Thick steam, shadowy rooms and bare bodies
Oct 10, 2002
A smiling receptionist-cum-cashier welcomes me. She asks for the official sh4,000 service fee. Then, she asks for all my possessions.
By Denis Jjuuko
A smiling receptionist-cum-cashier welcomes me. She asks for the official sh4,000 service fee. Then, she asks for all my possessions. I am a little bit reluctant, simply because the month had just come to an end and my black genuine leather wallet was still very heavy, laden with M7 Dollars. And I do not want to surrender my newly acquired companion— the Nokia mobile phone set. After assurances from the sparkling lady, I give in. I think her good looks has something to do with it.
On the next table, another lady directs me to the male washrooms: “You have to take a quick shower first,†she instructs as she hands over a pale blue ‘Jinja’ cotton cloth and some old red Umoja slippers. I don’t think I smelt like a he-goat but the chic is damn serious. She is not yet done: “Leave the clothes on the hangers and wrap yourself in this cloth.†Another irritating instruction. That’s very annoying. How can I leave my trendy cotton shirt, fashionable jeans and classy Italian boots that left my ATM yawning about a week ago?
Anyway, I am not that naughty. I obliged. In the washrooms, there are only two showers. A wall mirror reflects my muscular image. Attached to it, is an over-used comb. Six fat (can I say obese?) men are waiting in the queue. They look at me suspiciously. I mumble the modern ‘Hi.’ Nobody replies. Instead of picking a quarrel, I decide to undress. In one of the showers, a man is imitating Madoxx Ssemanda. “Neyagalira oyo mu na kyalo, obulamu bwange...eh..†he attempts. If he were singing for food, he would definitely have died of hunger.
I am a very shy man (and you know the secret behind shy men) but one old bat of about my father’s age walks in and strips naked. He moves around with his you know what swinging and dangling. He comfortably puts his garments on the wooden racks and then remembers to cover himself. He greets his contemporaries, name by name, before joining us in the waiting line.
My turn finally comes. In the showers, a wooden rack is firmly in place. It is very slippery and if you are that laddie who takes one bottle too many, then you are assured of finding yourself on the ground. Some small pieces of soap lie on the wooden thing. I cannot figure out the type, so I do not use them in fear of a terrible skin rash.
In the corridor there are three wooden chairs. A young lady sits between two men. They are sipping black coffee accompanied with roasted groundnuts. In front of them, there is a door marked ‘Steam Bath.’ I get a cushion and enter the next room.
Well, it was Friday evening and I was ready to get fried in the state-of-the-art sauna at KK Health Club in Ntinda. I think this room dirt free is hotter than hell. Operation Wembley suspects should be tried from here, not in an army setting. It has a strong light that could burn off your skin. I can ably see four men seated on their brown cushions on the three different soft-wood steps. They are sweating profusely. Surprisingly, they enjoyed it. I was the only ‘thin’ individual and I think the youngest (remember, I am above 21). The men laugh and talk a lot.
They discuss the succession question in Kenya and debate whether Mr. Uhuru is a drunkard or not; the conflict in Ivory Coast and the impending war between the Coca Cola-mad Americans and the Koran-serious Iraqis. Later on they switched to mobile phone talk and whether the three networks have roaming facilities. Three others enter.
One of them says that the sauna is not hot enough. Not hot enough? When I am dying? This man must be crazy. The others agree. He goes out and comes back with a five-litre jerrycan full of water. He sprinkles the whole of it on the metal stove using a small plastic cup. It becomes hotter and they all laud him. I am not amused. I walk out for a while.
Mr. Male Mukasa’s former yellow-apron-wearing fellows must have lied with their figures. How could they say that there are more females than males? Nga I didn’t see more women than men here. Two more men decide to walk in. I follow them. We are now 12 men. The bathers get excited when a young lady paces in. They all welcome her. Some struggle to show her where to sit. “You look lovely today,†one man attempts. “Thank you, but I thought I always look nice,†she shoots back. The bathers send out a hearty laugh. Two men stand to leave. “Mugyikooye?†the lady asks, meaning are you tired? “Enki?†another shoots back. “Ate enki?†she asks again. The other man then shouts: “Wagituwadeko?†they all laugh.
A couple enters the hot room. Nobody says a word. All the bathers keep quiet and admire. The lady’s skimpy wrapper leaves her juicy yellow thighs exposed. As she takes on the steps, other men can’t help but drool.
Some men walk out. Then two huge, brown, elephant-sized ladies with exaggerated bottoms walk in. They speak Runyankore or another language similar to that. One has a simple ‘Janet’ cut. They sit next to a gray-haired man and start holding a conference. Since I do not understand that language, I decide to leave.
