Johnny, My Bodyguard

For the past couple of weeks, I have been gripped by the events unfolding in Libya particularly the storming of Bab al-Azizia compound, which was Col. Gadaffi’s residence for it would appear that Gadaffi was not watching the news when in 1986, President Ferdinand Marcos of the Philippines fled the Malacañang Palace or more recently when Saddam Hussein was toppled.

That said, let me put it bluntly to our incumbent and anybody aspiring for the office of president here in Uganda. Just in case things go sour whilst you are in office and you have to flee, make sure you pack your personal belongings especially your clothes and dirty underwear for the last thing you would want to see as you watch television in exile is of looters rummaging through your clothes.

I am sure Gadaffi must have been horrified at the sight of one of the rebels who was posing on Sky News whilst wearing his blue army peaked cap while others languished on his bed and went through his wardrobe. Assuming you were not able to flee, make sure that by the time the coup leaders storm State House to arrest you, you are decently dressed for if you remember Jonas Savimbi the UNITA rebel leader from Angola, he was shot dead in the bush wearing nothing but red and blue underwear. What about Laurent Gbagbo of Ivory Coast who was smoked out whilst clad in a tatty vest? And there was poor Saddam Hussein who was arrested whilst looking nothing like his former self in a neatly ironed army uniform but like a tramp! Mao, Besigye, Olara, Ssali, Museveni, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Getting back, as they say, a melee is a melee. Most of us have at some point been involved in a melee. At school most of the melee’s happened on the football or rugby pitches. If not they happened in the dorm just before the lights went out and it usually had something to do with girls. I hear that when Budonians fought, they took a walk down to the Old Field where they boxed the senses out of each other. At my school – The Grange that is, the fights were organised. If we had issues, we would not melee each other there and then, but would take our grievances to a Zambian chap called Kabosha who was everything from a fight pimp to a bookie. After bets were made, it was a trip down to a clearing in the forest for the battle.

For the life of me, I really can’t remember why I had beef with Graham. Or was it that he had beef with me? Anyway, no amount of talking was going to prevent the inevitable. The way I saw it the conflict dispute Graham and I had had to be solved by a melee.

Obviously by the time I had made up my mind to melee him, I had already sized him and concluded that I could take him on. Down to the forest we went and when the melee started, Graham lunged at me which I thought was a rather stupid move.
But it wasn’t a stupid move for he punched me hard in the stomach and winded me. The second punch caught me on the nose and dislodged all the snot that was clogging up my nose. I was now down on my knees with snot strewn all over my face as he kicked at me. The fight was over well before it had even started.

That was then and just because I lost that fight, if there is anybody who thinks I am a weed and has ambitions of taking me on, please don’t do it, for it would be rather foolhardy of you.

A few years ago I hired a bodyguard for the day. Well he was more than a bodyguard for he dictated where I would sit, where I could or not go amongst other things. Even going to the washrooms, it was he who decided. He made it a point of checking to see who was in the washrooms and once he was satisfied that there was no threat, he would let me in and stand watch as I did my thing.

He was called Johnny and if you know Johnny – he works for Silk Events, his body is packed full of muscle. So I am out on a Friday night at the Rock Bar when a melee – as if shows signs of going down. I had just bought my TML and poured it all into a glass when somebody knocks my arm. When that happened, I was disorganised that I poured some of it on the chap who was standing in front of me.

Chap turned round and unleashed a verbal onslaught which he wanted to conclude with a melee. Going by his size, I was no match for him and as he began to poke me in the chest with his index finger, I remembered I had Johnny. Hmm, why is Chap poking me yet he should be poking Johnny so I thought to myself. Stepping aside, I called Johnny. Johnny didn’t want to know the story of who was at fault. As far as he was concerned, his ‘principal’ (a term used by the security services meaning the boss) was in danger.

Johnny took up position between Chap and me and then flexed his huge frame of a chest which rippled up and down. I don’t know how he does it because I have tried it out on my puny chest and nothing happens.

When Chap saw Johnny’s chest flexing, he suddenly saw the light and apologised to me. As he fled, I had the nerve to shout out, “Next time be careful for you just don’t know who you are taking on.” That comment stopped him in his tracks, and he turned ready to throw a punch but didn’t because in the background, Johnny was still flexing his chest.

Do Ugandan tycoons melee? Of course they do. I was out one Sunday with a tycoon who is a hotelier when a melee started to brew. For some reason a South African was rather vexed that his lunch was nowhere to be seen yet he had made his order ages ago. South African was huge – almost of the same size as that of former WWF wrestler now turned actor - The Rock.

South African was having a go at the waiter who was literally shaking in his boots. Though I wanted to intervene and save Waiter, the thought of a punch from South African put me back in my place. I simply kept quiet. While all the abuse was going on, Tycoon Hotelier stood by seemingly unbothered whilst munching on a hamburger.
Done with the hamburger, Tycoon Hotelier rolled up his sleeves and walked over to South African. “Eek” I screamed out. Has Tycoon Hotelier lost his senses? Has he not seen how big South African is? Does he want to spend the next few weeks in IHK hospital while Dr. Ian Clarke re-wires his jaw?

I pointed out all these things to Tycoon Hotelier who simply brushed aside my pleas and said: “Tim, nobody comes into my hotel and starts abusing my staff. Nobody does it. Abusing my staff is my prerogative!”

South African through the corner of his eye saw Tycoon Hotelier approach and swirled round ready for the confrontation. From my safety corner (I was literally cowering under one of the tables) the melee was not going to last a couple of minutes. I imagined that South African would simply bark at Waiter who would susu in his pants. As for Tycoon Hotelier, two punches and that would be it.

I cowered further when Tycoon Hotelier and South African squared off. Then the unthinkable happened. Tycoon Hotelier looked up at South African trying to jab his finger into his face but couldn’t because South African stood at 6ft plus while Tycoon Hotelier is a mere 5:6. “Who the f**k do you think you are coming into my hotel and abusing my staff?” The tirade went on and on that in the end, South African deflated like a balloon at a kids’ birthday party.

Tycoon Hotelier had reduced this huge man to mashed potatoes and threw him out of his resort. When it was all over, Tycoon Hotelier looked round just in time to see me emerge from under the table and asked what I was doing down there.

I wanted to retort by saying, “Are you mad? You really don’t know what I was doing down there? I am of sane mind and though I flunked my physics exam, one thing I do know, if somebody who has a body the size of The Rock lands a punch on me, it is going to hurt!