Magogo, Misagga slip inside public toilet

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Working their phones: The drivel died down as Magogo yanked two phones from the inside of his jacket pockets and one more from his trouser pocket. There were three ridges on his forehead like sugarcane plantation holes during the planting season.

It wasn’t long before Misagga had slipped down to the floor beside Magogo. They were both working their phones more furiously than they probably ever did their signatures.

Magogo did not notice Misagga as he hurried down the flight of steps from the first floor of City House on Kampala Road. But Misagga couldn’t miss him, much so the spectacle.

Moments earlier, the Fufa supremo had shoved past as I walked leisurely from lunch. Misagga saw me and rained a flood of questions.

“Why is that amoeba coming from up there? What has he been plotting this time? Is that really Magogo or am I seeing things….” he said as he made an attempt to capture a picture of Magogo crossing the street toward the City Square.

“That’s him,” I said.

“But what was he doing here? Is this where they doctor their Sports Bill from?”

“It’s lunchtime.”

“But he is married to a whole Speaker, he should be eating from Sheraton.”

“I’m told he wanted some organic food so this Fufa guy called Swalley brought him up here.”

“So why is he running away?”

“Dunnow… maybe to tweet.”

Misagga was off like he had just remembered something. He looked ominous, the mischief doodled all over the patches of grey in his beard.

He followed Magogo. I followed both of them.

Misagga’s trails led me straight into that public toilet near the quietest building in Kampala that happens to be a bank or something like a bank.

He turned and scanned the area as if he feared someone would see him enter a public toilet. I also turned around and faced Raja Chambers. Shortly afterwards, I slipped in behind Misagga.

There! The two had met and this was it.

“Look at you! You think that will make you hide from me?” I found Misagga saying.

“But why follow me here? Do you, perhaps, want to hold out the toilet paper to me? You know you will always be that kind of person to me.”

“First unblock me on Twitter, I want to say things and expose you properly.”

“Go and find your level, I’m past that.”

“You were just a puppy I helped around yesterday, don’t you forget that.”

“Okay, the caretaker of a puppy, now you’ve turned into a janitor in a public toilet, eh?”

“Man, go on Twitter, even Fifa are concerned about you.”

The drivel died down as Magogo yanked two phones from the inside of his jacket pockets and one more from his trouser pocket. There were three ridges on his forehead like sugarcane plantation holes during the planting season.

It wasn’t long before Misagga had slipped down to the floor beside Magogo. They were both working their phones more furiously than they probably ever did their signatures.

Both tweeted away, totally oblivious of the fact that they had sat on the floor of a public toilet. But they had serious tiffs to settle, nothing would stand in their way.

“Unblock me, you pestle,” Misagga barked suddenly.

Magogo looked up and revolted, as if he had only just now noticed that Misagga had sunk to the floor beside him, or the stink in the toilet.

“What is it, you unsettled pendulum? How do you demand I unblock you as it’s your account?” Magogo said.

“You’re a public figure. I must undress you.”

“But I’ve already undressed you completely. Take consolation in Faridah’s timeline, a lot is going down there.”

“Unblock me.”

“I refuse to be ordered around by an esteem-deprived man.”

“I see you are obtaining some good English now that you go around wearing a suit bought for you by your wife for your wedding.”

At this point I walked in on them and asked why they were making such a public nuisance of themselves by engaging in such uncouth tiffs. They sat up, dusted their butts and made to leave.

“Do you own Twitter?” Misagga asked me and jeered.

That was when I woke up from my dream.

Disclaimer: This is a parody column