I ought to visit Katigondo Seminary. My friend, Fr Francis, must be tired of reminding me about this commitment. I need to visit the resting place of the first two Ugandan priests. But I have been distracted by the not-so-many nice things in Kampala. I am one of those determined to usher in a new Kampala, first in words, then in action. I have been bragging recently that I have the largest individual collection of classics in Uganda. And I have not had anyone come out to challenge me. I plan to shift to also having the largest collection of spirits in UG.
Then, my friends, I will be unchallenged. I will then open these collections at a fee. See, I have already shared my simple business ideas with you. Because why in the hell is everyone doing a retail shop. There are about three businesses in Uganda. If someone does not open a retail shop, they will open a boutique. If they try harder, it is a hardware stall or a pharmacy.
There is no attempt to do it differently. No one is thinking of a midnight bookstore. A place you can pop in at any time of the night, and grab a book, then pass the night. The imagination in Kampala has come to a standstill.
The real business is politics. How to position oneself closer to the bread or closer to those trying to grab the bread. The end route of every Ugandan endeavour is to end up somewhere close to Parliament. Oh Uganda! Anyway, that said, I planned to indulge you in Kitovu culture, or to be specific, Kitovu language.
I also plan this to be the last time I ever mention Kitovu in my writings. Because, why the hell should I also give the past undue attention? This life, we live forwards, the past is for a little reflection, but in life, we kusonga mbele. To be stuck in the past is to confess one’s failure to create beauty in their present, it is to confess a failure of imagination.
But why Kitovu language, because unlike other schools that have slang, Kitovu created a language. When I joined as a short (mbedo) Senior One kid, it hit me that I quickly had to rise to occasion and learn the language. The funny thing with life, when there is an existential mix, you find yourself learning quickly.
I soon learned that porridge was embokya, rice was ncereal. That to commit a mistake was akalege, yet, to also go for a long call was beating akalege. On Fridays, we carried our big plates (omube) went for the ncereal with kata,and thereafter went for the cinema (enduce). But the irony, those with big heads also earned themselves the name – omuduce. Perhaps because the heads were big enough to go for a 52-inch screen. When you were broke in the kawu times, we called you a mukawuufu.
Our black tea was ‘ekikaafe’, but ekikaafe could also represent the dirt stains on the shirt. It was a versatile language, it required you to be aware of the content. It was akin to the Nairobi Swahili where you can greet someone in a million ways. Whereas school teaches you to greet ‘Habari’, soon you realise no one greets like that in Nairobi.
It is Niaje. It is Mambo. It is Sasa. And you can reply in a million ways respond from poa to niko fit. When we say Kampala has lost its soul, it is to say, the soul exists but it is hollow. It lacks a culture to birth it. For a city where you must search for uniqueness beyond pork and beer, that is a city to worry about. A city is about its art and culture.
What makes Kampala? A rolex? The way we hold our lunch. Do not tell me that we party differently. That is now a myth. Our nightlife is in the past. It used to be great, but it got buried, it is in the catacombs. Back to Kitovu, those gentlemen even had a special kind of soccer. It is called ‘ekikame’. Everyone gets to play in this sport.
That is how I became the top scorer for the California team (my haters love to dispute this fact). But in this soccer, there are no rules. There is no offside. No handball. It is also the place for settling scores. Yes, Kitovu is the only school with a pitch for every class. And the one thing you learn from Kitovu is how to knot a tie.
Oh wait, a tie was ekikola. This school thrived because it merged both modernity and localism and created something authentic, something timeless. The Ngonians and other fellows try to make claims to Jabba, but when you get to SHACK, it is here that Jabba was birthed, raised and groomed into a dance stroke.
A special mention to those Jabba gurus, ehh, Bashakara. That man, we remember him as the ‘solida’. Now that is the other thing you learned as a gentleman, to be courageous, to not be a Koyi. To hold up for your crew. You took a hit for your team. Solidarity was such an important concept. What is a man if he coils in every situation?
Imagine Kampala men today will watch something wrong happen and they will bury their heads in their legs and pretend not to be noticing. No, in Kitovu, a gentleman was taught to step in, correct things then move on. And did you know, there was even a name for fair girls, aka embalasi? And the dances, Ekibull.
Everyone was expected to turn up for ekibull. To invent, reinvent, innovate on the dance floor. Because again, a city without an active dance sphere is a city that has died. The dance floor moves energy, it tempers emotions. It balances the body.
Naye come back to Kampala. If it were not for that challenge ‘you are dealing with a baddie of course’, we could have declared this a dead year. But is it not a dead year? There is nothing worth calling a hit song. It is songs that come by, hype us for a few seconds and the next day, you cannot stand listening to it.
Look at the top songs in Kampala today. Look at that list. Would that be a report card to present? Anyway, since I am your guy, I will plug you in on some things. When you are in Nairobi, be assured that the best nyama is at RoadHouse and the best lawyer in Nairobi is Monsieur Osoro. I have also been told mbu for those looking for SOWs with a future, mbu look for the ones driving a Tiguan. Mbu, the Tiguan is a symbol of the woman who has climbed that corporate ladder so high. Shall I teach you everything?
X: @OrtegaTalks
