The company heard. They heard that they can’t bill you for water they don’t supply and so they had better hustle and get that shit fixed and running again.
Water’s back, Kampala. Yay.
What. Is that all? No public holiday, no jubilant street-running, not even one mass orgy?
People, you have to do something at least. Something to mark this occasion. Water is back!
I, for one, am going to brush not just my teeth, but every part of me that has bones around it. That means I am bathing in toothpaste. I am going to scrub every inch of myself except for that one sensitive part that does not actually have a bone in it, despite what those ladies sometimes say.
I didn’t really miss boiled food, but I feel that to make the most of waters’ return, I need to boil everything. Boil chapati. Boil bread. Boil whiskey! It’s a celebration!
And how hard can it be to make a swimming pool? All you need is a hole in the compound now that you have all the water!
Wash the taps, too.
Why do we suffer water shortages anyway? We live in Kampala. Most of us have lived here long enough to know that water doesn’t love us enough, not as much as we deserve. It’s not always going to be there for us when we need it. Sometimes it just sods off.
Water shortages will occur. As will shortages of everything– electricity, petrol, democratic rights– so why have we not learned to stock up?
Museveni is right. You niggas need a saving culture.
By now every house should have a stock of candles, solar panels, teargasproof masks and as many jerrycans as it takes to keep your entire household damp, moist and hydrated for at least a month and a half.
In fact, we should be in a position where every so often, let’s make it every April, we all decide that we have so much spare water stored up that we don’t need National Water for that month. Then nobody pays their water bill. We all get disconnected and none of us cares until the middle of May.
And this post ends here. Bye.