I must say that my visit to Kampala is fast becoming one hell of a blast! My old friends have been so good to me; litres of Bell beers have washed down my throat. They have been showing me the kind of time I was much in need of after my unfortunate valentine’s experience.

Unlike that very cunning Diaspochick who insisted on having dinner at the posh Serena Hotel, my colleagues preferred guzzling from the popular drinking holes. As the night wears on they toss away their jackets and start to shake their bones until the wee hours of the morning.

We usually stumble home to bed at 4ish, to wake the following day with one hell of a hangover. A lack of Zouk music (and I only dance to Zouk music) means that while my friends are busy dancing on the congested veranda, for me I am busy swallowing more beer.

Last Saturday was stands out in what’s over wise been something of a drunken haze. With no car for the night (our usual ride was in the garage). We decided to use a taxi for the whole evening. The elderly looking driver came to pick us and we headed straight to the pub.

As usual, when it struck midnight, people sprung to their feet ready to dance. As for me and the driver, we engaged in some small conversation. The driver told me that he never touched alcohol at all. Instead, he drank Fanta. So, as I guzzled Bell beers, the driver sipped his orange Fanta.

But to my surprise, I noticed that the driver was secretly ordering small bottles of Uganda Waragi which he would empty into his Fanta. I pretended not to see what was going on. Instead we continued talking and drinking in a dark corner as other revelers danced along. By our usual 4am, it was time to go home.

When we were safely seated in the taxi, the driver started to behave himself in a strange manner. He started to laugh out loudly as if someone was tickling him. Then he stepped on the accelerator and sped off at breakneck speed. Pato was perplexed. He had never seen this driver behave like this before.

It was obvious that this elderly Mzee had taken more Waragi than he could handle. We couldn’t help but wait and hope that we would make it to Pato’s. When we approached a roundabout, the driver became confused. He did not know which route to take. His eyes could not focus properly.

Unfortunately, neither Pato nor I could figure out which route was correct; we were just too drunk. In the end, the taxi driver kept driving in circles around the roundabout with no clue at all. Besides, it was soon going to be dawn and perhaps we would find ourselves out of this mess…

Contact: diaspoman@yahoo.com