All Hail The Kampala Thief!
My early youth has suffered some calamitous feats. Some unspeakable humans have gone out of their way to make it impossible for me to live, and such times have been a little more than a few, and maybe I’ve had a last laugh on many occasions but this man, he was a thief; a professional little lying thief come to nibble away at the joy of youthhood. Perhaps if I’d met the young man with the fake diamonds a day earlier, or the middle aged woman who claimed that I had accidentally jumped over some juju planted for another, a week before all this, I wouldn’t have fallen prey. I would have been sharper, and ready to fight for the people of this world.
To save face, I was young, probably wild and free too, but definitely young and quite gullible. On one of those rare nights that I craved a nice and cold creamy yoghurt from Tusky’s, fate had other plans. I could estimate that he was in his early thirties and he must’ve mentioned that his name was Moses (I’ll take Moses). He looked lost and he said as much. The road on which we met was deserted but then again, it was just around the corner from the supermarket, and we were in clear sight of many of the shoppers; most presumably I wasn’t risking this precious life of mine, or so I thought. He asked for directions to a hostel I knew and politely, I directed. But as I did so, he ever so reluctantly (‘sagade kugamba bino naye since oli muwala wampisa, let me tell you’) indulged me in a tale of his many exploits in the city and far beyond; of his magic that could smooth rough feminine faces in an instant, of products and cosmetics that were too effective it was beyond anyone’s understanding. Now I’m a curious young woman and it is this curiosity that led me to stand and listen to Moses even when every fiber in my body screamed ‘run’. It is curiosity that made me gladly agree to Moses’ suggestion that we needed to move a few steps further into the darkness from where he could tell me more about the spells and charms that made people rich over night. All I could think of was asking him to try out his stuff on me so that once and for all, I could discover the very tricks that made women and a few weak men bestialize the men of this city. I was a vibrant youth looking to annihilate all the evils of earth. My ego was untouchable and my wit, unchallenged. But the Kampala thief is a cunning one; brave and wily, yet gentle and patient. And he was polite enough to constantly remind me that I didn’t have to pay him until I’d achieved whatever it was that I sought. “Nyabo nze sili mubbi, ndi musawo, sikusaba sente paka nga omazze okufuna kyoba osabye ba jaja”
“But if you think I’m lying I can try it right now” he added.
Rather too eagerly, I said “okay, so you’ll cast a certain spell and money will magically appear in my pockets?”
“Ahh ah, awo ateh mba nnimbye, naye mu 24hours, omuntu agenda kuva eli nga tomumanyi oba nga omumanyi akuwe buwi sente”
I guess this sounds convincing on any day. I wasn’t paying a dime and well, even if things did work and a bountiful stranger handed me free shillings, where in the world would Moses find me for his payment? I was more than athirst for the wisdom behind the much talked about tricks these cheating sons of men use. I told him to start right away. He folded a small piece of paper, put it in my right palm and asked me to close it. He recited some unintelligible incantations over my hand and assured me that the jajas were ready. The paper was supposed to reappear in my left hand for the process to be called successful. Moses went about his recitations for a whole five minutes, wherein he produced a white handkerchief. I opened my palms and my jaws literally fell. “Where’s it?” (I hope I did mention cunning)
There was no sign of paper. Not in my hand and very certainly not on the ground around me. My eyes were open the entire time, so if this was magic, evidently I had chanced upon true magic. He nervously explained that the disappearance of the paper meant that something had gone terribly wrong and it had to be corrected or I’d meet an early death. Correction meant walking back to our starting point alone, without looking back, as he held onto my few possessions. I had to argue with him on this. A more than considerable distance had been moved and I knew with every bit of my humanity that I was being conned but the fear of death has substantial power over mere mortals. I moved a few feet and decided to steal a single doubtful glance back. Moses became so hysterical with rage that he made me restart from the beginning. I said a silent prayer and quite confidently moved away from the man that held my jacket, yoghurt, coins, paper money and my dear, dear phone. (Don’t you dare cringe your face at me reader!) He’d stripped me of all except the clothes that I wore and when,so far away from Moses, I finally gathered enough courage and turned to face my impending doom, he was, indisputably, gone; disappeared into the night leaving me distraught and unbelieving. The anguish that I felt that night and the days that followed after, could very possibly, match the respect that I have for that one thief.
