Reflections: Ingina y’Igihanga

The days when a joke didn’t always amuseI promised to talk about the strength of our mamas but, on second thought, what can I say? Their strength is legendary and has never waned. It is the most compelling constant of our society. Talking about it here would be minimizing it and so, for light moments, I choose instead to talk about the memories of my associates and faux-pas of yore.For instance, there was this humorous ‘guy’ who used to ‘hang out’ (in today’s parlance) with us in Kenya in the 1980s. One time we were talking about this and that in Serena Hotel, Nairobi, when he said: “It is true: money talks!” We protested, telling him that was only an Englishman’s metaphorical adage but he insisted and, pointing at a friend sitting with us, he said: “Ask him. I heard money telling him: ‘Good bye!’” It was true that our friend had seen better days, of course, otherwise he would have been playing a round of golf with the now-number-one citizen of Kenya, instead of sitting with us, and so we shifted uneasily. We all knew how openly cynical Musonera could be and quietly prayed that he would stop there which, fortunately, he did. Interestingly, that object of Musonera’s cynicism is today again well-heeled and most probably would concur: “Yes, money talks. I heard it telling me: ‘Glad to see you again!’”But I remember many had tried to out-do Musonera to their peril. Like the time Muzehe Gregory expressed surprise that the fellow had left his wife behind and they did not come to Serena Hotel hand in hand as other White couples did (he is married to a White lady). Musonera was evidently cut to the quick but calmly responded: “But Muzee! You seem to have developed the occupational conviction that all things can only survive by pulling one another along.” Knowing that the old man owned a fleet of trailers, we knew what the cynic was getting at and we changed the subject…..There is also this time we ‘old boys’ of a Ugandan school were discussing the impending visit of our Ugandan counterparts. We were musing about those old days when I turned and asked Alfred: “By the way, do you remember taking me, my late brother and our friend to Zool’s Bar and ordering one bottle of beer for us? You said ‘Rekanze’ but actually went out and never came back to pay!”In my usual naivety I’d thought it’d be amusing to remember how he had excused himself to go out for a minute, only to end up not coming back to clear the hefty bill of Ushs1.50! After some time somebody happened by whom we knew and he cleared the bill. But by the look Alfred threw me, I could see he was not particularly impressed!.....Nor was a certain Ugandan minister on another occasion. Out of talks during a break, he found me in the corridors of Lake Vic Hotel, Entebbe, and pulled me to the side. We chatted and laughed loud and long about the old days until I said: “By the way, Honourable Minister, do you remember those sun goggles you took from me when I was in senior one?” Unfortunately his time was up and he had to go back for the talks, but not before exclaiming in anger: “Bishi kasheija we!” I sighed: so much for my attempt at innovative humour!The said minister had been my house captain and my ‘father’, which meant I was his chargé as a junior. A ‘son’ was usually a new boy to the school who was taken care of by a ‘father’, an older student who showed you around and protected you from older boys. You and your ‘father’, therefore, developed a bond that went beyond the price of a pair of sunglasses, even if at Ushs 9.90 it was a colossal sum in the 1960s!..... Still, there are some harmless memories, even when they are about somebody. The headmaster of our secondary school was English, as far as we were concerned, even if we knew him to be Irish. His belaboured English language was therefore a constant source of amusement. We always looked forward to the Monday morning parades when he addressed us, so that we could interject. When he said: “Boys, there is no water in the tank. Therefore the tank is empty and therefore there is no water!” some joker’s interjection was: “No, the tank is full – it is full of air!”There is also this time we were walking back from Kakeka, the playing field (talk about an uneven playing field!) Mr. Remer, the said headmaster, noticed a lady selling tomatoes and stopped his car. Since he did not speak the local language, Runyankore, but wanted to buy tomatoes, he shouted to one boy: “Boy, come here! You speak Banyankole, isn’t it?” The boy’s immediate interjection: “No, Sir, I speak one Munyankore!” Mr. Remer was not necessarily aware of the difference, so he went on: “O.K., good! Complain for me!” We all laughed, knowing he meant ‘bargain’, but the boy went on to bargain on the price of the tomatoes for our language-challenged ‘headmaster’.