Why first time weed-steamers need government protection 

What you need to know:

  • Something wrong: Suddenly, he got up and just left without a word. The three of us started debating whether Jokene had his wires twisted, was pranking us or if something was wrong. After a while, Jokene returned, this time fully dressed up and no boxer in hand.

Jokene sauntered toward the mango tree where we were catching some fresh air in the heat of the day. He had no shirt on but carried what looked like a tired boxer with him.
“Guys, I’ve been trying for so long to put this vest on but I can’t seem to find how to enter my arms and the head in it, I don’t know how my wife twisted my vest and she is not here to answer me,” he said as he attempted to push the boxer over his head.

We looked at each other in confusion. Jokene was fanning himself with his hand and felt frustrated that none of us was saying anything.
“It’s becoming too hot, I started steaming today and it feels good. I need to steam again,” he declared and sized up the boxer again, checking for where to put his arms through. “I’ll have to buy another vest myself. My wife is no good at shopping.”

Denis started suppressing a giggle but I couldn’t hold my vibrating diaphragm. Hysterical laughter followed. Jokene stopped and turned around. He, too, was laughing, leaving us confused. Was he pranking us?
He sat down. No, he fell his behind on the bench with a thud and stared into the faces of each one of us, one at a time, each time identifying us by name.
“Why don’t you first go and change,” Ahmed said, pointing at his boxer.
“What change? Museveni is going nowhere,” he fired back. “You guys should join me in giving up already. It’s simple, I can teach you. Jacob, do you want to learn to give up on change?”

Suddenly, he got up and just left without a word. The three of us started debating whether Jokene had his wires twisted, was pranking us or if something was wrong. After a while, Jokene returned, this time fully dressed up and no boxer in hand.
“G’afternoon,” he greeted. “You guys have been lost, eh?”
This left us even more puzzled now. Jokene appeared fine as he left saying he was picking up a few things from the shop. We were almost forgetting his wayward behaviour when he returned with an empty kaveera in hand.
He pulled out a Shs20,000 note from his breast pocket and wagged it in our faces, saying he did not understand what the shopkeeper wanted.

“I gave up on buying anything because of the shopkeeper,” Jokene complained. “I found when he had a lit candle saying he was going to use it outside to catch nsenene. Have any of you guys seen any nsenene lately? Who goes to catch nsenene with a candle during the day? Maybe he is now a doctor and he’s going to catch Covid. I hear hospitals are making a killing from admitting Covids in their beds.”

This time I mustered some courage and asked Jokene if he was really okay. He looked at me, his 20k bill and back at me. He wagged the note saying it was Shs20,000, pointed at me saying my name and asked if I still doubted he was okay.
“Anyway, forget it,” he said. “The problem was with the shopkeeper. I gave him this money, asked for a kilo of sugar, some cigarettes and a matchbox, he gave them to me and then started giving me money too. Three or four of them and some coins. Did he think I had gone with money to buy money? He said it was change, but I told you earlier I don’t believe Museveni can allow change. I threw back his sugar and took my money.”

Jokene fanned himself with his hands some more and said he needed to rest and steam again later. But he was not yet done.
“On the way back, I met some woman selling avocados. She said Shs500 for each, I said it was a lot for just one fruit and offered to pay Shs2,000 for one,” he said.
“She did her eyes like this,” he added, demonstrating a rolled up eye. “I know the economy is bad but you can’t sell a tiny avocado at Shs500 and refuse to reduce it to 2k.”

Disclaimer: This is a parody column