African Time + Kwanjula + UAF = Lots of Drama (Part Two)

Back then it was understandable, time didn’t matter because our ancestors only had day and night and to tell them apart, there was the rising and setting of the sun. However, today we have clocks on the walls, watches on the hands, time on the phones, time on car dashboards, time on the damn computers hell we even have clock towers, so why is time keeping still an issue? We were all supposed to convene in Mbale before 2:00pm to change, shop for what’s missing and make sure everybody was present then set off as one. I had particularly thought this would be the perfect chance for me to ditch our UAF for a Noah but that didn’t happen. At 2:00pm the spokesman for the groom’s side found the three of us opening happiness and getting high (read cursing) on Bambuchas. The look on his face was question mark after question mark. We had given up speculating on the cause of the delay; none of us knew what’s up.

The first group finally arrived at 3:00pm, all female. I thought they’d head straight for the dressing room since we were already an hour behind schedule, to my surprise they sat there mbu waiting for the others. Reason? The specialist in tying Gomesis was still in transit. Nick got pissed, he’d had enough and told the spokesman “we‘re setting off, you guys will catch up later”. They pushed our UAF and we were on the road once again, this time on a dirt road that has been under construction since it started being called a road, you’d think the original plan was to leave it permanently under construction.

30 minutes later, Nick pulled over at a junction and got out to ask for directions from the village entourage who had been there on standby in a hired taxi since noon. We were told the place was right after the second railway station. Not wasting any more time, we got back in our UAF only to find the photographer missing, he’d gone to some kiosk to buy milk however, what they gave him was plenty of water mixed with some milk. Guess we forgot to tell him the east is where the wise men come from not the land of milk and honey.

Not long after the junction we got stopped at a police checkpoint. Apparently our UAF looked suspicious! Nick pulled over as the Afende walked towards us, driver’s license? Ok, log book? Ah see Afande, that one I left it at the garage! “Said Nick” The Afande didn’t buy the lie; he walked to the back, opened the van and saw the gifts for the bride then came back. So you’re going for a wedding? Dah! I thought to myself. Nick politely told him yes and added “we were supposed to be there at 2:00pm” as if to drive our SOS point home. The Afende just smiled, “so is she the bride?” Meaning me, lame joke but since we were at his mercy I forced a plastic smile; inside I was boiling, damn it! We’re 2hours 30 minutes late for a Kwanjula to indulge in this “kitu kidogo” chit chat. The Afende was not in hurry to let us go, he turned to the photographer who was busy finishing the last of his watered milk and said “Habari” all of a sudden the language changed from Swahili to runyankole. That’s when I read the name on the Afande’s uniform; he was from the west and so was the photographer. Whatever he told his kalomate set us free.

We got to what everybody was referring to as the “railway station” it turned out to be just a railway crossing instead (Ugandans should learn to get this naming thing right). It’s then that we spotted the groom’s car getting close; it wasn’t long before all the rest zoomed past us like suddenly they’d all mastered the meaning of time.

5:00pm sharp we were at the bride’s compound. They welcomed us like nothing had happened, at least we had made it, some people inspired by the likes of Olara Otunu have missed their own Kwanjulas. The medium of communication from then on was Lugisu which I don’t speak nor click, so like Idi Amin I decided to follow majority action, when they stand, I stand, when they clap, I clap though I was careful not to overdo it with the jokes.

The kwanjula which was supposed to last 6 hours lasted a record 2 hours due to the arrival time of the bako and the sky that was threatening to let loose. By 8:00pm everybody was thinking of where they came from. It was time to go home. The photographer bade us farewell, he was headed straight to Kampala in a different car; his spot was quickly replaced by a stranger who needed a lift to the junction and we were back to a threesome in our UAF.

We thought we’d also go straight to Kampala but the groom said we had to pick the empty crates and baskets the next day before going back….still more drama.

Final part to be continued…