A SATURDAY IN THE DUNDGEONS OF KAMWOKYA

A SATURDAY IN THE DUNDGEONS OF KAMWOKYA

After a Friday night out of some hard gin, I retired home uncharacteristically early at 1.00am. As I tried to undo my shoe laces, I inadvertently snoozed off in the sofa and was woken up at 5.00am by the incessant buzz of the irritating mosquitoes. If only they could bite and suck without having to interfere with my sweet sleep! Anyhow, I was more annoyed by the fact that I was sleeping in the sofa with nothing to cover myself, leave alone the uncomfort, than the lazy blood sucking vectors that were too full to suck anymore more blood but still insisted on making that most irritating noise.

“Better never than late,” as old dear Mulili would say, I jumped into my mazongoto and slept like a baby till 8.00am. For some reason I think the Muse must have visited me that night because I was in this creative mood that I dug up my writing project(the one I have been working on for two fucking years!) and perused through it. There is a particular scene in the early chapters that was more surreal than fictitious. I read and reread it and was convinced that at best it was mediocre.

My projick then was to go and look out for a more natural scenario with features similar to the physical setting of my chapter. FYI, this particular chapter is set in a hood where the scum and other wretched of the earth dwell, where the spirit of resilience against all odds NEVER dies. I looked at my mental the map of Kampala and zeroed on Kamwokya; the fabled ghetto in the not so convincing but convincing anyway imitations of Jamaican patois (read music) by one Bobi Wine.

Time check: 11.00am, Location: Kamwokya. I took a stroll around the entire neighbourhood deep down to the filthiest of the filthiest place. You see I don’t use notebooks; I record everything in my head, (thanks to my photographic memory and superior IQ! Lol!). There was a roadside “Cineplex” (video shack) which I figured will provide me with the most fertile setting and anecdotes to breathe life into my book. But I was lacking something, I knew I needed to get into character first before I could freely mix and mingle. A few more meters down the road and the kafunda presented itself to me.

I put off my designer sunglasses and bent my head a bit to enter but the bending didn’t spare my head from being smacked by the door frame. (Folks, sometimes being tall is not such a good idea…hahahahaha) I brushed the knock off like a macho and made myself confortable in the kafunda. Loud lingala music was blaring out, there were some patrons already, a good mix of old and young, men and women.

Needless to say, I had found the perfect spot for my mission. I ordered for a tot of “Beckahm gin” and expertly bit off the top left hand corner and started suckling from it. No sooner had I stepped into the bar than the lively conversation died. (For the record, this is the first time, I’m using “No sooner” in a sentence since my PLE. Beat that?)

I sensed that my intrusion had sent shivers down the spine of many a kafunda patron. They probably thought I was an undercover cop investigating the underground marijuana trade. By the way, I hear it is quite lucrative. (Denis, you were soliciting for business ideas, there you go). So to ease the tension, I ordered a full soda bottle full of the local gin and before long, the nerves had relaxed and the room was full of animated conversation.

I started making small talk with a man who seemed in his early fifties, very drunk at mid day and yet looked respectable…
(To be continued tomorrow)