Tales from a watering hole

The sun has returned to its abode and the men of Nyendo, Masaka, have gathered once again at their favorite watering holes. The women are returning home, having spent the entire day in the market, gossiping about their husbands as they waited for the never coming customers. The young men are getting ready for night duty, cleaning their iron bars, sharpening their knives and

praying that the boda boda men are not so alert tonight.

Maama Brown’s joint is filled to capacity. It is the trading center’s most popular joint. Lingala music is blaring from the old speakers, the men are also engaged in what is known as men’s talk as they swing glasses of crude waragi, that local potent gin that weakens the joints, loosens the tongues and blurs the vision.

The topics of discussion keep changing with each glass of waragi. From who was caught with whose wife to the young boy caught making love with a goat. Topics like the owner of the new tile roofed house in the town, who the richest men in the town are, the most beautiful women in the land, where to get cheap liquor from and matters of national interest keep coming up. Trust the liquor or the wit of these men because they discuss all these issues with such enviable authority.

As the liquor takes its toll, the discussion shifts to politics. “People are crying about hard times, but somebody tell me what they are crying about.” Tomasi starts. “They talk about poverty yet last time the president donated a sack full of money to some young boys in Busoga…are we really poor?” he asks.

“Hahahahahaha…so the great revolutionary is now an automated teller machine…ATM…dispensing money in sacks.” Mukasa laughs out drunkenly. “Anyway, I care less about my future because my present is dark and hopeless. They tell us about inflation but I have no debts, for who would lend a shilling to one who cannot pay back.”

Muzeeyi Bosco, considered as the elder in the joint interjects, “I heard from someone that Gen. Salim Saleh, the brother of this country’s ruler, had proposed that the corrupt be forgiven their crime and allowed to keep the loot. Had that come from a drunkard like me, I would have laughed it off as the rambling of one under the influence of a potent brew. But coming from one of the chief architects of the fundamental change, I fear that Uganda has lost focus!”

Bosco goes on to recite the numerous corruption scandals by the leaders of the fundamental change. “Junk helicopters, Valley dams, Congo gold, Global Fund, Gavi Fund, Temangalo, Chogm, LC bicycles, Kazinda and his OPM exploits…..”

Salabwa, a Luweero bush war veteran introduces a new topic, Gen. Sejjusa and his letters. The discussion is so heated attracting the attention of Maama Brown who interrupts them.  “Wait…No one is allowed to discuss Sejjusa..after raiding media houses, the police might soon raid my joint...,” She says. “Hahaha...and what do you take us for? Fools?? We may be poor, but we are not stupid,” Bosco replies. “We may be drunk but we are not fools.”

Maama Brown notices that the designated time for closure is fast approaching. The young men, the much feared night workers are about to commence their operations. She asks for her dues as she loudly wonders. “Was it really a fundamental change or a mere change guards?”