wandering through the heat haze of 363619

363619. that number stuck in my head like a bad earworm. not sure what it means, but it feels like a secret code for this place. the weather data said 29.72°C and 40% humidity. so basically, sweat city. i just checked and it's a sticky, slow-roast kind of afternoon there right now, hope you like that kind of thing.

i rolled in with my beat-up camera bag, pretending to be a freelance photographer, but honestly i was just chasing light and cheap coffee. the streets felt like they were holding their breath. locals moved slow, like they were underwater. someone told me that the best street art is hidden behind the old train station, but i never found it. maybe it was a rumor. or maybe i was looking in the wrong alley.

"if you want real food, skip the tourist traps. go three blocks east and knock on the blue door."

that's what a guy with a guitar said to me outside a bakery. i didn't knock. i regret it.

*the coffee here is strong enough to wake the dead. i grabbed a cup at a place called "morning ritual" - no website, just a cracked sign and a guy who looked like he'd been awake since 1997. the espresso hit like a freight train.

if you get bored, kampala and jinja are just a short drive away. someone said the river there is magic at sunrise. i didn't go. i stayed in 363619, getting lost on purpose.

i heard that the night market is where the real stories happen. i went at 11pm. it was mostly closed. one vendor sold me a bracelet and told me his cousin lives in nairobi. i didn't know what to say, so i nodded.

this place doesn't hand you a story. you have to dig for it. or maybe you just have to sit still long enough for it to walk up and sit next to you. either way, 363619 left me with sand in my shoes and a head full of static.

if you go, bring water. and maybe a map. or don't. getting lost is half the point.

check out* TripAdvisor for more local tips, or Yelp if you're into crowd-sourced chaos.