African Timing + Kwanjula + UAF = Drama (Final part)

We dropped our hitch hiker at the junction.  Me, the driver and our UAF proceeded to Mbale, that’s where we spent our night. The plan according to the groom looked like this “we get back to Lwaboba at 10:00am to collect the empty crates and then pick him so we could all head to Kampala by noon sharp”. Basing on how everything else had turned out previously, I figured the excitement of his Kwanjula was in full command of his speech.

The night came and went like a thief on a mission and my few seconds of sleep were interrupted by a knock on the door which was followed by a loud “we are running late”. That was the driver waking me up and reminding me to get my ass ready for Lwaboba season two. I’ve never been a sleep walker but somehow I managed to get out of the bedroom to the bathroom with my eyes closed, it’s the splash of cold water on my skin that snapped me out of stupidity. Everything there after was done with the same quickness Jackie Chan applies when taking down villains in his movies. It dawned on me that each second I wasted in Mbale would be compensated for on my return journey to Kampala, something I was trying to avoid.

We got to Lwaboba on schedule, loaded the empty crates in the back of our UAF then went and parked at nearby primary school as instructed earlier. It’s where the groom would find us. Time check? 9:45 am, wow! This was actually working out right, I thought to myself. At 10:15 am, my eyes were subconsciously glued to the direction the groom was to come from and fifteen minutes later lots of F words started brewing somewhere at the back of my mind.

Soon the driver joined my irritation crew, he tried to dial the groom and got the usual silly “the number you are dialing is not available blah blah”. Oh holly crap! The first F finally came out of my mouth, by noon I had exhausted all the swear words in the English dictionary and was now sketching my head for the Luganda versions, too bad none could make the groom show up any sooner.

12:30pm I saw a kid on the lonely path running towards our UAF, I dismissed her as a “malo-tic” kid. I found out later that this “malo-tic” kid was actually a messenger from the groom. He wanted his clothes which were in the back of our UAF. A thousand things ran through my mind starting with the idea of killing the ka-messenger.  The driver got the clothes and politely told the kid to let the groom know that we were time bad. It was another 20 minutes before we saw the groom leisurely stroll towards the van with two female escorts and an elderly man.  I don’t know why but village goodbyes tend to be annoyingly endless which meant another 30 more minutes added to the whole circus.

Finally at 1:20pm we set off and I swore never to set foot in Lwaboba ever. I expected the groom to apologize for delaying us like that, but the dude instead dropped another bombshell on us. There was a share of the kwanjula cake he had to deliver to another village, this is how people lose my support in seconds. Inside I was writhing, raging and screaming my head off, outside; I was faking smiles like a flower girl in a bridal entourage. I looked at the driver with the hope that he understood the code; this special treatment shit we were according the groom had reached its expiry date.

I had taken more than a decade without visiting the village for reasons I won’t share with you coz God knows it needs a few tourists like you to give it some awakening to standards of development. Truth be told, my kalomates are allergic to development, the way I remember it, is the same way I found it. We parked at groom’s parents’ home where of course they’d been eagerly waiting for us.

While everybody was engrossed in the Kwanjula recap, the driver and I went to visit other relatives who had also been waiting for us. We stayed for lunch, it was the least we could do after having a chicken killed in our honor. All this time, my mind couldn’t stop counting the minutes ticking by. At 3:00pm we were called back to the groom’s home. My naïve self thought it was time for the road again, I was silently singing Alellujah! My holy praise and worship moment felt like a slap in the face when we got there only to realize it was lunch time second phase. If you’ve been to any African village before, you’ll know that “NO” is not an option when you’re invited to eat. My stomach was full to capacity, it was saying “NO” but my morals kept eating.

40 minutes later we bade everyone farewell and got in our UAF heading to Mbale where we had to drop the empties to the depot before finally heading to Kampala. Then it hit us like a thunder bolt, who in this freaking country works on a Sunday at 4pm? I wasn’t looking for answers, all I wanted was to get home, I’d even given up on the time so long as it was before Monday. We got to Mbale at 5pm and by God’s grace the depot was still open (bless that wockaholic), we handed the crates to the depot owner and drove to Kampala.

Getting me home before Monday was the only time they managed to keep on schedule throughout this whole ordeal, maybe there is still hope for our time unconscious Africa or maybe it’s just a wishful thought from a time freak like me. Naye Kyaba Too Much!