Adventures in Kampala

 

 

Last week we were having coffee in downtown Nairobi, on a hot Friday afternoon.

Yes, I know it sounds crazy to be washing down mugs of cappuccino on a hot Friday afternoon.

But it was a better plot compared to taking beer with the prospects of bumping into traffic cops who ask to ‘play the trumpet’ to the tune of Sh100,000. Plus humiliation of featuring on prime time news for drink-driving. Clearly, we don’t seem to have much choice.

Frao had just landed from Kampala and he called me excitedly telling me that he had lots of stories for me from Kabalagala. If you have been to Kampala, and never ventured beyond the hotel lobby, blame yourself.

So I managed to shake off some boring workmates and headed to the coffeehouse. You can tell that Frao has money by his habits.  First, when he has money he is punctual to social events. And he also keeps fidgeting with his two phones, and puts his tablet on display.

On arrival, as I persuaded my girth to wedge itself in between the coffee table and the sofa, Frao was midway his first steamy cup of coffee. And furiously scrolling through contacts in his phonebook. No prize for guessing why; he was looking for some woman to show temporary love (lust?), now that he had saved some money from his per diem for the Ugandan trip.

Though Frao has been to Kampala several times, this was the first time he visited Kabalagala, a well-known suburb named after popular local pancakes made from cassava flour and sweet bananas, spiced with pepper. Kabalagala is most known for its wild nightlife.

“I swear to you Tony, Kabalagala makes our Koinange look like a ‘kindergarten’,” Frao began. I could only nod in agreement having previously and severally sampled the said nightlife, but not the subjects. During the day, the suburb remains relatively quiet except for the sound of heavy traffic and music coming from open bars. Like any other place, people work but as the sun starts to ‘drop’, bars light up and heavy music invades the area.

From as early as 6.00pm people hit the streets for the ‘hot’ Kabalagala nightlife. Among them, girls wearing skimpy attire who flow in from surrounding areas. The number keeps increasing as it gets darker. As we all know Frao thrives at night.

“Here, bars do not close, disc jockeys don’t stop spinning music, and kitchen masters do not put their fire out,” Frao animatedly explained.

The girls sit in groups and drink beer as they wait for potential clients. By copying the supermarket model where the goods to be bought are displayed, the girls   only wear tight pants, mini-skirts and high-heels. Others opt for dresses the size of a t-shirt. Sometimes you can never be sure if it’s a dress or just a long T-shirt.

“There was this one who was smoking shisha and kept looking at me and winking,” explained Frao. Sensing that he was spicing up his story to elevate his machismo, I asked how he could tell that she was winking, yet the pubs here are dimly lit.

“Why are you behaving like you.”