By 
The car that chose me wasn’t worthy of anyone’s bid- yet somehow, it found its way into my hands
I still remember the hum of engines and the glint of chrome at the Love for Cars Convention that Saturday morning. Rows of gleaming machines, some fresh from the showroom, others proudly restored classics, stood like old and new royalty side by side, waiting for admirers. Most visitors arrived with mechanics, car clubs, spec sheets and big plans. Clubs wore matching T-shirts, photographers crouched to capture headlights, and brokers whispered over spec sheets.
I walked in with a small envelope of savings, a quiet prayer, and my son’s school report folded neatly in my purse. I wasn’t there to stare at the brand-new SUVs or the spotless Harriers. I was there to find something that could move us from point A to point B without swallowing all my earnings.
Then, at the far end of the exhibition hall, under a faded banner that read “Auction Corner,” sat a tired grey Toyota Corolla Spacio. Its paint was dull, its dashboard cracked, and nobody was looking at it.
“Don’t waste your money on that one,” one broker said to me.
“It will become a headache. Even the boda guys won’t touch it,” he added, noticing I wasn’t reacting or contributing to the conversation.
There’s something about this car that tugged at me. It wasn’t the Premio I had dreamt of; it wasn’t even the Vitz my cousin told me to get. It was simply the car I could afford. And somehow, it was only the car I wanted.
When the auctioneer called for bids, few people even turned their heads. I raised my hand. “Sold!” he barked, and just like that, the car was mine.
The first breakdown came two weeks later, on Jinja Road. The engine coughed and died near a roadside stall. I could have cried. Instead, I called my mechanic friend I had met at the convention. While waiting, I chatted with the stall owner, a warm woman named Aisha. She introduced me to her cousin who was looking for someone to manage a small PR campaign for his hardware shop. It became my first steady client.
The second breakdown happened near a church in Namugongo. A man offered to help push the car out of traffic. He turned out to be an HR manager at a company I had been trying to pitch for months. He gave me his card on the spot.
The third time, the radiator burst near a fuel station. As I sat in the shade with my son, a lady pulled up in a shiny Harrier and asked if we were okay. We talked. She was starting a women’s cooperative for small businesses. Today, I’m one of its directors.
By the time I could afford a better car, I realised this old Spacio had been more than transport. It was a teacher. Every “breakdown” had brought me closer to the life I was trying to build.
Last month, I went back to look for someone to take over the Spacio. The convention had long ended, but Arthur, the former host, still ran pre-purchase inspections for car lovers. A young man was nervously examining the grey Spacio, freshly repainted. I introduced him to Arthur, who guided him through the car’s condition and answered his questions.
Admitting that all his friends were drawn to shiny new Subarus, he hesitated I smiled, walked over, and told him, “Don’t be afraid of a car that looks tired. Sometimes it knows exactly where you need to go.” Then I signed the papers and passed it on.
Reflection & Teaching
We often think practicality is the only sensible way to make decisions. Buy the best car you can afford. Avoid problems. Stick to the safe route. But life, especially in Uganda, doesn’t always unfold that way. Sometimes the “bad” car, the wrong turn, or the unplanned stop becomes the bridge to the people and opportunities you need most.
Here are a few lessons from this story:
1. Listen to your instincts, but prepare. Trust your gut, but also do the paperwork, inspections, and budgeting. Pamela didn’t ignore reality; she chose to work with what she had.
2. Treat inconveniences as invitations. A car breakdown can be a networking moment, a chance to meet someone, to pause and think, to discover new places.
3. Obstacles can redirect you. Just because something goes wrong doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path. Sometimes it’s pointing you to a better one.
Think of a time when something seemed like a setback but turned out to be a breakthrough. What did it teach you about patience, intuition and opportunity?
