Friday night: I went to a pork joint called Deep Blue in Wandegeya, a neighborhood near Makarere University filled with ramshackle pubs that sell cheap beer and delicious roasted meat and that spill bouncing music out onto the streets. I met up with a good British friend, M, and we caught up over sticks of juicy pork and salted cassava. I ordered my favorite cocktail, a plastic pouch of Uganda waragi — a gin whose homemade concoctions have been known to make people blind — and tonic, and kept absent-mindedly picking at the vegetables left on my plate as M and I talked about women and men and relationships and journalism and African politics.
The plate flipped over and the food landed in my lap. I forgot it soon, though, after more UG tonics and dancing later in Kisementi, a parking lot surrounded by the best (or wildest?) bars in town. I saw more old Ugandan friends, J and J, and stayed out till the mid-morning.
Saturday night: I went to a World Cup party at my friend J’s place. There were Ugandans, a Kenyan, a Brit, Americans and Canadians and we watched the England v. USA game over playful shouts and taunts. The game was a draw. Some people had a ridiculous political debate (it must have been the waragi) and then we had a dance party before I moved on to a new club (there’s always a new club) with an American girlfriend A and Canadian friend B where we danced for longer.
Sunday night: Friends and steak for my birthday celebration. Friends brought friends and I brought my camera. The wait for the food was too long, the time with friends was too short. But then another year passes and we do it all over again.