel dealers decided to hide the fuel in holes they dug up yards away from their residences.

The bitter-sweet impact

Fuels sellers made quite a killing. They went from illiterates to the educated of the zone. Children too learnt and got involved in the trade.

According to Swaibu, whoever stays around Gulf somehow wants to sell fuel. After completing primary school, during their vacation, boys help their fathers to sell fuel and by the end of their vacation, the idea of school is not as appealing as the daily proceeds from fuel.

Obviously, writing and reading notes. For many, that marks the end of the mundane school routines.

In Gulf, fuel is sipped from the vehicles using thet mouth. The boys place a tube into the car fuel tank to pull out the fuel into a jerrycan. At first, one gets intoxicated because of the fumes one inhales, but after a while, like a smoker, they get used to the smell. Not long after, they get addicted to sniffing it.

Many of the youth have gone into gambling since they work very short hours, mainly in the morning. One will gamble all their money. The gambling has, in a way, given birth crimes, from petty ones like picking clothes from on the clothes lines to serious ones like house-breaking.

Swaibu recalls several young girls he grew up with who have since settled for other young men in Gulf. Some of them were bright students who should be making a mark on the corporate ladder but somehow, they all ended up loitering at Gulf.

But Swaibu is among the few people in the area who have persevered and gone ahead to get a university education. He attributes this to a no-nonsense father.

“My parents were very strict about us not laying a foot in Gulf. Besides, I had a goal even when I was a child. I wanted to be better than what I was witnessing in the neighbourhood,” he says.

Swaibu’s story largely differs from George Bukenya’s and Susan Nassuna’s.

Nassuna, now a housewife and Bukenya share a story with many gulf boys who have traded their otherwise promising future for marijuana and gambling.

But Bukenya’s father is neither a fuel seller nor a community nonentity - he is a well-educated man holding a high managerial position in corporate circles. He just lives near Gulf.

“Bukenya was a disciplined, bright boy in school who scored Aggregate Five in PLE,” recalls Nassuna. “But as an adolescent in Senior Two, he joined bad group in Gulf and failed his Senior Four exams.

Although his father was mad at him; seeing his son’s potential, he gave him a second chance to study A’ Level.

However, poor grades at O’ level were not a lesson enough as Bukenya became worse. He frequently escaped from school to smoke and drink. At A’ level he again performed poorly.

He was able to score points to qualify for a diploma course at an institution but the ravages of his lifestyle took their toll on him when he gambled his tuition fees and dropped out of school.

Bukenya was eventually chased out of his father’s home and now rents a small room. The question his father asks is: “What could have could have become of a young man who had so much potential?”