I had planned to spend Christmas in Nkoks (read Nkokonjeru). I had armed myself with Leo Tolstoy’s classic – Anna Karenina – to pull off the suave look of an autodidact and diffuse questions around my marital status. The men plan, and the gods will – a last-minute message came in from the President’s office: “Ortega, the President seeks your company this Christmas at his country home in Rwakitura.”
As I read the message, a fever permeated every element of my body, my blood felt like pricks against the skin. “Was this a scam?” I wondered. No, it was not a scam. The President had remembered the son of one of his fallen revolutionaries. But it was also confusion on my part – what was I supposed to pack in my suitcase? Would jeans come off as disrespectful? Would I be part of the Christmas wardrobe allowance? In that confusion, a call came in; “Ortega, hope you have seen the invite, please be at Nakasero by 9am on Tuesday.” And so 9am it was. At this point, I had stopped replying every other message in my phone, I was occupied with one singular duty, that is planning for the great Christmas with the President. Speak of brand equity. I imagined myself whispering into the President’s ears about my cloud farming, about my crypto sacco and all these beautiful ideas that would serenade a President’s ears.
Fast-forward, at 8am on Tuesday, another call came in; “Ortega, some change of plan. Let’s pick you from Busega roundabout.” I quickly jumped on a boda boda, with my well-packed luggage. I had hired a whole team to help in packing for this trip. I had figured a change of clothes every two hours, lest I get bounced.
And so it was, at 9am, the convoy picked me at Busega and off we flew to Rwakitura. I will save you Dear Reader the scenes along the journey. But it was a different kind of world. For the first time I saw the world from the eyes of power and wealth. For the first time, I found the poor on the road very annoying. Why on earth couldn’t they dress up their children? Why were they lazy? I saw all the roads we’d constructed, the markets we had built.
Anyway, we arrived on time in Rwakitura and there were different people camped, all vying for the President’s attention. I pitied them. Couldn’t they give the President a break? For the last 30 years, he has listened to nothing but their requests, demands, complaints, he had sacrificed an entire lifetime for a thankless job. I was assigned my room and showed to the facilities at hand. Till this point, I was yet to interact with the President.
That night as I was clustered in my ‘Presidential’ bed, I could not remember any of my problems. For example, why on earth had I cried over the heartbreak from that light-skinned babe? Why had I cared about the Range Rovers that all my peers were driving? The only important work was that of transforming the country. But I was also shocked, the clock stuck the same. I still had the same urge to pee in the night. This created a dilemma. The crickets chirped just as they did in Nkoks, and a mosquito or two still made it through. But you could tell it was well-fed mosquitoes, the kind that show up for the sake of maintaining routine and ritual, without any objective in life.
I got up early in the morning. In one of the rooms, I could hear Nyakwenkuru singing, “Nikuhiimbisa Yesu.” I then remembered to change the ringtone in my phone. It had been locked to some funny lyrics; “the way you zingi it, ondaaze omukwano mungi…” I figured it was too late to find another ringtone, I chose to keep my phone in silent. I rushed to take a shower, brushed my teeth countless times – lest I become the subject of Kaine’s tweets. Then I sought directions to the breakfast lounge. “This way Ortega, this way”, a maid guided me.
At the table, I found the President reading that day’s copy of the Daily Monitor. He banged the table; “they lied, again, again, those people, those pigs.” But when he caught sight of me, he went through a facial transubstantiation; “Iwee Muzukuru, come sit next to me.” Around the same time, Tasha came in draped in pothouse deera. “Dzaddy, we need to bring Chris Brown to Uganda…” Kaine also entered the room, but unlike the casual style of the others, he saluted the President. When Maama got to the table, breakfast kicked off. I noticed the President only ate two pieces of matooke, and he preferred them shaped as the map of Uganda. He placed a fork in the West, and a Knife in the central. Then followed it with a cold cup of milk. I personally settled for a serving of amakamo.
When breakfast was done, the President led me to a walk into the milking grounds. He told me; “you see Muzukuru, I called you here because entasiima ebura owagiha. Can you tell me the meaning of that song – Kinawolovu?” At that point, I gathered the courage to ask the President; “Mzee what is in it for me?” The President coughed, swallowed some saliva then said… “argghhh Ninza kukuha…”
Just as the President was completing the destiny-altering statement, I woke up to the screeching sound of my Bulindo neighbour’s radio; “merry Kulisimaasi oh happy new year Komandeewo.”
Postscript: Looking for a plug to a serious Prophet that can complete dreams…
