It has just occurred to me that I don’t write news-y news anymore. I write for the funny pages. I bash this keyboard in only and only to make you laugh (on sundays at least). If by some freak coincidence you’ve learnt something from this chick’s contribution to Plan B, rest assured that she did not plan for that to happen. She probably tried to edit out anything that even smElled Life Lesson-ish.
My God. All of that just to say that i’m going to start putting those plan B-isms up. Nkmt!
DROUGHT, NO. SUMMER!
Hear ye Hear ye. The time has come to do away with all clothing opaque, all outfits pendulous, and all garments that dare to venture beyond the knee. Drought is here, man. If it doesn’t kill us, it’ll make us hotter. Well that pun isn’t very helpful. The colorful little sundresses and sawed-off kanzus that everybody will be required to wear will considerably increase the desirability of the average Ugandan.
Those people who insist on putting on big long things, suits, what, will be glowered at, sometimes even abused because really, what are they making the rest of us feel hot for?
To survive this grim and sapless season, you will need:
A friend with a pool: Pool parties will be held every day and because of the water shortage, nobody will look at you funny when you pull out a bottle and pack some water for later (because they will be doing the exact same thing). Skinny dipping might raise eyebrows, but people’s throats will be too parched to croak out disapproval. See? See how you’re now looking forward to drought?
Sunscreen: If you think that because you belong to a race that has more melanin than the rest you can chill with no skin protection, you have another think coming. Do you want to become unrecognizably black? No. Not dark. Dark sounds attractive, all chocolatey and naughty. I mean BLACK. You will be so black that your dog will not recognize you. Your chickens will run at you in a line and try to peck you, mistaking you for an old wizened (but absurdly vertical) log that has worms and other such chicken delicacies just under its surface. Your children will clutch their mother’s skirts and cry, ‘Eew. Daddy looks horrible, man.’ and the reverse might also happen. This may make a deep hatred for your children take root in your heart, and you don’t want that. Save yourself the heart ache. Buy sunscreen.
Beads and sheathes: I’m going to let this FB conversation elaborate this one.
Eunice: Let’s learn from the Karamojongs that beads beat fabric any day.
Kyrte: Beads ooye, but not boys. Boys won’t be allowed to wear beads. We don’t want those things of our eyes sealing themselves on account of the trauma.
O’wekyali: Leave us. We have already ironed our kanzus and you know that kanzus are see through. Fishnet kanzus. Ripped kanzus. Sawed off Kanzus.
Eunice: Guys should just tie afghans around their groins and be easy.
After which the discussion got silly.
Siesta: Try to strong-arm your boss into building a thatched hut or a gazebo behind the office in which employees can take turns to lie down and perspire. If he or she adamantly refuses, as he or she most probably will, buy a colorful mukeeka and put it in the empty storeroom (that all offices seem to have). You’ll need a hand held fan for this to work though, because store rooms have no air con. On principle.
Audio books: These will come in handy for the times when your strength has been so sapped by the maliciously grinning sun that you can’t bear to touch anything, even a book. Make sure the reader has a voice that puts you in mind of water, mountain dew and other such refreshing things or else you’ll end up having to lie through hours of torture because of your inability to get up and turn the horribly voiced book off.
It will be really funny, barrel-of-epileptic-monkeys caliber funny if the weather does the ministry of disaster preparedness a dirty and rain pours from tomorrow until the end of May.