By Ian Ortega
Another of those Sunday mornings you wake up, crafting up excuses as to why you won’t get to Church. Suddenly, this phone spurts out in its vibration braggadocio. First, it had been this cock that comes straight to my window crowing as if it can’t go on a witch hunt for a hen. Then shouts from my mother’s daily wake up tunes and tones, now here I was over bearing with a phone that could not realize how bad I was on battery. Eye open, eye closed; force the guts out of myself to read this message.
Oh it goes, no phones allowed, no cameras, it is an all Bikini party. I could not believe my eyes. I punched at my six packs just to make sure I am really awake. Who could miss out on this Bikini party? I had already been bored the day before like a blind man in a stripper club now here I was being presented the honor of super optical nutrition. Only you could have seen my eyes popping out, yes if Base-jay himself was present, he would also get a cold chill run down through his spine.
But here I was no clean cloth on me, no airtime on phone, and no money at hand. I had to think first. Not the way Olara Otunnu thinks before dropping a vocabularandos of a big word. But the other excruciating factor I had was my brain conspiring to walk to work out of the thinking sphere. My brain was all trying to be like another Sharon O. Honestly cognitive abilities in my head were at the lowest.
Recycle one of the jeans, idea arises, dirty clothing problem solved. Make my neighbor’s super fitting V-neck shirt hanging on the clothing lines take a sabbatical, fashionista problem solved. The last of all was now the money problem to get me out of a transport and entrance fee dilemma. At this moment, I felt like hammering my teeth out just to do another tooth-fairy appraisal. But I am now bearded so could not pull off this prank. Mum could not buy it and just in case I met an Irene Namubiru, how could we snog with my missing tooth. Plan cancelled, I quickly thought again and again. It was like waiting for Golola Moses to turn the Hungarian into pit-coal.
Just like luck landing, here bumps my brother… I could read deep down his pockets. I could read it was the end of the month. I could read that his pockets were longing for a drill, if I did not drill them with my hatched plan, then some belle somewhere somehow was going to turn dentist and detooth till no tooth left. So I quickly lament about my photocopier needs for campus, I quickly pour out all my coursework desires, binding work, yes I was about to ask him for book and ekitabo all at once. His pockets were now about to laugh in Runyankore yet cry in Acholi. He reached deep into them, pulled out a 50K note, I did not wait for him to say any other word, I snatched it away, rushed out of the gate, loaded my slim body on a bodaboda off to industrial area for the Bahamas party.
Now comes silk, I look at this girl, she also zuena’s me. I could spot her straka cleavage; she could spot my Bobi wine becoming anxious.
So here plays the hit tune, here comes the vibrator dance from coco finger, I lay ambush and lay catch, I bring on my 4:3:1 format, back and forth, beneath and above… It was a super mosquito pass when Museveni retires dance. Then her friends joined the dance, I could feel two fingers sliding into my backside pocket, suddenly a black out, suddenly an empty pocket yet the squeeze was getting high pitched. She was ashawo-ring; I was awusha-ring….
I screamed out aloud like a girl landing on a spider in her bed, yes I had to scream because my K-series phone was almost going. I could not imagine life without my Ka-torch; Mr. Kataala knows this life better. I combined my soprano into the alto, squeezed her buffet out and chanted: GIRL DON’T BEBE FOOL ME, I WILL COCO FINGER YOUR JULIANA…!!!!!!!!
“[katogoaward]”
