The death of the Kafunda

Apr 16, 2012

It is with outmost sadness that we announce that the kafunda, that very Ugandan of creations, is dying; and in many places and instances has already died.

By Kalungi Kabuye
 
It is with outmost sadness that we announce that the kafunda, that very Ugandan of creations, is dying; and in many places and instances has already died.
 
But, what is the kafunda? In its most basic form, kafunda referred to a shop that used to, in addition to normal groceries, also sell alcoholic drinks, mainly beer. While this is not quite unique to Uganda (in Kenya they are referred to as ‘off licenses’ and are normally found next to butchers selling meat), kafunda developed into more than shops, and became a fulcrum of Uganda society.
 
It is safe to say that before the 1970s there wasn’t a single kafunda in Uganda, there was no need for them. While Kenyans gathered at off- license shops to order and eat meat from the nearby butcher’s, Ugandans generally went to bars. 
 
Then two things happened. First Idi Amin’s Economic War failed, meaning production in factories, including breweries, came to a standstill. Bars could no longer procure beers for sale. The little beer available was only for those who knew somebody in either the government, or the army. And since prices were controlled, it was an act of treason for anybody found selling beer at higher than Government prices, and several traders were shot for that.
 
So people with beer for sale hid it in what became to be known as ‘bitanda’, from the Luganda word meaning bed. People literally hid crates of beer under their beds, and sold it to only those they knew. 
 
Then Idi Amin was overthrown and Obote came back to power. The factories worked only minimally better, so beer was still in short supply, but it was no longer a death sentences to sell it. So beer was moved away from under people’s beds into the small shops that could find anything to sell.
 
But during the eighties those little shops also served as a security net of sorts. Those days security swoops were common, brutal and unannounced, so it was literally a death sentence to be caught unawares inside a bar with only one exit. But seated outside a shop, you could see the soldiers coming, and off you would go.
 
So the kafunda, which means ‘small place’ in Luganda, soon became the centre of socialising in Uganda. Those who had jobs gathered there after work to relax, and it was the place where many deals were made. Soon they became like membership clubs, and had their own executives and chairpersons. Members had their specific places to seat, and it was common to have their own glasses that nobody else was allowed to use.
 
There was little trust in banks those days, so the guy who ran the kafunda became a sort of banker, with people dropping off money to pay for business deals. In fact the kafunda owners became central roles in people’s lives, in those days before mobile phones. That is where you left messages, sure that the recipient would get them.
 
Relationships were entrenched in kafundas, because that was the only place to take a girl for a drink. It was also a ready place to meet someone new who happened to come along with somebody else.
 
Kafundas is where you fund-raised for things like weddings, and a story is told of one guy who got married, and after the church service first went to his kafunda for a drink with his mates before joining the bride for the after party.
 
There have been kafundas all over the country, but the most famous were the ones in Wandegeya, near the market gate in front of the parking lot. From the early eighties through the nineties to the 21st century, these barely 2m by 5m shops described life in Kampala.
 
With only hard wooden benches as seats, these kafundas saw love blossom, enmities play out, and once or twice saw death as grenades were hurled at revellers. Just after the NRM government came to power, soldiers loved going there, and many times solved their arguments with gunfire. Generals, ministers, government officials, even priests and pastors were known to go there. And so of course did the ladies of the night. And life was good.
 
But a few months ago, the whole Wandegeya market was broken down to make way for a more modern market, and those kafundas disappeared for good. There are probably still a few open in small suburbs and towns, but the destruction of the Wandegeya kafunda marked the beginning of the end.
 
They were not attractive places to be in, often with very uncomfortable seating; not very clean, and many did not have toilets, members just helped themselves in the nearest dark corner.
 
But for almost 30 years, and more, they represented the best in our society. In a kafunda we felt safe, we found love and friendship, many made their fortunes and fame, and many of our lives will never be the same again.
 
So let us all get together, raise our glass, and pour libations on the ghost of the late kafunda.  
 

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