Hotel Away From Home

So this was the peculiar picture I found myself portraying last night. I, Bazanye of Bulabira, was unable to be in Bulabira.

Even after I had just zipped past a light-skinned long-braid chick on my boda, which was swifter than hers, our eyes made contact, and I detected a hint of envy in her eyes. She must have been thinking, “That man is so sexy and handsome and desirable and if circumstances allowed I would have so liked to have him later tonight. And his passenger isn’t that bad either.”

Even after all that, I got home and found everything I usually have in my bag– the chromebook, two notebooks, two pens, several chargers, magnesium tablets, sunglasses, headphones, mp3 player, money and mo money, and then mo problem. The problem, being that  I found no keys.

Who had the keys?

I had to bring Bradley the boda back so we could return to office and check for them. An hour later it was established that jack shit. There was as much keys in the office as there was in my bag,  namely none. 

So here I am. Locked out of my house. What was I to do?

Easy. When you are as enterprising and intelligent and confident in your innate abilities to plan and scheme as I am, you just make a list of strengths and competencies and derive a solution from those.

I was: 

a) Gainfully employed gentleman in the middle of the month of April

b) In the vicinity of Ntinda, Ntinda being the Wandegeya of Kampala, as in it doesn’t close.

c) Still had the number of Bradley the Hunky Boda, the only Boda in Uganda who women shout, “Size yange!” at.

Solution presented itself quite readily and I found a hotel.



You people.

Even though you have your own houses and homes, some of you even have families or roommates, ditch those losers at least once a month and spend a night in a hotel.

It is the most luxurious, revitalizing, decadent, indulgent pleasure I have had all month. Well, third most, because I attended both AkaDope and MoRoots et Soul Deep’s show, so third most.

The Hotel has a better bed, there is a woman who brings all your food to you when you snap your fingers and you don’t even have to go to a kwanjula in Kiboga first, the equivalent of the same in the case of a female reader is also there and the decor and the lights are nicer than the shit at home. Plus they have those mosquito nets which you close by pulling a string. Like on Telenovellas.

Hotels are amazing. And if you go alone because you locked yourself out of your house, there is, additionaly, nobody disturbing you nti come and satisfy me tonight when you are tired.

It is like, for one night, you are a rich person, with servants even.

I don’t really know this song. I just assume they are bragging about having money.

The next morning I returned to Bulabira, where I live, to make arrangements to either have my house broken into or have the spares delivered from where they be (Landlord has one, once-a-week housekeeper has the other) and to reminisce of the life I once knew, once, that magical night before.

And now, presenting the twist in the tale. I got home, opened the door and walked right in.

I had not lost the keys. I had forgotten to lock the house when I left that morning. The keys were there on the sofa.


But still. The point remains. This isn’t a Stella Nyanzi protest, let us not lose focus of the main point and get distracted by politics and personalities. I don’t listen to Future, so I don’t know what the song is saying. Bite me. The point is, I advise you, fellow Ugandans, to  encourage our hotel industry by everyone once in a while run away from home and pash in a hotel.

Thank you.

And now, a word:

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