By Edward Nimusiima
Lately, I have been at a loss of words. I have been dry (pun intended). This shit worries me. It would worry you too if you’re in my shoes. It worries me because, well, words are the only I have. Mute me now, and I will go back to shags to have a go at subsistence farming. So don’t mute me. Don’t take away my words. See, I talk less. I don’t jabber a lot. In a day, 24hours, I spew out few words. 24words, but I write a lot, though. Okay, at times. I lost my mojo, lately. It flew out of my ass. It’s lazily creeping back, though. Let me use it now.
The boat Cruise. MultiChoice media shindig.
I loathe water. No, make that “fear”. I fear water. Large bodies of water stir my loins. I can’t swim to save my lungs. The last time I tried, I quenched my thirst.
“The #SamsungTwitterParty is back! Get ready to party the night away come 19th December at Zone 7 with fellow tweeps. Entrance is 15,000shs. Call 0775439894 for details. Great music and drinks.”
So, MultiChoice (You fellas might call it DSTv, or GO-Tv, whichever floats your leaking boat) threw an end of year media party. I was invited. I quickly said, “No, thank you. I ain’t thirsty!” But the little FOMO in me thrust its dreadful head in me, and said, “Camaan, people die everyday!” I nodded, blindly. I leapfrogged there, fast like a bat from hell.
At the dock, folks line up in a file, and they rub their palms impatiently, because they want to be counted. Given the fact that it has not only been a year of Bad Brown and Eclipse and Awards, it has been a year of boat cruises. Many of them. And to fit in a certain social group of humanity, you have got to be part of the cruise.
The boat, this huge boat bobs, and it is restless. I climb up, scared out of my skull. The music blares in my face. A frosty bottle of beer is thrust in my face. It’s cold. The people, sunk in unrivalled bliss, sip on beers and they shout and take pictures.
The boat is un-tethered. We set off.
I am still scared. I am restless too, like leaves in a wind. I want to go home. I regret, privately. Sourly. The engine revs. I can hear it from where I stand. It revs and chokes through the water as the people, completely oblivious, marinate waist-deep in a shindig mood.
I know most of them and vice versa (cough cough). These are media souls. Big shots. So, not to get too scared and duck in water to swim back home, I try to socialise.
With my beer nestled in my shaky palms, I wobble around, still scared. I stand at the balcony, alone like a seed thrown away by a disinterested farmer. I stare away, and thinking to myself, “Yeah, we will be in Kenya in a few!” Okay, I fib on the last part. I stare away and Titanic the movie creeps in my head. I recall the bliss. I recall the excitement that hang heavy in the air like a plume of smoke. I recall everything. Like I was Leonardo Di Caprio and sh-t. I hate the thought. I really do. But it sturbornly clogs in my head, and I bloody want to cry. I want to cry for my mum. And I want to pee. No, no peeing in my pants, I think to myself loudly, and I wish the Government can help me. It can’t. It never does. I was on the look out to see a Shark staring at me with its shit-eyes.
The sun is warm in my face. The breeze, the unadulterated air whips my face. I feel it. I feel life. All of it. And the boat revs on. Choking. Trembling silently. I can feel the little tremors, and sh-t, we are in the middle of Lake Nalubaale. In the middle of no where. Middle of Bermuda Triangle. (Google it)
But it’s fun. Everyone is smiling and taking selfies and throwing swigs of booze down their livers. We are called down stairs to this frigging auditorium where satirical games will ensue. Folks play last man standing, and have a go at Alphabets. These are journos and are armed with words. But you should have seen them stammer and slack off when they’re tasked to describe MultiChoice in one word.
To my surprise, and everyone on board, NTV Laaagin’s Robin Kisti comes off as a winner. A winner of an English challenge. I gulp. She takes a decorder? I can’t tell. She’s Robin Kisti anyway, I didn’t mind much. I was minding about how I am going for swimming lessons the next day.
There are many challenges. I nail one, and win something. Then at some point, we would line up for food. Then Coco Finger will shout for us thereafter.
My word count is done.
Merry Christmas. Have a boatful of fun.
“[katogoaward]”
