When love, tribalism fail to mix

Saturday January 16 2021

Some people really take tribal matters crucial in decision making on who to love. PHOTO CREATION/NMG.

By Phillip Matogo

I have always been a guy who stays up at night. They call a person like me a night owl. 
Anyway, my wakefulness has hit me hard the last few days. It all started when, a week ago, I couldn’t sleep. 
So a friend suggested that I count sheep as a means to falling asleep. But as soon as I started counting, I found out my sheep were actually wolves in sheep’s clothing. This turned me into a night howl.

If I were a character in Animal Farm, I would’ve also been chanting “four legs good, two legs bad.”
Speaking of two legs, I walked into office one morning with my two legs and ended up on my knees.
The boss, who arrives early when I am late and late when I am early, summoned me to his office. 

“I think we need to sack you, Philip. What do you think? How about we offload you?” the boss asked me. 
Stunned, I fell to my knees and told him how I had three mouths to feed. So if he sacked me, they would go hungry. 
“But you’re single and have no children,” he replied, observing me through suspicious eyes.
“I know, but I am talking about me, myself and I…we can’t survive without this job,” I responded. 

The boss, realising my stupidity was a “trio”, decided to let me keep my job. Well, at least until the next time he felt like making me fall to my knees in prayer so I could keep my job.

He is Born-Again, and feels putting the fear of God in me will make me more religious. To escape work’s daily round, one must go for a round of drinks daily after work. So I and five other guys stormed a bar like troopers in a low-budget Star Wars movie. It was Friday and we knew we had a solemn responsibility to let the good times roll.

As soon as we settled into the bar, several ladies fell upon us like bad weather. Amidst this blizzard of beauties, stood a lady who stood apart from the other ladies like a flower absent from a bouquet. I noticed immediately she owned the sort of smile which danced before the imagination with the beguilement of a hypnotist’s pocket-watch, dangling before the eye as her body swayed from side to side.


She had a cavity where her brain used to be, however, so she was exceedingly dumb. Her conversation delighted on the surface rather than disappearing into the depths. She took a seat next to me and whispered, “I hate westerners and yet all the guys at this table with you are from there…Eww.” That’s when it hit me.
All the guys I was with were westerners down to smallest details that come with a haughty flick of the wrist and the verbal displacement of ‘L’ by ‘R’. No doubt, they preferred Bushera to Matooke or Kalo.  “You don’t seem to be from where they are from…where are you from?” she probed.

By the tone of her voice, I knew if I said the truth, that I was also from the west, then her friendliness would leave me behind.
But if I lied, my friendliness would continue with her well-shaped “behind.”
So I gathered myself up, looked at her large eyes…which were a dual offering instead of a double outgrowth…then I lied, “I’m not from Uganda.”
That way, if she saw anything wrong with any other region in Uganda, I wouldn’t be guilty by association.
“I knew it,” she said with a smile before she pulled in close.
Now, face to face, she asked me: “Can you escort me to the toilet? I want to take a short one.”
By “short one” I didn’t know if she was talking about a brief pee, my short frame in escort mode or the duration of our possible lovemaking.

Still, like a lamb to the slaughter, I followed her. When we reached the toilet, she went inside without me.
And I was reduced to waiting outside the toilet like some out-of-sorts bodyguard. Ten minutes later, she emerged from “the little girl’s room” with her big girl attire on.

While dripping with animal sexuality, she gave forth rays of light all around her tight-fitting blue dress.
She had changed her clothing and was now fashion’s equivalent of my heart’s content. My flesh hardened as my muscles flexed so I could look bulkier for an action-packed night at her place. 

“Let’s leave those fake westerners and go to my place,” she ordered.
“Let’s,” I agreed, with all the pretend-hate for westerners that I could muster.
But just as we were almost out of the joint, one of my friends approached me with words that ended my night before it even began.
“Mukiga, where are you going?”
Guiltily, I slowly turned to look at the girl...and she gave me a dirty look in return.
“So you’re also a westerner?” she asked, her temper rising.All I could say was: “On my parent’s side…but not on my side.”And she was gone.