The container downstairs provides a perfect case study on the subject of why exactly it is that Ugandans can and ought to just go @#&! themselves. Conclusive and incontrovertible facts, unimpeachable and perfect—you cannot argue with this evidence.
The office building within which I work is ultra-modern and sleek and elegant except for one thing—there is no way you can buy a soda in here. I don’t know what the reason is, because it surely can’t be that hard to just put a crate in the kitchen and let bottles be sold by Jajja Felly, purveyor of the world-famous Supercoffee aka Max Black Suicide Brew aka the Fellyccino, (which for the record, and I must ask for your applause here, I have not touched a drop of for eight weeks now. When post-insomnia after-lunch catatonia strikes, I sneak into a stall in the gents and black out instead. Yay me.).
But then you have read our paper, you know that we don’t always follow the sensible path; we sometimes walk in the same direction as the silly things.
When one needs, as one often does these days, a soda, one must walk out of the building to the container across the road.
This container is a shop now, stocking sundry snacks and foodstuffs, in addition to other knicks and knacks that one may find worth buying in the middle of industrial area. Including grey socks. Not including, however, for some mysterious reason, black ones. Go figure.
It also contains the rudest heifer this side of the teeming herds of Karamoja. A blindingly offensive woman, a witch, a witch with eyes, nose, cheeks and forehead that sneer even more than that vile and twisted mouth of hers can. And oh, can it sneer? It can sneer! It twists itself up like an old piece of inner tubing from one of those really bashed up Special Hires that only operate in the boondocks and she doesn’t even have to say a word for you to feel at that moment, as you stand in her sight, that you are the most detested creature that light ever bounced off of and she just pities her eyes for having to look at you.
So you can see, going to the container is already not a fun trip.
But you need the soda, right? So you make the trip. You get to the container. You have your waterbottle with you because, well, she won’t let you go with her glass pepsi bottle unless you leave a hefty deposit and you know when you do that that she will send her mayembe to make sure you break said bottle so that she can keep the deposit.
If the mayembe don’t work, (say, for example, because you are covered in The Blood) then she will sneak into the office her own damn self, most likely through the air vents, and steal the bottle. I’m telling you she is evil and you think I am making things up.
You make the trip. You get to the container. You find two men standing at the little window.
So, you sit down on the bench to wait for them to finish buying what they are buying and disperse. If you are like me, you probably check your facebook again hoping desperately for some sort of good news to lighten up this day, for it is a dark day. You have spent it all in that office building. ^&*@#%!!
After two minutes you realize that the men at the shop window are not moving. What are they buying that takes so long? Stocks and Bonds? You get up to see what is going on and…
…they were just there to chitchatter kaboozi with Scowlianna. Not to buy anything. And no one realized, not the man on the left, not the man on the right, not The Sneering Bitch herself, that the guy on the bench holding an empty bottle who always comes here to buy soda might just be a paying customer and it might be a good idea to make way and serve him.
I’m quite mad at the whole Ugandan business community that I am not going to buy Ugandan products any more. No more Splash. Ceres from now on.