The Irritant

So it is Jan 1st, 2012. Big deal! If anything, today for many will be, the most depressing day of 2012. You see sometime during the evening, reality is going to set in that after weeks of having a blast and a party and all in the name of the Christmas holiday, tomorrow we have to get up early and go to work. Work, what is that? I had forgotten all about work. I probably don’t even know where my ID is let alone remembering how to get there or what it is exactly that I did there.

December apart from being The Silly Season was also a season when deals seemingly went down. One Sunday morning last November when 20,000 runners gave up their sleep all in the aim of taking part in the MTN Kampala Marathon, though the tycoon Charles Mbire was there, he wasn’t there to run. He had deals to attend to and spent the best part of the marathon in one of the hospitality tents in a huddle with a number of people at which it was all smiles when they got up to leave.

Then I bumped into Godfrey Kirumira at Kabira Country Club with Sudhir Ruparelia. What were they discussing? I did try walking by their table a number of times but got shooed away whenever they saw me approach. And what was Swivel’s Oscar Mulira discussing with a certain George Murimi, who according to my Kenyan sources is a financial mullah in Kenya and West Africa at Le Chateau early one evening? Casino mogul, Bob Kabonero was also in the thick of things at The Pyramids with people who looked like investors.

That got me thinking. Does this mean that the rest of us who were not huddled in meeting’s will end up getting the mawolu (left over’s) of the deals? Or will we simply end up reading about them in the business section of New Vision sometime this week?

What the heck I thought to myself and just got back to my ribs which, was to be the start of a depressing pre-Christmas. You see the previous night I had fantasized about eating spare ribs. In my ribs dream, a near naked Halle Berry had sauntered in along with a scantily clad Kelly Rowland but they were not doing it for me. It was the ribs that took centre stage. And the following morning as I drifted out of slumber while still trying to fight off the seductive attentions of Ms. Berry and Ms. Rowland I reached for the phone and placed a call to the pork joint except that it did not go through because I had no airtime.

Airtime is now loaded, the call is placed and the order made. Three hours later, I am in Soya. I think I have got a good seat for I can see the stage and the Ggaba highway. When the ribs are served, I didn’t bother to wash my hands seeing I had had a shower three hours earlier and as I was going to be eating alone surely the medical people would have no issue with it. Or would they?

The first bite I took, I simply spat straight back out onto the kalai (metal plate) because it was piping hot and much to the amusement of a couple sitting across from me. But I am not easily defeated and figure if I blow on it a couple of times, it will cool the rib down. I do just that, then take another bite and what the f**K, again I have to spit it out because it is still too hot. This time, Couple sitting across from me openly laugh. “Tumbavu” I say to them under my breath.

After a while of drooling at the ribs and still unleashing more expletives that have gone way beyond just tumbavu at the Couple, with some hesitation, pick up the rib and sink in my teeth and that was it. The rib had finally cooled down to mouth temperature. I wanted to ravage it, tear it to shreds but took my time. I savoured the first rib. In fact I did more than just that. I caressed it, we had mouth foreplay and just when it was too much to take any further, I swallowed it. Yalabi! It was something else. It was heaven.

So I sit back and content like a cat that is tossing a mouse that it has just caught when I see an irritant alighting from a taxi. I say ‘irritant’ because he is one of those people who turns up just at the wrong time, joins you and even before he has said a word, his fingers are in the kalai and picking up juiciest of the pork ribs.
Frantically I look round and there are no free tables. In fact there is nowhere to hide because everybody was huddled over a plate of ribs and seemingly into making deals. I pulled my cap down and looked the other way but alas, it was too late. The Irritant had clocked me.

Time for Plan B. As much as I would have loved to take my time with the remaining ribs, it was important to get them down my throat before The Irritant got to my table. I practically choked the second rib down my throat that Couple across from me thought I had bad table manners or what the Baganda would say, omululu. This time I sneered at them and let out an audible tumbavu which I shouldn’t have wasted my time on because it ate into vital seconds and by then, The Irritant was literally sitting down.

At this point there were four ribs left including two succulent ones which I was saving for last. Just as The Irritants fingers started to reach out, his cellphone went off. He looked at his phone, excused himself and walked away to take the call.
While he was away, I went for Plan C. I have a number of Asian friends like Akhilesh Malik, Prabhat and Ajit who all work for Speke Resort Munyonyo. And in my time hanging out with them, they have taught me to eat chillies and while I am not in their league, I can nevertheless hold my own.

The chilli was sent for and going way overboard, the ribs were more than doused in it. When The Irritant came back, the conversation went along these lines.

The irritant: “Eh, TB, can you imagine my fool of a brother calls me when you are all alone devouring a kalai of ribs?”

TB: “It’s a shame the conversation didn’t go on any longer.”

The Irritant: “Ha TB, you are a very funny man. Is that so you could eat the ribs alone?”

In the most depressed tone, I answer in the affirmative as I watch his teeth slice into the ribs. There is a look of satisfaction on his face then he starts to contort and with his eyes watering, he drops the rest of the rib back into the kalai while gasping at his throat.

The conversation is resumed once he regains himself.

The Irritant: “Eh TB, did you use the entire kamulali tree on the ribs? You man, I was dying!”

TB: “Kyoka The Irritant, I put on just a little.”

The Irritant: “It’s too much. You will have to eat them alone.”
Those words were music to my ears. The dancing girls came out, in the background I could hear Michael Jackson’s Beat It and somewhere in the corner of my mind there was Kelly Rowland who was still scantily dressed and a near naked Halle Berry battling it out to see you I would go home with after I am done with the ribs.

Feeling smart I bite into the ribs. Somewhere into the fourth chew I am overcome. I break out into a sweat. Seconds later my mouth is on fire and all through my body is a burning sensation. But The Irritant is looking at me and I can’t give him that satisfaction so I force life. How I held back the tears I’ll never know but I did manage to finish the ribs.

That night as I lay in bed and waited for the near naked Halle Berry to come into my dreams, my stomach rumbled that I spent close to an hour on the toilet as my rear let out ‘fire’ - if you get my drift.

I have now thrown Soya out because of The Irritant and it won’t hurt me for I have discovered a new pork joint opposite Engen petrol station at Bunga trading centre and the beer too, is cheap – sh2,500. And please people, if you know The Irritant, please, please, don’t tell him I have moved to Bunga for my pork.