Oh, Peter Sematimba!

Without putting thought to it, when you talk of smartness in men, Dr Martin Aliker (below right), Elly Karuhanga, Richard Byarugaba and even Ivan Koreta, who I consider the smartest man in the UPDF uniform spring to mind. They know how to dress or rather vaz, as one of my niece’s is fond of saying. The clothes they wear fit them well and they strike a pose wherever they go. 

I can’t mention my school housemasters name and though he died shortly after the millennium, the chances of my being sued are high if, his family happens to chance on today’s cowardly tales. Anyway House Master, when he was not busy sliding his hands down our pajamas just before we went to bed, was a disciplinarian. So strict he was that if I hadn’t known about his previous life in the seminary, I would have thought he’d done a stint in the army. 

He used to measure the length of our ties and if they were not up to standard, you had to hop onto his lap while he beat our naked butts. But he wasn’t really beating us. Rather, he used to gleefully rub them and at the time he was doing it, we didn’t know he was getting his sexual kicks and abusing us until years later when he was forced to resign after one of the kids in junior school told his dad about a sexual act House Master had made him perform. By the way, House Master was Irish. Nodin, who is Irish and lives in Uganda didn’t go to the seminary and neither is he a housemaster so he should be okay. 

Have I lost track of the story for as I type, I am sitting in Bamboo Nest trying to get to grips with a bottle of Tusker – a Malt at that, two pork ribs, a Sportsman cigarette because the chaps at BAT don’t feel me anymore with Dunhill, a huge blue fly that won’t leave my ribs alone, and an impending call from Sidney, my editor, screaming about deadlines.

So I was off to Rwakitura – to M7’s and JM7’s abode for the wedding of one of M7’s younger brothers. After the function we drove to Mbarara for the night. Usually when I go up country, I don’t book a room because there are always rooms in all the hotels. But this time Mbarara was full. I should also point out at this stage, Peter Sematimba - a former mayoral candidate in the recent elections also hadn’t booked a room. 

By the way, Sematimba is also a sharp dresser so why I haven’t I put him at the top of the story with Aliker, Byarugaba, Koreta and Karuhanga? But it’s too late to make that amendment because I can see Blue Fly with its ugly sister in tow hovering over my pork ribs that between putting Sematimba at the top of the article and, saving my pork ribs from the filth that Blue Fly and his ugly sister picked up from the various pit latrines they’ve visited, I have decided to save the pork ribs.

We manage to find a room at Oxford Inn but we had to share it and it did have separate beds lest people like Smooth, Castro and Spidey who, have warped minds start thinking otherwise.

After clubbing at Vision Empire we hit bed. Blazed, I took off my shirt and hurled it across the room. The socks – I don’t know where they landed while, my skid mark devoid underpants ended up on the TV antenna.

When Sematimba changed, he took off his shirt and folded it that it looked like a new shirt in shop. His socks were not flung into oblivion but were folded into a neat ball and tucked into his shoes. His trousers went on the hanger and his underpants didn’t join mine on the TV antenna but were folded and put at the foot of his bed though, it was hard to tell if they had skid marks or not.

And when he got into bed, he didn’t rape or pillage back the duvet like I did but he stealth fully pulled it back, slithered into the sheets that am sure the sheets didn’t even know they had been slithered into. At this point I was in recoil. If House Master could see my clothes flung all over the room, I am sure I would be on his lap while he gleefully rubbed my butt in punishment. Embarrassment, I set my alarm for 3:00am to wake and tidy up before Sematimba woke. Of course I didn’t wake at 3:00am. Who does especially after a blazo night in Vision Empire?!

Rather, I woke at 11:30am to a slimy drool of malusu on the pillow and a pungent smell. I must have been gassing in my sleep. Looking over, Sematimba was nowhere to be seen and his bed was neatly made like it was when we checked in. My underpants that had spent the night on the TV antenna were not there anymore but were folded at the foot of my bed as was my shirt and socks. Sematimba probably slept with one eye open and as soon as the alarm went off, it was he who woke to clean my mess.

But there was an issue as I checked out. House cleaning would no doubt have been informed that two men shared the room and when they go to clean it, they would see my bed with the sheets on the floor and the neatly laid bed of Sematimba. What would they think? What would you think? I dashed back to rough it up and give it the appearance of having been slept in lest they thought we shared the bed. 

By the way I don’t feel like writing next week. I said it just to piss Sidney, the editor off but seeing he called hissing into the phone with, I think I’d better write.

This article was first published in 2008 

Pictures: New Vision