Humour: Diaspoman: When you fail to trace home

Kigali is changing so fast that whenever people come back after a couple of years away, they simply get lost! This is because of the tremendous changes that are taking place in our beautiful country. Is this possible really? There is a time when Aggrey and I used to get very lost during the mid-9os! This was due to excessive alcohol and nothing to do with changes in town. That was during the mid-90s when our diet used to consist of some potent drinks which always made us tick all night long. Aggrey and I used to participate in such deadly drinking during those wacky days. We used to take sips of these semi-poisonous drinks whenever our pockets started to yawn in real hunger. Our pockets would be yawning by the 15th day of the month. This is because our salaries within the first 2 weeks of the month would evaporate in the air. We spent 3% of our salaries on foodstuffs like beans and posho for our houseboy. The remaining 97% would be spent at Caimen, where we would buy beers and pizzas for Kigali gold-diggers. Once we had exhausted all our savings, Aggrey and I would soon realize that human nature behaves in a certain way. Indeed friends multiply during the good times, especially when you are seen to be offering beers and brochettes. But when the pockets dry up, all the friends vanish in thin air. In our case, the friends never vanished for long. They always timed moments when our NGO employer released hard currency dollars at month-end. That’s when they would all come back to enjoy our salaries. So, when it was that time of the month when our pockets would be weeping in shame, we always had someone to lean on. He was our rock during the times of thirst. He fulfilled our desires by taking us to his favorite joint - Béa’s pub! I am talking about the one and only Mr. Waraje. You may recall that Mr. Waraje earned this unique name due to his unquenchable love for a concentrated product manufactured in Uganda. He used to spend a sizeable chunk of his time at Béa’s joint enjoying glasses of Uganda Waragi. He would then jump in his ramshackle Peugeot 504 and somehow make it to his house. His house was just next to ours at the now demolished Kiyovu of the poor. Somehow, he managed to climb over the gate after mid-night. He lived alone in his house and that is why it usually took him several minutes to identify the right key to his front door. Occasionally, he became tired of looking for the key and instead would sit outside to sing his most favorite tune; “Uganda Waraje, Uganda Waraje!” He would be singing this song in praise of the sweet liquor that hails from the Rwenzori Mountains of the moon. Contact: diaspoman@yahoo.com