Fiction, Thoughts


August 7, 2017 • By

 Yes, just an ordinary day of the week woven up in so much hype, like the stupid viral #hashtags on Facebook such as #doesyourmotherknow, all useless. To the working class, it is party time, it is the night things go down in clubs, the night when men and women alike do not know who their spouses are sleeping with (they do not always know anyway).  The friends to the working class henceforth borrow airtime to call and make a plot, and yes, thank God it is Friday for them where the Decalogue is treated as an Apocrypha at least for 24 hours before Sunday.

To the men who have annoying, argumentative wives or cohabiting girlfriends they may have hooked up by referring to in clandestine chapters of the canticles, their story is quite different. These men say ‘god’ in lower case and using a relatively soft tone. Their weekend shall be one long, boring, stressful miniature to forget and instead wish for the new week, a new day like Monday.

How about beggars on the streets? In Gulu District for instance, beggar’s day is officially* Friday. And so on these fateful filthy days, on every first, second, third, black or white and last Friday of the month, like seasonal locusts they flock the streets. They spread their hands wide open and miserably wink their eyes to beg for mercy, for money. Old men, but mostly old women who have been given the will to beg even when they produced children of their own, loiter streets with goblin gloomy eyes hoping someone would coin their Friday.

How about we make Fridays more interesting like; only on Friday can one be fired from their work, and only on Friday shall there be no public holiday.