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DENNIS D. MUHUMUZA
Phones made in hell! It was a discovery made that comely Monday evening when Michael and a few of us bumped into his girlfriend with a very fat dude we later nicknamed Biggie Smalls.
It was one shock for Michael whose girlfriend had after our evening lecture told him she was rushing to Muyenga to attend to her sick dad. And it was such a bombshell for us boys because it was a known fact [until that day] that Yolanda couldn’t stand fat men. You see she had always boasted to mates on how lucky she was to land Michael, the lankiest but most charmingly handsome chap in our class. Michael was also in shackles of love, for Yolanda is such a gorgeous babe.
Anyway, shortly before our discovery, the named girl had talked intensely on her cell phone besides the SMS signal tones that had incensed the lecturer. It was to emerge later that the messages were from home where she was hastily needed.
Thus feeling free and buddy-buddy for the very first time, we swaggered with Michael to Wandegeya for rolexes. And then it came to pass that Yolanda –like the rest of them girls –are all players. They hook and use us for their own pleasure but retain the huge, working guys who pump them with shillings and buy them expensive phones.
You will truly taste the fires of hell the day you nab your girlfriend hand in hand with a potbellied bloke.
It was blazing hot when we took the trip to ‘Miami’, okay, down to Wandegz. Maybe you haven’t been to this hell but you probably have sowed it. Remember the tiny cellphone you bought her? Geez she’s been using it to brainwash you: “Honey, I received a phone call from aunt today; says she’s missing me and wants me to spend a weekend at her pad” kumbe she wants to be with her sugar daddy in some cozy hotel around town.
Or still, she’s been acting strange since you bought her that Samsung gadget. You can’t catch her anymore. She’s been playing hide-and-seek. When you call and detect panic in her ‘yes darling’ know that she’s probably in Bugolobi playing under the sheets with her ‘uncle.’
Yes, phones made in hell! Hommies call them “cheat brokers!” If you want to send her on rampage, buy her a phone. It was ticking to 8 p.m., when the truth dawned. Wow, it’s too fast for a date! Yolanda and her most saintly face owns that rare mobile phone that once or twice has instigated hot arguments amongst guys on how much it costs. And the damn thing she used to conspire with loverman to break Michael’s heart.
Tell you what the guy was really ‘phat’! Amorphous could be the right word. And there the slender, curvy Yolanda clang to his arm like a child seeking protection. She was laughing with glee, and fatman had this satisfied look of a sumo wrestler that knows how to tell good jokes. But baffling was how such an obese fellow could ‘rock’ with the wee girl. It was as shocking as the touching guilt on Yolanda’s face when she saw us with Michael. As she waved, “Hi guys,” her arm trembled, her movements faltered as our eyes hit Mr. Biggie with hatred. What disbelief, what betrayal!
Your little sister is getting bigger than her jeans because she got the phone! Then next thing you know she’s pregnant at 15. Eeh! What about HIV/AIDS and STDs? The girls give a little sex for a mere phone. No, if it will make you die young, it is not worth a hill of beans consumed by my country folk! It’s no time for us to pour our a little liquor for another home girl dead. Our hard-earned money doesn’t belong to Anti Retrieval Drugs.
Girls, girls, girls! I don’t know about the boys but watch out for phones made in hell. You would rather die a doorkeeper at the gates of heaven than a princess in the courts of hell!
--Daily Monitor, Thursday, November 4, 2004
