We never knew that drinking water was a taboo until we received some elderly guests all the way from Mutara.

That was over 12 years ago when Aggrey and I were sharing a nice house in Kigali. No way! We were not living in a luxurious villa somewhere in Nyarutarama.

In fact, Nyarutarama was not what it is today. It was a miserable stretch of a dusty potholed murrum road, sandwiched by lousy forests. A few Rukara houses were scattered all around. It looked like a slum.

For us, we were occupying a house located in Kiyovu of the poor. As young lads who had just completed school, we were more than pleased to be sharing this four bedroom house, which had been abandoned by the owners after the war.

When we first entered the house, the stocks of food and drinks that were kept in the store surprised us. We sat down every evening and crushed all those bottles of booze with little mercy. They were so many that we always invited friends, relatives and in-laws to participate in this tough exercise.

As days passed by, the decrease in stock levels were equaled by the increase in booze contents running through our bodies. Actually, we had little blood running through our veins. Most of it was alcohol. That is why you would find our eyes blazing with fire early in the mornings.

By midday, you would never want to sit next to us in a twegyerane, as our bodies would be emitting alcohol in the name of sweat. It was so bad that regular commuters would decline boarding buses in which Aggrey and I were seated.

Those commuters were always stranded at this payage bus stop, as taxis were very few indeed. It was those very heavy heads of ours that convinced us to invite our old folks from Mutara for a weekend.

Our heads had decided that such wonderful stocks of booze should not pass by without the blessings from our old uncles. We therefore dispatched one of the office drivers to sneak off with the Land Cruiser and head for Mutara province.

Sure enough, they arrived safely. Without wasting much time, they began to clobber bottle after bottle. All along, Aggrey and I had believed that we were the Rwandan drinking champions. No way! Now, right before us, we had mother of all champions.

They guzzled all the beers in the house. Before we could realise what was happening, our elderly visitors had started to harass the whiskey and gin bottles. And before the night was over, they had floored everything!

The next morning, Aggrey and I woke up early and agreed that we had to call CHK hospital for an ambulance. We were so worried about our distinguished guests from Mutara. We were convinced that they were probably unconscious and were in dire need for re-hydration.

But to our surprise, we found our guests seated out in our garden, conversing and looking very fresh. In fact, it was the both of the two of us, who needed urgent medical attention.

Feeling concerned, Aggrey hurriedly carried three bottles of boiled drinking water to the garden. Our visitors appeared to be very happy to receive this much-needed water. They competed among themselves as to who would drink first.

Then they all agreed to fill up all their glasses so that they could propose a toast to our good health. After each guest took a massive swig of the drinking water, they all sprung up from their chairs spitting and cursing. They immediately picked up their bags and demanded for a driver to take them back to Mutara.

They were really angry and disappointed. What was the matter? Why had they reacted in such a manner? The explanation was simple; our visitors thought that the drinking water was none other than Ugandan Waragi! Phew! Drinking water was considered a taboo especially since there was a better substitute in Uganda Waragi.

Contact: diaspoman@yahoo.com