I Took Medic’s Advice Literally
Feb 20, 2004
Do you have an idea why there is so much Bell beer on the market ever since this year began?
Do you have an idea why there is so much Bell beer on the market ever since this year began? I guess you do not. It is because of one person and that is me! I had vowed never ever to touch a bottle this year and it was beginning to scale up the amount of beer in circulation until last week.
You probably remember when bell ran out of circulation last year and the then Uganda Breweries Limited spokesman, Peter Odeke, incited my wrath by saying that they stopped production so as to bottle a much better product.
Well, all that Odeke talk was cow dung (notice we do not use ‘shitty’ words in this paper). The true story behind that scarcity lies in one person, me! I had drunk all the Bell.
So, back then I vowed that in 2004 I would never ever touch a beer. I was beginning to fulfill my vow when guess what happens? A stupid mosquito decides to get me back to alcohol. I swear, this is not an excuse to get back to drinking and I am not making up this story.
This is what happened: I was in my bed (don’t even think about it, I was alone) feeling very easy kumbe some female anopheles mosquito was busy trying all ways to insert it’s proboscis in my body.
I hate that irritating buzz created by a mosquito in flight, especially when you are trying to sleep. So, when I heard the woooooooo sound these insects make, I woke up, ransacked my bedroom until I smoked out the offending little bastard and then cracked a bottle on its skull and killed it of course!
I have nursed numerous bottle wounds on my hands and lost 13 bulbs ever since I declared this fatwa against mosquitoes. Little did I know that whenever I died in sleep (I am a sound sleeper), a brigade of mosquitoes would fly in and bite the living day lights out of my motionless body.
In the end, I developed a health complication where your body is as hot as the dock at the army court martial, your stomach runs and you throw up endlessly.
I grew so thin that I had to run around the shower to get wet! (I never exaggerate).
Some people even swore I needed anti-retrovirals (ARVs), those life-prolonging drugs people living with HIV/AIDS take.
I got so scared I instantly went for a blood test to establish whether I was HIV positive or negative. Yes, only the test turned out negative. However, doctors detected something they called plasmodium in my blood.
after the procedural rigmarole of piercing a hole into my middle finger and taking samples of my blood, they said I declared I had malaria.
The next thing I knew, they had pulled my pants down to expose those two small lumps I call a butt for lack of a better word. I was awed at the fact that a man can actually pull a fellow man’s pants down when he is not related to Bishop Robinson! Soon there was a burning sensation from something being inserted into my body, well, actually my butt!
“Ooooooouuuuch!†I screamed as the object went deeper. Suddenly, I felt a liquid being released into me, and, like magic, everything was back to normal.
I pulled up my pants, tucked in my shirt as I was led out of the injection room at Mulago hospital!
I had always bought Museveni’s anti-medics propaganda but I think doctors are the cleverest people in this word.
How these doctors got to know that I was off booze is something that still amazes me.
They gave me a prescription of quinine and fansidar tablets laden with the mother of all pieces of advice –– SAGGY IT SEEMS YOU DON’T DRINK. YOU SHOULD BEGIN DRINKING A LOT!â€
I have since set permanent base at Wagadugu where I drink till Henry and Cashan, the guys running the bar there tell me it is time to close.
Even as I write this, my computer is sitting on an empty beer crate. I just wish I could get malaria every other day so that I could drink and drink and drink with medical approval.
My only problem now is that mosquitoes do not want to bite me anymore because they instead get drunk and blackout after sucking my blood.
Sagara10@yahoo.com
075-445367
You probably remember when bell ran out of circulation last year and the then Uganda Breweries Limited spokesman, Peter Odeke, incited my wrath by saying that they stopped production so as to bottle a much better product.
Well, all that Odeke talk was cow dung (notice we do not use ‘shitty’ words in this paper). The true story behind that scarcity lies in one person, me! I had drunk all the Bell.
So, back then I vowed that in 2004 I would never ever touch a beer. I was beginning to fulfill my vow when guess what happens? A stupid mosquito decides to get me back to alcohol. I swear, this is not an excuse to get back to drinking and I am not making up this story.
This is what happened: I was in my bed (don’t even think about it, I was alone) feeling very easy kumbe some female anopheles mosquito was busy trying all ways to insert it’s proboscis in my body.
I hate that irritating buzz created by a mosquito in flight, especially when you are trying to sleep. So, when I heard the woooooooo sound these insects make, I woke up, ransacked my bedroom until I smoked out the offending little bastard and then cracked a bottle on its skull and killed it of course!
I have nursed numerous bottle wounds on my hands and lost 13 bulbs ever since I declared this fatwa against mosquitoes. Little did I know that whenever I died in sleep (I am a sound sleeper), a brigade of mosquitoes would fly in and bite the living day lights out of my motionless body.
In the end, I developed a health complication where your body is as hot as the dock at the army court martial, your stomach runs and you throw up endlessly.
I grew so thin that I had to run around the shower to get wet! (I never exaggerate).
Some people even swore I needed anti-retrovirals (ARVs), those life-prolonging drugs people living with HIV/AIDS take.
I got so scared I instantly went for a blood test to establish whether I was HIV positive or negative. Yes, only the test turned out negative. However, doctors detected something they called plasmodium in my blood.
after the procedural rigmarole of piercing a hole into my middle finger and taking samples of my blood, they said I declared I had malaria.
The next thing I knew, they had pulled my pants down to expose those two small lumps I call a butt for lack of a better word. I was awed at the fact that a man can actually pull a fellow man’s pants down when he is not related to Bishop Robinson! Soon there was a burning sensation from something being inserted into my body, well, actually my butt!
“Ooooooouuuuch!†I screamed as the object went deeper. Suddenly, I felt a liquid being released into me, and, like magic, everything was back to normal.
I pulled up my pants, tucked in my shirt as I was led out of the injection room at Mulago hospital!
I had always bought Museveni’s anti-medics propaganda but I think doctors are the cleverest people in this word.
How these doctors got to know that I was off booze is something that still amazes me.
They gave me a prescription of quinine and fansidar tablets laden with the mother of all pieces of advice –– SAGGY IT SEEMS YOU DON’T DRINK. YOU SHOULD BEGIN DRINKING A LOT!â€
I have since set permanent base at Wagadugu where I drink till Henry and Cashan, the guys running the bar there tell me it is time to close.
Even as I write this, my computer is sitting on an empty beer crate. I just wish I could get malaria every other day so that I could drink and drink and drink with medical approval.
My only problem now is that mosquitoes do not want to bite me anymore because they instead get drunk and blackout after sucking my blood.
Sagara10@yahoo.com
075-445367