Those who have rushed out are having a party on the veranda lounge. They are watching WWF on Super Sport. Others are gulping down bottle after bottle of beer. Some are just drinking water. Many are luxuriating on cots while feeling their tummies.
A man does a few press-ups before asking for kigere. I didn’t know that people eat feet. I wait to see how they look like. When the kigere waitress comes back, I realise that these are cow hooves. Some feast on katogo.
A woman dressed in a Sari enjoys a beer. It seems, she is waiting for someone special in her life. She cranes her neck to see whoever gets out of the sauna. One could think that she is the new Elizabeth Kuteesa looking for a heartless fugitive like Black. Oh yes, a man walks to her table with drops of sweat flowing down his rugged face. He orders for a bottle of Bell. Love is all over the air. The man looks like a soon-to-retire civil servant. The lady looks ‘Dubai.’ She is a Mama Bleach of sorts.
Kisembo, a Luwum Street businessman and one of the bathers, says: “I come here every time I feel stressed up. The sauna helps me relax.†A couple who preferred anonymity say that the sauna gives them an awesome feeling of well-being and a total body encounter that no bath can duplicate. “We come here every Friday to relax after a hectic week,†the young glamourous damsel says.
If you are interested in seeing fine, curved bodies, then the steam bath is the place for you. However, this is a very dark room. You need clear, alcohol-free eyes to be able to observe anything. Two ladies walked in and striped naked. Yes, they were naked. The men didn’t unwrap. They then moved to one dark corner and started their lugambo. After 15 minutes, they stood in the middle and wrapped their bodies again and then walked out with wet sukas that showed their admirable curves and how abundant their fannies are.
Saunas have become a way of life in Kampala. Kisembo says that some people no longer visit the bars, but go to health clubs to relax as they munch savoury pork. Saunas are for the well-to-do. Ministers Jim Lwanga and Prof. Gilbert Bukenya’s names were those most mentioned among the class of people who go to KK Health Club. At Millennium Hotel, after the sauna session, Kampalans sit on the deck to enjoy delectable pork.
However, most of these unisex saunas are venues for obscenities. If you thought UEB guys are very crude, then don’t dare visit a sauna: “At Millennium, they normally suspend some of their regular customers for hurling obscenities,†a sauna regular confirms.
A smiling receptionist-cum-cashier welcomes me. She asks for the official sh4,000 service fee. Then, she asks for all my possessions. I am a little bit reluctant, simply because the month had just come to an end and my black genuine leather wallet was still very heavy, laden with M7 Dollars. And I do not want to surrender my newly acquired companion— the Nokia mobile phone set. After assurances from the sparkling lady, I give in. I think her good looks has something to do with it.
On the next table, another lady directs me to the male washrooms: “You have to take a quick shower first,†she instructs as she hands over a pale blue ‘Jinja’ cotton cloth and some old red Umoja slippers. I don’t think I smelt like a he-goat but the chic is damn serious. She is not yet done: “Leave the clothes on the hangers and wrap yourself in this cloth.†Another irritating instruction. That’s very annoying. How can I leave my trendy cotton shirt, fashionable jeans and classy Italian boots that left my ATM yawning about a week ago?
Anyway, I am not that naughty. I obliged. In the washrooms, there are only two showers. A wall mirror reflects my muscular image. Attached to it, is an over-used comb. Six fat (can I say obese?) men are waiting in the queue. They look at me suspiciously. I mumble the modern ‘Hi.’ Nobody replies. Instead of picking a quarrel, I decide to undress. In one of the showers, a man is imitating Madoxx Ssemanda. “Neyagalira oyo mu na kyalo, obulamu bwange...eh..†he attempts. If he were singing for food, he would definitely have died of hunger.
I am a very shy man (and you know the secret behind shy men) but one old bat of about my father’s age walks in and strips naked. He moves around with his you know what swinging and dangling. He comfortably puts his garments on the wooden racks and then remembers to cover himself. He greets his contemporaries, name by name, before joining us in the waiting line.
My turn finally comes. In the showers, a wooden rack is firmly in place. It is very slippery and if you are that laddie who takes one bottle too many, then you are assured of finding yourself on the ground. Some small pieces of soap lie on the wooden thing. I cannot figure out the type, so I do not use them in fear of a terrible skin rash.
In the corridor there are three wooden chairs. A young lady sits between two men. They are sipping black coffee accompanied with roasted groundnuts. In front of them, there is a door marked ‘Steam Bath.’ I get a cushion and enter the next room.
