How Nabeta ended up at Mwiru’s rally

You look quite like our castrated son,” the old man said, peering into the face of the suited fellow nudging in the crowd. The old man had glanced at this fellow and his attention had run back to the rostrum where Opposition leaders sat breathing the confident air of dominance.
Momentarily, something told him that the fellow looked familiar. He gave him a second look and there was no mistaking how much he looks like Nathan Igeme Nabeta. But the old man quickly brushed this thought away knowing all too well that Nabeta, who Paul Mwiru was challenging in the Jinja East by-election, wouldn’t be around the same place where his opponent was running his final rally.

He had returned his attention to the rostrum but not without absent-mindedly noting that the fellow looked so much like Nabeta, only that he had said so with a pinch of sarcasm and a tinge of disdain all in one.
The youthful fellow swallowed a lump that made the bulge on his throat move up and down like an Igbo had swallowed a well calculated ball of foofoo. He forget himself and took offence at the reference to castration.
“You called me castrated?” he challenged.
“Not you, it’s Nabeta I meant. You just look like him. Omwana watomerwa endigga,” he said again without looking at the young fellow.
“What?! I’m ram torpedoed?”

“I said Nabeta. He really cuts it nicely but he went there and couldn’t stand up like a true son of this soil and instead represented his selfish interest by voting to remove age limit. Such effete effort is only acceptable of a man who has been castrated.”
“You wouldn’t understand politics. Besides, I was misrepresented. I voted NO but somehow everyone alleges that I voted YES. That is malice. Opposition is behind such low attempts to frame me.”
“Why do you talk like you are Nabeta?”
“You insulted me that I’m castrated.”
“I insulted Nab… oh, wait…” the old turned to now take in the situation with full intent. The youthful man before him didn’t wince. His brows were moistened.

The realisation had struck Nabeta hard. He staggered and made attempts to compose himself. He turned and started pushing his way through the crowd but the old man was onto him, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket. He shook him off and was relieved that the old man’s shout of his name either died in the din or was ignored as the crowd was wont to shout names at rallies.
Once clear, he yanked his phones from the pockets. Notifications for a total of 27 texts and 40 missed calls awaited him. Twenty-seven and 40, like that day on February 6, 1981, he thought and sauntered to where his car was parked.

Earlier, Nathan Igeme Nabeta was in the ‘situation’ room ahead of their final rally. He sat with NRM leaders such as SG Kasule Lumumba, and Moses Balyeku. They were planning for the day’s big do when the president would come to canvass votes for him when Kafuko, his aide, had burst into the room with information.
“We had not expected this, but it appears like even Gen Muntu is at Mwiru’s rally,” Kafuko had said.
“I didn’t send you for that,” Nabeta had said.
“Besigye, Amuriat, Muntu…”
“Cut the crap. The president is coming and we have the military and police on the ground,” said Lumumba.
“This is Jinja East, not Rukungiri. Even 10 Besigyes would be dealt with,” Balyeku said.
“But…”
“But what, Kafuko?”
“Bobi Wine is also here.”
“What?! It was Nabeta.
“That adds nothing. Victory is ours,” declared Lumumba.
“This could be a game changer,” said Nabeta in a submissive tone. He shook his head and wiped his face. “Are you sure Bobi Wine is here?”
“Why didn’t police ban non-constituents from coming here?” Balyeku said.
“Bobi dealt both Besigye and the president a severe blow in Kyadondo East, and now this east of ours. We need Plan B immediately,” Kafuko said.
At this, Nabeta had jumped out of his seat and excused himself saying he had something to fix before his own rally started. Only that there was no ‘something’ but an inexplicable urge to see and feel the Opposition wrath on his candidacy.

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