By Pablo Yagayo
Dear Golola,
Congratulations upon defending your title as the East and Central African kickboxing champion after defeating Afande Titus Tugume, aka Hard Rock.
That fight was a manifestation that indeed your claims that you shop your groceries in a hardware shop are true. You must have drunk a jug of cement solution, nail pudding and munched some iron bars as dessert before storming the ring at Freedom City.
Rumour making the rounds in the corridors has it that after the fight that night, Tugume’s boss in the armed forces woke him up the next morning and asked him to mention his army number and he replied: “G.O.L.O.L.A M.O.S.E.S.”
You will be remembered in history, like your namesake the biblical Moses who broke all the Ten Commandments at once, as the only man who broke a hard rock with just a blow. Sports analysts believe that your punch weighed heavier than ten bags of cement and was as firm as a base beam.
I was told that your surname Golola in Luganda means “iron,” or “straighten” whereas in Lusoga it means, “go.” Basically you ironed, straightened and let go of your opponent with a knockout.
By the way, not everybody was excited about your victory. I met some boda boda cyclists arguing that Tugume must have been given large sums of money to be hammered and so it was just a gimmick to bring you back to the limelight. I don’t think a normal human being can accept to receive such a punch for the sake of money no matter the amount.
You very well know that this isn’t the first time they doubt your victory. It’s the same thing they alleged when you thumped a Sudanese Dinka, Abdul Qadia Rahim. They said he was never a kickboxer but a bus conductor from Arua park. Don’t allow such people to jeopardise your determination. All they are saying is just an opinion and as you very well know, an opinion is like a nose, everybody has one; it’s the size that differs.
Just asking, do you by any chance know where the coffin that was procured and paraded before the media as your final destination was hidden? Fate has a weird sense of humour. We need to put that coffin in the museum to remind us of a man who defied death and almost buried the procurement officer in it. I hope it’s not on sale somewhere at a serious discount since it’s now a muvumba (second hand) product.
My only concern at the moment is that we can’t handle the pain of paying at the gate and before you even locate a seat, you hear that the match has ended. It has happened twice now; first the Sudanese Dinka and now Afande Titus Tugume.
Next time, if you are sure that you are going to finish your opponent within a fraction of a second, please inform us in advance so that we spend the night at the venue like the Uganda Martyrs pilgrims. Also consider the referee’s job security. The man was paid to work; so, allow him some time to exhibit his skills lest they reduce his pay.
I tried calling your cell phone number but the lady kept saying that the call can’t go through because you had hung your clothes on the line. Since you claim to be the only man who can pocket while naked, you must have been somewhere naked and pocketing as you wait for the clothes to dry.
I don’t know if you like music but allow me to end by dedicating a few songs to you. The first is Kung Fu Fighting by Carl Douglas, with emphasis on the chorus: “Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting, Those kicks were fast as lightning, In fact, it was a little bit frightening, But they fought with expert timing.”
The second is Coccodiosis by Bebe Cool, which goes: “I gat no time to play no game, Tomalira budde” and yes, Gangnam Style by PSY.
Yours in punches,
Pablo.