BAD THINGS AND GOOD PEOPLE.
Siku njema huonekana asubuhi. The coastal dwellers always say. A good day manifests itself at dawn. Contrary to the good day however, the bad day is not interested in revealing itself beforehand. It will just sit back, relax, take a breather and probably visit its friends to sip on tea and then wait for the right moment to strike. And just like that, in a trice, you will be declaring it the worst day of your life.
On a fine Saturday morning, we relaxed at hostel, slept our behinds off and then indolently had lunch. Mayanja, the class motor mouth had been proclaiming all week that Saturday was the day the Lord had planned. A birthday of sorts. So in high spirits we waited for evening to set in.
We drove off to the venue, Michael getting directions on phone, Mutebi on the steering. We manoeuvred the Bugolobi neighbourhood till we got to the party. The disappointment, we could not hide. There were no drinks in sight. All they had were a few bottles of soda on the table, the music mediocre and the high school style MC who kept on blubbering high school slang. Not the place we wanted to be. We stuck around for a while. The bottle game began. You hold a bottle and as soon as the Dj starts playing a song, you pass it on till the song is cut short and the culprit with the bottle stands up and is given a task. Campus demands that the commonest task be dancing with a female, usually one you do not know about. This was certainly not the day the Lord had planned.
It is at that moment that we remembered Janet’s birthday. Hurriedly we excused ourselves and headed to Wink Bar in Kololo. Here, we were not disappointed. Although we had spent two years in the same class and hostel block, Janet was not my friend. Often I would pass her up on my way to campus and we never greeted each other. I was therefore surprised when she hugged me and cordially led us to a secluded spot in the bar gardens. One Guinness after another. The cake was cut. We ordered a round of shisha, the first and second last time I ever tried it.
The festivities got done close to midnight and that was still too early to call it a night. First, we headed to Casa. It lacked the lure. Just old white men and young promiscuous ladies out to considerably dent the former’s wallets. Then we went to Nagulu, Panamera first. Arrogant Banyankole men, sitting and drinking like it was their last day on planet earth. Bouncers moving up and down asking the rest why they had no drink in their hands. The night was bound to end at Legends Sports Bar. This one never disappoints. Loud good old music, a jovial crowd, beer, the smell of roast pork on skewers and an open space for bone shaking. Ah, the good old times, before they started making us pay for entry. Banger after another and this time it was surely late. So we decided to converge and head home.
Ahmed who had wondered off had to be called. So I, glass of the bitters in hand, followed him. Pushing people out of the way until I caught up with him, tapped him on the shoulder and let him know we were leaving. He turned around and led the way. The Dj changed song and every one bleated to Chris Brown’s Loyal intro. So I did a slow jump and turned around, to the opposite direction.
That’s when I was swept up. Huge men, Dwayne Johnson’s size hustled me. I could tell by their midnight complexion that their surnames begin with an ‘O’. One scuffed me by the collar so violently that my tie button flew off.
“I’ve got the rascal!”
The huge black men then descended upon me and started thumping, like I was a venomous African snake. One rained a fist on my left jaw. Decibels of pain raced up and down my spine, numbing me in the process. It is common practice in Africa that a thief be taken as a common enemy. Within a short while therefore, a sizeable mob had formed around me, kicking, battering and showering blows on my head.
“Wuuyo. Wuuyo omubbi.” They chorused.
The huge men decided to rush me to security. It all happened in a rush and I was just there stupefied. It felt like an extremely bad dream save for the little detail that the pain was real, and I was being mobbed for apparently pickpocketing a huge black man. I could feel my mouth getting heavy and the bruises forming. Despite the haze around me, I knew that my face now looked like I had poked it in a beehive.
It always gets worse.
“Who are you?”
“I am a student.”
“Where is your ID?
“I don’t have the ID. We haven’t got them yet.” I desperately blurted out.
The mean looking security guy smirked at me with the all-knowing we-know-your-kind face. The only piece of identification I had on me was a black and white NSSF card. They were not convinced.
“Bino babija ku Nasser Road”. They said.
Great. My only form of identification was hurriedly dismissed as a forgery. The security guy handcuffed me and took me to the dock, complete with iron bars. Now I was a convict. He said he would take me to Police. Inside, I slumped down, heaved a sigh of worry and wondered why God had decided to take watch a movie at such a time of need.
God must have woken up just in the nick of time. Thirty minutes later, the security guy came, opened the iron bar door and shoved me outside. He un-cuffed me and threw me out of the gate. 2.30 am. I would not locate Mutebi. I had no coin on me, having spent the whole of it on the bitters. I was going to walk to Nakawa on foot. I quickly recited a Hail Mary and sauntered away from the music.
The sound of an engine revved up behind me. Probably one of the drunk night revellers going home.
“You guy. Where the f*ck have you been?”
Mutebi. I said the name like a prayer. I could have cried tears of Joy. He had returned to transport a second shift, the Toyota Subaru being a little too small for the whole lot of us. I hopped into the back seat, with three other ladies, reeking of Red Label.
“Where have you been, we combed up the place and you were nowhere to be seen!”
Excellent. So no one had witnessed the ordeal. I sighed and leant back, stared out of the car window as we sped off. It was something I would take to my grave. I have a blog though, so my death house will be robbed of one dark secret. The day that will arguably pass as my worst.
