Do you by any chance remember a guy called Mr. Waraje? Mr. Waraje, my neighbour for many years, earned his name as a result of his unquenchable thirst for a certain Ugandan product. This product was none other than Uganda Waragi. His love for the bottle was so deep that every night, he would zigzag home, never before 2am. Aggrey and I, sleeping peacefully next door, would routinely be woken by one of two things. The first was the sound of the throbbing car. Waraje clamoured through his creaking gate, hitting anything that got in his way. If this did not wake us then Waraje’s singing was sure to. Waraje would jump up and down, singing praises for the Uganda Waragi. “Uganda Waraje, Uganda Waraje!” he would cry. Being the nice neighbours that we were, Aggrey and I would always check Waraje was alive and kicking the next morning. We would climb over the fence and enter through the back door. Mr. Waraje would be up, reading a novel in his sitting room. Apparently, he never remembered the events of the night before. But somewhere in a corner of the room would be telltale signs of a half empty bottle of Uganda Waragi. One day, we were to discover just how important that bottle was. It was the day Aggrey was caught with his pants down. It was after midnight, he was on his way to a rendezvous with special someone whose parents were rather strict. Climbing over a fence Aggrey found himself amidst a pack of fierce and hungry dogs. As he frantically attempted to climb back, the dogs bit viciously at his leg. Oh! The pain! I tried to patch him up but with little success. We had no disinfectant. No bandages. Nothing at all! We needed help. By chance, Mr. Waraje was entering his compound in his typically drunk manner. He was singing praises to his favourite bottle. We pleaded for a lift to the hospital. However, it turned out that Mr. Waraje had studied medicine at Makerere University. “I can heal such wounds, fear not!” Inside Mr. Waraje’s house, Aggrey lay down on the floor waiting for treatment. Mr. Waraje, still singing praises to his favourite drink, came over to examine the wound. He picked the half empty bottle of Uganda Waragi. But instead of swigging in his usual fashion, he splashed the Waragi on Aggrey’s wounds! The screams were heard for miles around! Aggrey cursed and cried in agony. I looked at Dr. Waraje in amazement. To my horror he was just laughing! “That is the best medicine – now go to bed!” Indeed, the next day, the wound had healed – thanks to the magic powers of Uganda Waraji… E-mail: diaspoman@yahoo.com
