A fine sunday morning and I find myself with my friends at the liquor store placing an order on a drink which not even the manufacturers are sure whether it’s a gin vodka or liquor! But who cares anyway …as long as you get wasted..we can worry about the kidneys (or whatever it is the methanol affects)later..my biology was never good..I bet yours ain’t either.
The bottle of booze was first distilled in the 1970s by our neighbors from the south..the Tanzanians.Being made from molasses with an alcohol content of 35%by volume,the drink is barely legal outside east Africa. But what makes its stand out among all other brands is it’s effect..ooh I tell you friend it hits hard..harder than a roll of ganja..and it’s price..as cheap as a hoe ..goes for about two dollars a bottle.
If you’re still somewhere hanging and don’t have a clue of which bottle of booze I’m talking about you should probably just stick to your bottle of Coca-Cola and mineral water because clearly you’re not a drinker or you never give a damn what you pouring into your ousaphagus ..or wherever the drink goes upon consumption..I warned you my biology ain’t good.
I’m speaking of the great KONYAGI.If you’ve tasted the Ugandan waragi you probably have a rough idea of konyagi..I’m told they taste almost similar..I’m yet to confirm that. if I ever set foot in Uganda that will be my first task.
So I smack the bottom of the bottle with my palm and then I head for the bottle top. Ask me why I smacked it and I have no idea..more of a ritual I see drankards do before feasting on any alcoholic drink. I take a sip which leaves a tingly sensation on my tongue ..and I nod to my friends..we’ve got what we wanted. I put the cap back and place the cargo in my jacket’s pocket …”we gonna have a blast after the church service pals.”
The church is fully packed . All backseats have been occupied so we head for the front seats. You know it’s amazing how life is a crazy bitch because of all people I ,the one in possession of the bottle of booze, had to seat next to the man of God! So I’m there almost chocking myself to death since I cannot risk the lemon scent popping out of my mouth and finding its way to the pastor’s nose.
Now all hell brakes lose when the pastor asks me to hand him his bible which he had forgotten on his chair as he was heading to the altar. I stand and as I pick the holy book I can feel the bottle of booze taking its tall on my jacket’s pocket.
I take each step with caution and I can tell everyone has noticed my peculiar walking style so I decide to normalise just a little bit and that’s where I screw up big time. The nylon material can no longer support the weight being exerted on it by the bottle of konyagi. And as I hand over the bible I can feel the bottle slipping through the crack it had made in my pocket, right through my thigh on to the floor..making small rivelets on the altar carpet ..flowing there for all to see with its shouting scent…
And I could see how the women looked at me with disgust all over their wrinkled faces..the men with eyes full of wrath …but I cannot forget how my fellow drinking pals acted all surprised as if they thought we had bought water at the liquor store. They deserve an Oscar I tell you.