Kwanjula somewhere close to the Malaba border

After I thought that I was done with all my functions for this year, I was surprised by yet another where I had to travel to Malaba close to the border to escort a close family friend for introduction to his girl’s family. 

I expected nothing less than excitement and fan fare but the start of the day was proving to be much less entertaining.

We arrived at the home of his fiancés parents, only to be told that they needed a few minutes to prepare for us. A few minutes turned out to be approximately 20 minutes to half an hour before we were welcomed and ushered in. The entire time we were in line I wondered to myself why brides are always frantic before their grooms arrive because we had been called not less than 5 times before our arrival. We were told we were late only to arrive just 15 minutes short of the scheduled time and then they were not. Anyway I digress, so we walked in and waited to be told to take our seats only for a lady bearing an official tag to tell us to sit down.

Me: ‘Are you sure?’

Lady Official: ‘Yes, you can sit down.’

So we sat down but not even 10 seconds passed before I felt a tag at the arm of my busuti by one of the people in our party.  

Best man: ‘We have not been told to sit down.’

I obliged but was rather annoyed at these Kwajula tests and antics that I had completely forgotten about probably owing to overload of events I have already attended this year as well as the drive from Kampala early that morning. The program commenced albeit rather slowly with a few tunes being churned out by the DJ as the first group of girls came to greet. The sad thing is that the entire time the group of girls was walking to their places to greet us the music kept skipping and this happened over and over. 

This happened so much so that after greeting the girls sat on the mat in front of us for about 15 minutes as we waited for their microphone to be turned on or the mishap with the music to be sorted out. After an awkward silence and patient wait, a loud thud was heard as the tune “gamba ku jeniffer’ strummed away for a couple of seconds before it was abruptly cut off only to be replaced with ‘Sitya loss song’ the new equally inappropriate one.

DJ madness aside, we decided to enjoy the day no matter what followed but nothing prepared us for this. There was a cultural troop that came to entertain us in dance and song and we were delighted to soak up as much of the local culture as we could. As the dancers came around the corner of the host’s tent, we were happy and clapped in unison to show our gratitude but the clapping died down as we took notice of the last dancer. It was a gentleman in a skirt (probably with a pair of shorts underneath) and a spaghetti top with a bra underneath.

Most of you may be wondering ‘How did you know that he had a bra underneath the spaghetti top?’

My response; ‘Because the black top was ill fitting and the white bra was peeping through the top.’

Now if any of you thought this was the highlight of the day, then you do not know what you missed when you did not tag along for this event. The accompanying crew continued to play their instruments as the dancers danced off behind the tent from which they came since the DJ’s equipment had failed to recover the entire day. So as we enjoyed listening to the xylophone and flute which were punctuated by a male vocalist we could not understand, we lost interest as we broke up into groups and began to converse amongst ourselves.

A while later at the climax of this musical piece, we were startled to hear the vocalist scream loudly saying, ‘I miss you, I care for you, I welcome you...’

We began to shout in response at every pause but nothing prepared us for his final lines.

Male vocalist: ‘I love you, I want you, I touch you....’

At this point all the old men who had escorted the groom responded ehhhh and the vocalist continued to escalate these intimate sentiments in song.

Male vocalist: ‘I kiss you, I touch you....’

Here every one visitor and host alike burst out in laughter as some even stood to give the gentleman a hand clap as he ended his piece. All the girls rose from the mat from whence they had been greeting; blushing and I can confidently say that there was not a dry eye in the audience from the roars of laughter.