Fuck it

“All the animals come out at night…

Broken eggs, bruised legs, torn skirts, laughing lads, crested cranes, packs of dogs, a wide-eyed man with a gun. The stories told by these grimy vignettes are at once a cartoon strip and an archive of the ephemeral, an African symphony and a third-world catastrophe, a naughty grope and a guilty giggle.

Some Peace Corps blogger once described Kabalagala – Kampala’s most deliciously sleazy bar district – as ‘Tijuana on acid’. He went on to describe how some girls in a bar tried to seduce both him and his girlfriend, while showing them pictures of their kids on their smartphones. He was shocked and sickened. An altogether different type of safari to the closeted 4x4 cruises in Queen Elizabeth Park; a far cry from the charity village trip to fit out Mama and Papa Okello with a new water pump.

These are nocturnal adventures. The undomesticated beasts of today’s Africa, red of lip and claw, in uncontrollable packs of intoxicated dementia. Amazonic warrior queens, fierce and inscrutable, with sharp tongues and sharper knees for ripe, white balls. Poverty-stricken, prostrate tragedies, abused victims of a merciless global economy. Life, love and laughter.

We can’t blame the Peace Corps worker for being surprised, as Uganda has successfully presented itself to the international community as a responsible, progressive site for aid and development for nearly three decades. In 1986 the country emerged from a civil war of 8 years, following a dictatorship of 7 years, following seventy years of exploitative colonial government. It was the epicenter of the AIDS pandemic. While presenting a façade of burgeoning bourgeois culture and righteous religious values, Kampala enjoys one of the most wild night-scapes in Africa.

This is the noir: the fallen angels of debauchery and desperation. This is the future: brazen young things with money to burn - all poolside parties and bleach-blonde hair. This is the past: askaris with arrows; women with burdens; military junta in open jeeps. This is the contradiction: a city of Puritan alcoholics, of prostitutes giving love for free. This is a disgrace: a security guard on $1/day; a corrupt ruling class passing laws on morality.

These are nocturnal adventures. The undomesticated beasts of today’s Africa, red of lip and claw, in uncontrollable packs of intoxicated dementia. Amazonic warrior queens, fierce and inscrutable, with sharp tongues and sharper knees for ripe, white balls. Poverty-stricken, prostrate tragedies, abused victims of a merciless global economy. Life, love and laughter.

Lap it up with hungry eyes or flick through with bored detachment. If it makes you feel better, weep bitter tears of helplessness onto the pristine pages. The occupants don’t really care whether you pity or desire them. Their lives, in the long, warm nights, go on regardless.”