Fiction, Prose

Rolex, Cheating & Diarrhea

September 5, 2017 • By

A few days ago, my appetite for Rolex soared and I dashed Rolex hunting, I hit O Café Gulu first because some how all the Langi friends I have, prefer this Rolex to chicken and it is also true they have the best everything in Gulu. O Cafe was closed by that time. So I turned around and went to check on the guy who makes the best Street Rolex in Gulu, I still owed him money for last year’s Rolex, so I prayed he had forgotten my face.

As fate would NOT have it, I found the place abandoned. It could have been my debt that caused it to close, I thought to myself. Adamantly, I gazed left, right and centre. Emptied a few bins around the place putting away suspicious boxes in the process. The guy was nowhere. I checked all corners where horny guys in Gulu park, no sight of my man Jk. I noticed his Rolex table was stacked away just a few meters away feeling all lonely without JK’s hands rolling dough and slapping the chapatti and stirring whatever he puts in the omelette.

Anyway, I carried my disappointment and shifted to the next Rolex joint after finding out JK had called in sick, I could still see JK’s point from where I stood. The feeling of cheating dawned on me, so I decided to cheat from the next street instead. Onto the next street, I found this Rolex guy patiently doing his magic. He was careful and slow just like JK, he did not talk much, probably language was a barrier just like JK. I greedily placed my order of 2 Chapatti’s and 3 eggs, It would cost me 2500 or half a litre of fuel just like JK’s.

This new guy’s charcoal fire seem ‘weak’ unlike JK’s, the omelette took longer than usual and also smelt different than for my main man. The chapatti too looked whiter like it did not ‘burn’ well the way street Rolex should.

I had my Rolex ready after a few minutes and hit the road. Along the way, I whistled to a Rolex song I had just composed, at the same time I guarded the Rolex against dogs, cats and single men by holding it tighter to my chest.

So, I got home, set up Game of Thrones, munched my Rolex away while Jon Snow and the silver haired bitch touched lips …….. all was well till I woke up at about 6 am and my stomach was composing a song, I cannot remember the lyrics but the instrument was definitely a drum and the theme very unfriendly. If it were a dance, it would definitely be the Acoli Otoole Dance. The kind of pain evoking from my stomach could not easily be described, it felt like direct painful insults or like multiple punches against my stomach wall.

By sunrise, I had a pile of blankets aloft my stomach to prevent my neighbours from waking up to my noise and to also keep safe whatever secrets I still had left away from being exposed by this rumbling stomach. One toilet door, I agreed with neighbours would be reserved for me until I had my situation under control. I would also have the TV remote and game consoles to myself.

It was the Rolex, the darned Rolex was never ready and I made up my mind to go for a refund and a free better Rolex the following day!!

Otoole Dance; a traditional war dance performed by the Acoli characterised by aggressiveness and energy.

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