Well, it was Friday evening and I was ready to get fried in the state-of-the-art sauna at KK Health Club in Ntinda. I think this room dirt free is hotter than hell. Operation Wembley suspects should be tried from here, not in an army setting. It has a strong light that could burn off your skin. I can ably see four men seated on their brown cushions on the three different soft-wood steps. They are sweating profusely. Surprisingly, they enjoyed it. I was the only ‘thin’ individual and I think the youngest (remember, I am above 21). The men laugh and talk a lot.
They discuss the succession question in Kenya and debate whether Mr. Uhuru is a drunkard or not; the conflict in Ivory Coast and the impending war between the Coca Cola-mad Americans and the Koran-serious Iraqis. Later on they switched to mobile phone talk and whether the three networks have roaming facilities. Three others enter.
One of them says that the sauna is not hot enough. Not hot enough? When I am dying? This man must be crazy. The others agree. He goes out and comes back with a five-litre jerrycan full of water. He sprinkles the whole of it on the metal stove using a small plastic cup. It becomes hotter and they all laud him. I am not amused. I walk out for a while.
Mr. Male Mukasa’s former yellow-apron-wearing fellows must have lied with their figures. How could they say that there are more females than males? Nga I didn’t see more women than men here. Two more men decide to walk in. I follow them. We are now 12 men. The bathers get excited when a young lady paces in. They all welcome her. Some struggle to show her where to sit. “You look lovely today,†one man attempts. “Thank you, but I thought I always look nice,†she shoots back. The bathers send out a hearty laugh. Two men stand to leave. “Mugyikooye?†the lady asks, meaning are you tired? “Enki?†another shoots back. “Ate enki?†she asks again. The other man then shouts: “Wagituwadeko?†they all laugh.
A couple enters the hot room. Nobody says a word. All the bathers keep quiet and admire. The lady’s skimpy wrapper leaves her juicy yellow thighs exposed. As she takes on the steps, other men can’t help but drool.
Some men walk out. Then two huge, brown, elephant-sized ladies with exaggerated bottoms walk in. They speak Runyankore or another language similar to that. One has a simple ‘Janet’ cut. They sit next to a gray-haired man and start holding a conference. Since I do not understand that language, I decide to leave.
Those who have rushed out are having a party on the veranda lounge. They are watching WWF on Super Sport. Others are gulping down bottle after bottle of beer. Some are just drinking water. Many are luxuriating on cots while feeling their tummies.
A man does a few press-ups before asking for kigere. I didn’t know that people eat feet. I wait to see how they look like. When the kigere waitress comes back, I realise that these are cow hooves. Some feast on katogo.
A woman dressed in a Sari enjoys a beer. It seems, she is waiting for someone special in her life. She cranes her neck to see whoever gets out of the sauna. One could think that she is the new Elizabeth Kuteesa looking for a heartless fugitive like Black. Oh yes, a man walks to her table with drops of sweat flowing down his rugged face. He orders for a bottle of Bell. Love is all over the air. The man looks like a soon-to-retire civil servant. The lady looks ‘Dubai.’ She is a Mama Bleach of sorts.
Kisembo, a Luwum Street businessman and one of the bathers, says: “I come here every time I feel stressed up. The sauna helps me relax.†A couple who preferred anonymity say that the sauna gives them an awesome feeling of well-being and a total body encounter that no bath can duplicate. “We come here every Friday to relax after a hectic week,†the young glamourous damsel says.
If you are interested in seeing fine, curved bodies, then the steam bath is the place for you. However, this is a very dark room. You need clear, alcohol-free eyes to be able to observe anything. Two ladies walked in and striped naked. Yes, they were naked. The men didn’t unwrap. They then moved to one dark corner and started their lugambo. After 15 minutes, they stood in the middle and wrapped their bodies again and then walked out with wet sukas that showed their admirable curves and how abundant their fannies are.
Saunas have become a way of life in Kampala. Kisembo says that some people no longer visit the bars, but go to health clubs to relax as they munch savoury pork. Saunas are for the well-to-do. Ministers Jim Lwanga and Prof. Gilbert Bukenya’s names were those most mentioned among the class of people who go to KK Health Club. At Millennium Hotel, after the sauna session, Kampalans sit on the deck to enjoy delectable pork.
However, most of these unisex saunas are venues for obscenities. If you thought UEB guys are very crude, then don’t dare visit a sauna: “At Millennium, they normally suspend some of their regular customers for hurling obscenities,†a sauna regular confirms.