After weeks of being AWOL, it’s with pleasure returning.
This means nothing more than more hilarious escapades which I am ‘as if’ shy to share right away, or lost on choice of what to start with. Maybe we can start with the goings-on here that kept us glued to the news the usual scandal here, scandal there. But again, what’s in it to write home about?
The Museveni-Mbabazi tussle is, yes, taking an interesting twist and every bar group has its own hypothesis and account of how things are going. So, I won’t even get started there.
Census? Yes, that one. We start from here were you enumerated? From which household yours or? This census, I am told from the stories that are flying around, brought to light a lot of what was otherwise situations many only imagined. Few geezers thought it serious to sleep in their households on that Thursday night and trust the honesty of some madams, certain men just didn’t get counted at their homes or were counted twice.
Also, for those who happened to sleep in the bar on Thursday, returning home Friday morning (we are talking after midnight), sindiyo? The question, what time did one have to return home to be counted as having slept home? I know someone who was in the casino till dawn it was quite a tug for the enumerator to place him in the right household.
Then there is the all-so-common scenario where one house houses say four bachelors, each living an almost independent life from another, but only sharing the same lodging facility. To the enumerators, each of those fellows is a household unto themselves.
So, we had cases of one house containing more than two households – sounds funny, doesn’t it? I won’t go into the vulgar story of the elderly woman in central Uganda who was asked if she had a goat. The moniker goat denotes virginity. In awe, she wondered how insensitive the enumerator was to imagine her being virgin at over 40 years – only for the enumerator – oblivious of the figure of speech – luckily pointed at some he-goat on the tether outside!
Then there is the case of the local village belle you have been eyeing for a while showing up at yours as an enumerator. This visit would either make or break you. After all, to the enumerators, you have to tell the truth about yourself and your holdings, especially if madam and the kids are listening in.
Then you had all the geezers who had previously lied to the belle about what they were, only to be faced with the uncomfortable situation of inevitable truth-telling. Agayaye!
Then of course nothing distresses like an early morning Sunday visitor after a hectic Saturday night out. With a heavy head, blood-shot eyes and freshly foul breath, many men just found the whole enumeration exercise one hell of a torture little wonder, we still have pockets yet to be counted long after the deadline.
But see, the census, if the government reassurance is anything to go by, is supposed to be for our planning. Let’s wait and see what plans it has for the drunkards and brigands who are hardly at home!
Source : The Observer