Load Shedding

When you have been living abroad for a while and especially in Europe or the States, you get embroiled in a lifestyle that is far removed from Uganda. You don’t have to battle with potholes, the dust or, crazy boda riders springing out of nowhere.
Life there seemingly gets along and while London, Boston or New York may have their own frustrations, those frustrations can hardly be called frustrations especially when you take Uganda’s woes into account.

When I returned to Uganda, it was difficult to adjust. There was this thing called ‘load shedding’ which was something new to me. It was something I found frustrating and unable to comprehend. But over time, I got used to it and began to accept it as a way of life.

Load shedding so it seemed, had its advantages. Darkness is something Uganda’s took to almost as fast as fish would take to water. Driving through the suburbs of Kansanga, Kabalagala, Wandegeya and Ntinda, it was obvious that they all had one thing in common – a deftly darkness and even when they was no load shedding. People just loved the dark that in most bufunda’s, the tables that were in the darkest of corners were much sought after.

So here we are and out on a Sunday night. Kampala on a Sunday night does ‘happen’. It looked more like a Friday or Saturday night than a Sunday. Meanwhile a Sunday in London is so obvious for its streets are deserted by 8:00pm and the pubs shut early. And finding a club to go to would also be a hard paper.

Somewhere along the night, we ended up in Nakulabye. I can’t tell you which part of Nakulabye it was, for despite there was load shedding that night and the dark that was cast over the area was unbelievable. The lights from the lantern were so dim that it took your eyes a while to adjust.

And in the dark we ordered for pork and when it was served, it was next to impossible to see what being served, who was doing the serving and what exactly it was it that we were eating. Whether the pork was raw or not, we couldn’t tell. We just ate.

Somewhere along the line, there was a need to go to the washrooms and getting to the wash rooms in Nakulabuye is no easy task. It is not an easy task for when you ask the waitress for directions, she simply tells you: “over there”. Where on earth is “over there” especially when she is saying it without pointing in any particular direction. So I tried again and this time adding the pre-fix of ‘nyabo’ (Madame) just to appease her. And the answer still came back as “over there.”
So it was to over there that I went. Getting to over there was not as hard as it looked for there was the light of the bar – the solitary blue light that the owners had put up in a bid to make their place stand out and powered by a small generator. And from the dark that I was sitting in, it acted like a lighthouse, guiding you to where you want to dock.

At the bar, I got a clearer direction of where ‘over there’ was. It was behind the bar, down a treacherous path that, doubled up as a sewage drain amongst many other things including a bathroom and an open kitchen where the washing is done.
With my bladder now empty, it was back to the table to eat more pork and quaff more beers. While getting back from the washrooms to the blue light – if at all they can be called washrooms, was easier than getting there, getting from the blue light in the bar and into the dark where I was sitting was to a major headache.

It was pitch black. All I could make out from where I was standing were silhouettes’ of heads bopping about and the occasional laughter. Perplexed I stood there trying to adjust my eyes to the dark, but I still couldn’t figure out which table I had been sitting at. Then I saw something familiar – the Bell branded umbrella and with that, the panic was gone and once again, I began to think straight.

Knocking a few heads here and there as walked between tables, I eventually got to my table, took my seat and rummaged around in the dark for my beer. As I got hold of a bottle, there was suddenly conversation, but not the kind that I find appealing! In Luganda this gruff voice was saying out to me: “But sweetie, I have missed you for a long time. It is like you don’t love me anymore! There must be something that is troubling you. Tell me, what is it? Is that man still troubling you?”

Whilst I could hardly make out the gruff voice that was doing the talking, for a split second, I thought the voice came from the next table. Then out of the blue, I felt a hand drop on my thigh and was followed with a gentle rub!

Something is amiss here! Something is so not right! Then the laughter came. It was a familiar laugh and it belonged to Fitz who was one of the chaps I was hanging out with. And the laugh was not from the table I was sitting at, but from a table two rows ahead of me. With that, I freaked then jumped up and fled. As I fled, Guff Voice was demanding to know who I was and why I was sitting in his girlfriend’s seat.
Back in the safety of my friends, when power came back and lit up the place, it was then that I realized my error. There was not just one Bell umbrella but thousands of them. And when I looked back to see who Guff Voice was, he was busy in a heated argument with a mama!