Uganda, Oct. 6 -- A drive across Kampala on Saturday night left your columnist feeling nervous and fearful of what the country, at least as represented by the city, has slowly become.

In Kyambogo, near the City Oil service station, cars had come to a standstill. It wasn't clear why, given that it was too late for traffic. I was still fighting the instinct to get out of the automobile and walk ahead to investigate when a stream of humanity sped by helter-skelter in the opposite direction.

As the cars finally inched forward, the method to the late-night madness became clear. On the right-hand side of the road, a half-smashed motorcycle lay on its side, half-hidden from view by at least half-a-dozen other motorcycle riders.

To the left of...