Who Is Charlie?

Two of the most famous people called Charlie, that easily spring to mind are the late actor, Charlie Chaplin and the comic book character, Charlie Brown. Other Charlie’s in relation to Uganda that pop up, are Charlie Case formerly of Just Kicking and 7, Cooper Road and the leggy Charlie (can’t remember her surname) who used to work in the visa section at the British High Commission when it was still on Parliamentary Avenue.

Apart from Charlie being a unisex name, it’s part of the phonetic alphabet – ‘C’ for Charlie. And that is all I knew about the name Charlie until I found myself in Nakivubo Stadium for the CBS show, E’kitoobero.

Nakivubo Stadium used to be our flagship stadium until Mandela Stadium was completed in the late 1990s. But for all its worth, since Nakivubo Stadium was completed in the 50s, the people who run the stadium have done an excellent job of letting it go to the dogs. The infamous Kirussia Stand has never been completed since work started on it in the 70s, the VIP block shows no signs of being a VIP block, the toilets are a joke and the electrical system is a huge fireball waiting to happen.

If you have not been for E’kitoobero or Kiggunda, these shows attract a crowd that is seemingly not of sane mind, for the things they get up to, defy normal rationale thinking. For example, why would women swoon into the stadium wearing blouses that can barely contain their mammary glands and why would they turn up in micro skirts?
From 6:00am when the gates opened up until 7:00pm, the crowd was well behaved. There was no fighting, the police cell by the main gate had yet to host any thieves and the police stood by - very idle and bored.

The crowd of course, had ideas. They were waiting for sunset and the start of the nocturnal activities. And indeed, the moment the dark that the Sunday night ushered in, the crowd was no longer well behaved.

The groping started – some of it consensual though the majority of it was not. Mammary glands were pinched, flicked and squeezed. Thighs were not exempt either. As long as there was exposed flesh, the men fuelled on cheap local brew were out to fill their lust.

It was 4:30am and I am standing by the control tower in the middle of the pitch. Looking into the crowd, I see him making his move, which has no fineness or tact to it – not that it mattered because the poor damsel was far too blazed to notice.
He started off by rubbing his groin into her butt, then trying to kiss her before landing his hands on her mammary glands. Damsel was in two minds. She ‘wanted it’ and rather interestingly enough, she was pushing him away but yet at the same time leading him on.

Fifteen minutes later I am on my way to the toilets – not the toilets themselves for as I mentioned earlier, they are in a bad state, but to the wall where everybody chose to pee.

Suddenly, he is in front of me. He was half dragging, half lifting the much blazed Damsel through the crowd. I ignore them to watch the police swoop in and arrest a would-be pickpocket before continuing my journey to the toilet wall. Behind the infamous Kirussia stand and heading to the wall, I spot them again. When he sees me approach, he stops and shouts out in Luganda, “Charlie, what is your problem?”
Obviously I ignore him and keep on walking towards them and the wall behind them. And the more I walk towards him, the more he shouts out, “Charlie, Charlie, what is your problem? Why can’t you go and find your own?” I figure Charlie must be his friend who is following behind me and look back.

But Charlie is not behind me. In fact, there is nobody within shouting distance – not that his shouts would have been heard over the booming music.

When he sees I am still heading towards him, he lets Damsel drop to dew strewn grass and comes up to confront me. I am taken by surprise and go into defence mode as I expect a melee to break out.

But he doesn’t want to fight. He wants to talk and throwing his arms about in despair, in Luganda, he says: “Charlie, there are many women about. I am sure you can find your own. Now you are following me and want to take mine? If you want her, take her. She is yours. Banange Charlie, toli (you are not) serious!”

Obviously he has me mistaken for somebody else. I tell him I am not Charlie, but Timothy. He is insistent. “Naye Charlie, please leave me alone. She is mine.” I too, am insistent that I am not Charlie and I figure he must be on crack. After all, why would he be calling me Charlie? I let him be and continue to the wall where I have a pee.

Hours later, I see him headed towards me shouting, “Charlie, Charlie!” and in the most aggressive manner. Rather than wait for him to attack me, I flee and seek refuge amongst the policemen who demand to know why I want to stand amongst them. They throw me out of their circle.

Frightened, on my own and about to start wailing for my mum, I am relieved when I see he has not followed me. Rather, he is talking to some chap and they are bonding and calling each other Charlie.

Backstage, I ask one of the stage crew who tells me that in Luganda, Charlie means, “friend, buddy, pal.” So much for my wailing for Mum for the whole of Nakivubo to hear!