Tuesday, 12 November 2013


A disclaimer would have been really handy for this title on an article but all the same, I am not writing lyrics to one of my all time favorite classics “Knowing me is knowing you” by ABBA. It is another interesting event whose memory is by far in need of a written account.

It was just another Saturday evening, not so usual though, because MUK was without power and nothing looked like it was going to make the evening tick.  There was something getting everyone excited in the names of “LUMBOX CARNIVAL” but I have been in MUK for some good semesters and nothing pleases me as long as it has Lumumba in it, well, apart from the well endowed and nicely curved girls that reside in that Mary Stuart Hall! Back to business.

It had dawned to my head that I should rush to Hamis, my Rolex guy, for my leading daily. No sooner had I envisaged the plan than I got a call from the naughtiest but most unavoidable hommie of mine, Tony that a hot girl was having a house party and the only way I would get my hands on that food and wines was to get onto the next flight to Kansas. Yeah right, the next Boda Boda to Kansanga, I obviously meant the latter. There it was, my Rolex plan had died and with it, the resurrection of Sausage roll and Meat ball plans. I had to jump onto a Boda-B from MUK to Kataza, Bugolobi for easy transport and not forgetting that it was a cold drizzly evening. The things food makes us do. The original plans was just eating food, guzzling down a few long neck bottles and then come back and make love to my bed, in good context.

On reaching Bugolobi, there was another nigga, Nicholas, onto the plan. It was all fun and games until I was told that were riding in the TRIO. That is what Rotaractor Keyza Martin calls the three young boys. I have seriously never understood why he was so mean to baptize the Trinity that name but that is not up for discussion tonight. The point in the house is that we had those small red badges on that express our pride in the organizations that engages, to change lives! On top of that, mbu it was a “dub” affair as in coats just to be different and not to mention, the host was in animal print. Do you know how sexy that feline creature of God looked! And off we were to the promised land of forever flow of food and drinks-as long as it was still Saturday night.

Finally, we were at the place that made me cheat on Hamis’ Rolex and this can’t go without mention. It was kind of an Overwhelming welcome that we got because everyone looked like wondering who these dudes that are all super clad in coats are, and supplemented by the mature looks on the faces and heights-as in body length not the Wiz Khalifah version. To add icing to the cake, its like girls had been told that we were coming. Damn, they looked fly and one of the boys embarked on mission GIVE THESE GIRLS CELEB NAMES. There was rub-a-dub specialist that got crowned Nicki Minaj and the good news is she lived up to her name because I am living proof and testimony to her finesse act. Sorry I had to skip the story to that point, but we were greeted with the shocker of a listening party for some kid who is really a good rapper. However good he was and believes he still is, we could not let our evening be filled with the same old Hip hop lyrics from a different source and we got extra help in this field from a party, or let’s say a collection of parties, with whom we were cut off the same cloth. Nigel, William, Nicholas and a Kevin Hart of sorts-short and a chatter box! Midway all the hip hopping and fusing with music that could get the ladies in the house to the floor, drinks flew in and it just hit all the guys to get rid of the Fantas and mountain Dews of this world, leaving the tough merchants for the ladies. That strategy worked magic, ask Nicholas.

Finally, the hip-hop was gotten rid of and then the DJ of the house made it his sole duty to bore the crowd and send us to the balcony. But of course we were in the house with our own DJ. Call him DJ Mish Mas, Tony J, or just Tony. His presence called for the immediate bouncing of the DJ at the turn tables and installing our own talent. He got onto the ones and twos, ensuring that we were all covered-following the Konshens’ rule-“Every man to a Gyal, couple up, couple up”. In relation to him, that was kind of an understatement because his kind of mixing still baffles everyone because he had Nicki Minaj-ish company 100% but he still kept the speakers busy with sound from the Dye Dye tunes to Khalifah Aganaga onto the Urban Chris Brown music, making sure that we were all tired and drained by 1:45am. The other buddy of ours that had embarked on the mission of naming girls, had sweatily occupied himself with whom he finally baptized Meagan Good, she was that good. I was roaming and switching and scanning and scouting all the talent in the house. I had to make sure I get a piece of all. Amidst all this waltzing and Brukking, there was that certain Mr.Guiness that joined the party rather not on time but kind of in time, Michael. It irked his mind that we were flying high yet he was sober which prompted him onto the neck of a blunt Mischief to get to our height. The liquor having worked its part, he started his divide and rule policy of the tired girl groups that were forming on the dance floor and it also yielded massive results.

When all the fun had to climax, it was without doubt that everyone had noticed the girl sleeping on the beautiful lawns and had burst out into laughter with people cracking the joke “She thought she was sipping on water” and another girl that had to brave the cold to campus while we were riding away.

DISCLAIMER: I have most definitely under described the fun that came with Saturday night and I hope the supporting parties can stand this meager description……………………Amen! And the host(s)……………..damn…………………..