The concubine of a government official (Part III)

When I asked Lucy Nabunya about how she had met her loaded lover, she looked at me with those eyes, and said, “You will have to buy me coffee to tell you this story.”

Even when we were meeting for the first time, the chemistry felt long-established.

“You seem to love gossip, Yusuf… You write for that paper, The Observer, or not? Yes, I have seen some of your gossip articles about politics” she said.

“But I don’t like reading. Some of your articles simply collided with me. “Are you the one who wrote that article about a woman who said her coochie took her places she had never imagined?” she asked and I nodded in the affirmative.

“Yeah, coochie is capital, but many of our feminist friends disagree. I loved that article” she added.

“But did you actually meet that woman? She was brave.” Being a Tuesday, we agreed to meet again in the same place in the next two days.

But I could not stop wondering who this free-spirited woman was – and who was her thief but generous lover. He could have been generous only to the softer sex. It had rained heavily that morning, but both of us kept time.

Once settled, I asked for a V60 – a specialized slowbrewing coffee for consummate drinkers. She asked for her usual hot chocolate.

“I am in the business of saving lives with my coochie, and I have heard that coffee makes ladies turn into the Sahara. I am not burning my superpowers with coffee,” she said with a smirk.

“But is that science or gossip?” I asked. “I don’t care whether it is gossip or science, Yusuf, I just don’t want to experiment on myself,” she said sternly.

“But Mzungu women drink just as much coffee as the men; are they all like Saharas?” I challenged.

“You tell me Yusuf, it is you who has been to Mzungu countries. What did you find?” she asked accusingly. At that point, I opted to switch gears.

“So, Lucy,” I started after a sip on my coffee, “how did you meet your generous lover? I am so curious. He must be a force of nature … a mover of things!” “You don’t want to answer my question, I see. It is okay,” she said letting me off.

Lucy paused for a second. “This is a long story, Yusuf, and I hope you have no other hustles to run to… I can see you want to write about me in your newspaper one day,” she said as we both laughed out loudly.

“I have a bachelor’s degree from Makerere Law School … I also finished LDC. Would you guess I was a lawyer?” she asked.

“You are surely smart and chatty, typical lawyer behaviour,” I said. “But becoming a lawyer did not help my fortunes… As you know, Yusuf, these idiots told us education was the key to success, but they changed the locks without telling us,” she said.

“So, you never practiced your profession, Counsel?” I asked. “There were some legal gigs here and there, but the pay was miserable. Young lawyers struggle a lot, Yusuf – and for female lawyers, the suffering is twice as hard,” she said while grimacing.

“Maybe I would have remained focused on this legal thing had it not been for that journey to Hoima about five years ago,” she started.

“I had travelled to Hoima for a friend’s wedding. The wedding being the next day, we went to a bar after the long drive from Kampala. While there, a random guy mistook me for a hooker… in fact, a hooker he had enjoyed the day before. He leaned in and said, “Look, Tinah, this time, I’m not doing Shs 700K; I have Shs 500k. Does this work for you “I was neither Tinah nor a hooker. But that hookers in this town were getting their bottoms caressed for Shs 700k was something. By then, I made about Shs 100K to Shs 200K a week. But 500k for a night! It was tempting. Nalina amabanja ggwe! (I had a lot of debts then)” “Incredible,” I said.

“So, after a small pause, I asked this guy: ‘Will you bring the balance the next time’?” ‘“That is fair, Tinah, that is okay. Okay, then let’s move now’,” he said.

“Outside the bar was a black-dark-tinted V8. I jumped in, and off we went to the hotel. As I told you last time, in two minutes, he had knocked himself out. And for me, I had made Shs 500K, which was just there on the table!”

“I ended up spending the night on the couch. When he woke up, he managed another five minutes – on credit. He performed better. Alcohol is always bad, Yusuf – You Muslims are lucky. It was only then that he realized I was not Tinah, but said I was way more beautiful, and warmer than Tinah.”

“What happened to the wedding plans?” I asked.

“I had called my friends and told them I had met my ex in the bar, and we simply left. I promised to join them later,” she said.

“Can you imagine, on our first meeting, this man asked to return to Kampala with me. That he will put me in an apartment and take care of me. This was the time of the hysteria about oil, and girls from far and beyond flocked to Hoima to sell coochie. He had believed I was one of them. He didn’t look any threatening. I took up the offer.”

“But I tell you, Yusuf, inside that Landcruiser was something like a call center. His phones were buzzing non-stop: ‘Legal wants Shs 500m… procurement wants Shs 300m’ he would instruct through the Bluetooth connected loudspeakers. ‘She wants that job? Does she have Shs 10m?’ … ‘The minister sent her to us…or the PS? Okay, we will help her.’

I could not stop wondering who this man was. But one thing was true; I was ready to become his toy.”

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The author is a political theorist based at Makerere University

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