So, Enough About Me; How Was Your Weekend?

This is how tight things became at a certain part of Kira (a Kampala Suburb) this weekend.

 

So, I am in that hood occasionally. Sometimes II can’t go home. I have a bowel syndrome that means after too much coffee and too much red meat I am a bit more flatulent than the average Wakisonian. I don’t want to go home and stink up the house, I would rather go to Dave’s house and stink up that place. I love wifey. I don’t love Dave. Dave can get stunk.

 

So I am in Kira, (a Kampala suburb) for the weekend.

 

And it sounds weird.

 

It is quiet.

 

Seriously. It is three am in the night and there is no noise.

 

First I am gripped with fear. What has happened? The rapture? It came? And it took them? How? They are assholes, they can’t have made the rapture.

 

The local kibanda church in that area is congregated upon by some of the meanest, most selfish, most audaciously, flagrantly selfish Christians in Kampala (and suburbs). These people have a church the size of a sitting room. A couple of square metres of beaten down dust ringed in fraying kiwempe. There are like twenty people there. It’s a young church, of poor people, so the pastor has not extorted enough from them to buy a car yet. So far all he has got is a TVS motorcycle.

 

Oh, another thing they bought is a massive sound system. These speakers are so large and rude and powerful that even Bebe Cool would look upon them with Envy.

 

Every Friday night, therefore, this neighbourhood knows no peace. All it knows is the hoarse voice of Pastor Nyayiga shouting about the need to give, plant seeds, hand over the cash, make it rain in his account, amen and amen.

 

Then the two dozen sheep in the fold are not just sheep in the sense that they are going to be fleeced, they are sheep in the sense that they bleat, not sing.

 

All night long, the air is rent by the hideous sound of people who have no business anywhere near music smashing clouds apart with their rotten singing.

 

Yeah.

 

But this weekend this was not the case. It was quiet.

 

I was able to establish, using my journalism, which I still perform now and again, to whit, I asked around and learned, that the power of neighbourhood civil action had prevailed. No, no lawsuit, just someone with a hosepipe short-circuited the speaker system and it died.

 

And this is what proves that Ugandans are impossible to please.

 

Most people were glad to finally have some peace. Children, babies, the elderly, the busy, the hungover, etc.

 

But then the drunkos in the hood came out to complain that, without the sound of the church, they were no longer able to find their way home in the dark.

 

We have told them to wander into the swamp and drowm. Cos fukkem.

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