Kampala Bars (Boda Boda, Garden City, Kampala)

I qualified my title. Some very confused people might think this post concerns the bars before they open for business. Asylum fodder just! Do you have time? Are you unemployed? If you answered aye to both these questions, me and you are going to get on just fine. I have no time for employed prudes too caught up in their work to read some rubbish I wrote in my free time. Anyway, back to business...

Over the years, I've taken the time to sample a cross section of Kampala's night spots and after incisive analyses of all these joints, I bring you Kampala by Night 101. I hate night clubs so they will not feature much in this paragraphs that follow. What with those hot chicks in their skimpy dresses and their dudes in baggy jeans and large tees with blingey thingies everywhere! I can't be bothered. These joints are described in no particular order. I'll do bar by bar

Boda Boda, Garden City, Kampala
Who wants to drink with strange looking wooden faces with glowing eyes staring at them? Don't raise your hand, stupid! I can understand pouring out libations in your private shrine at home to your wooden face but an upper class bar in Kampala, never. Bloody things are everywhere. Worse still, these voyeuristic bastards are in the girls' "restroom" as well, observing everything quietly with their red eyes. Then you go around saying "if walls could talk", naive child, the walls in Boda can see. They know all your secrets as if ISO. Now most mainstream religions try very hard to emphasize the absence of alcohol from their places of worship (don't even think about Holy Communion). How the hell is a devout witch doctor going to drink in the face of his god(s)? Boda, please take down the masks and put up some Leonardo fakes or nude pictures or something or you will lose good business. Your drinks are probably expensive because you have to pay tithe to your wooden faces.

Conclusion: Boda boda is a nice bar for Christians.

Coming next: Equator, Zone 7 or wait for it...The JUNCTION.

Rich men, poor men and kyanas

Hello there, you’ve probably seen me on the cover of various romance novels over the years. As if a handsome muzungu kanyama who’s an heir to a massive conglomerate and then I fall in love with this poor kyana who came in as my personal assistant; you know the story, then my dad finds another blue blooded kyana from a family which is rich like ours for me to marry, then the ka PA kyana pisses me off and I first sleep with the rich kyana, then eventually I leave the rich kyana and marry the poor kyana who never has to work again. Moral: Work hard and get rich so your son can sleep with women. Don’t you ever wonder why no one ever writes romantic stories about poor people?

Exercise for writers: Begin your new novel with the following words, “Then he lifted her in his clay caked sinewy arms and carried her to his muzigo.” Please do not attempt to sell your book, you will not succeed, no one wants to know how slum dog types perpetrate their romances. Don’t argue! How many times have you asked your boda boda chap how his kyana is? See? This is all for the best anyway, we really don’t want to know. Of course, the hypocrites will deny but we all know the truth, don’t we? Now, I realize my tone might be offensive to certain people, which is really disturbing because I’ve not even started tackling the real issues. Are you uncomfortable with truth in any of its forms, perhaps you should skip over to the Big Brother update, plenty of lies there.

With great power, comes a great urge to sleep with as many women as possible. The mathematics is simple, Money=Power, ergo rich people are generally more randy than poor people. While we serfs are loitering the streets of Kampala hustling for our buck, the bagaga are looking for the next great encounter. Bagaga are like terminator robots(the old model of Schwarzenegger not mercury man*) , they have scan vision during the day. At night, they have that thermal stuff as if Predator. The interesting thing about this sophisticated vision is it only detects women, they never see us chaps. How many times has your boss walked by your desk and not said hi yet even the female cleaner got a hug? See? I am telling the truth so the next time your boss walks by you, say his name loud, grab him by the shoulders and look him straight in the eye for at least 5 minutes. If he starts crying, he’s gay – don’t fear this type. If his left eye starts turning red, clear out your desk quickly. Hunters abhor contact with species outside their food chain. You are neither a fellow hunter nor prey, hence there is no conceivable condition that should result in physical contact with you. If you can't eat them, hate them! This is valid biological theory. *Mercury man is the bad guy from Terminator 2.