Kisumali, Mukono’s only pleasure spot
Aug 28, 2003
FRIDAY night is ladies night. Women and men flood into Kisumali, Mukono’s only discotheque.
By Charles Musisi
FRIDAY night is ladies night. Women and men flood into Kisumali, Mukono’s only discotheque.
The pleasure spot, on Bugerere road, is enclosed with reeds. Outside, men bend over charcoal grills, grilling chicken and meat. The throat-tickling aroma of roast meat lingers in the air and smoke forms a haze on the cool night air.
Inside, the dance floor, between three shelters thatched with grass, fills with night revellers. They prattle in animated tones and prance about to soul stirring music - Kuuma Obwesigwa, Dorotia, Nakonkona...
It is 8.00pm, but there are plenty of people dancing in a curious heat. There is, on every face, a hunger for fun and yearning for fulfilment. The clientele keep increasing. They dance to the music as if they are praying to a new god of ecstasy.
Teens in skin-tight slacks and tops
gyrate hips in fast strokes. They
dance as if any distance between them is taboo, grinding their
crotches while cuddling. Most of
them come from Mukono and its neighbourhood.
If you are not prepared to see heavy petting, do not head for the dance floor.
“Many spoilt girls converge here to give full vent to their sensuality,†28-year-old Jimmy Ssekandi, a regular customer, says with a chuckle.
“Others are experienced flesh peddlers from the city who think they have an edge over Mukono sluts.â€
Revellers affectionately grip their beer bottles while they dance and stamp to loud music.
Snaking through dancers, a girl shoves me. Like the others, she is dressed in close fitting slacks and a tight sleeveless yellow top. She turns and stares at me in that glazed drunken stupor. Whereupon, she staggers away, lifting a foot and then making several attempts before finding some place on which to put the next.
As booze and music flow through the patrons’ heads, they mime their favourite tunes passionately. Nakonkona.... nakonkona, mwana muwala nga tamuwulira, chant the revellers in unison. The dance floor quivers with echoes of voices, music and stomping.
Besides the teenage girls, are men in their 40s, who like pretending that they are still in touch with their youth by seducing young girls and jiggling their old bones. And there are middle-aged women wagging their bums as if they have just rediscovered their youth.
A man in his late thirties to my right, dressed in grey trousers and a flowered silk baggy shirt clasps a slender light skinned girl. She is clad in a light green mini-skirt and white sleeveless top.
Her turgid pointed breasts jut out. He fingers them as if he is feeling their quality, then leans forward and kisses her face. The man thrusts himself towards the girl in the sensual yearning heat of the music.
Everywhere couples are smooching. Sensuality and drunkenness transform the spot into a vortex of sin.
Infected by the unrestrained merriment, I engage one of the girls in conversation. Annet Kobusingye is tall, light-sskinned with an aquiline nose and long braids. She moves closer and holds me tightly, her belly rubbing against mine.
Fire surges through my veins, eliciting carnal desires and endangering my morals.
This must be the most suitable place for taking rapid steps in the career of vice, I think.
“Buy me beer,†she says coyly. I dig into my pocket and pull out sh2000. She dashes to the bar. I wait but the tall beauty does not return. The girls here are cunning and street-wise. It is not wise to unleash your passions for them before padlocking your pockets.
Throughout the night, men and women flock to Kisumali. Sex with the girls costs between sh3000 and sh5000.
However, not all patrons lust after women. Some stand hunched over pool tables. Others are glued to the television, watching football.
Nevertheless, women, booze and music fires the patrons. At dawn, couples and singles sstagger home, lulled into a false sense of fulfilment.
FRIDAY night is ladies night. Women and men flood into Kisumali, Mukono’s only discotheque.
The pleasure spot, on Bugerere road, is enclosed with reeds. Outside, men bend over charcoal grills, grilling chicken and meat. The throat-tickling aroma of roast meat lingers in the air and smoke forms a haze on the cool night air.
Inside, the dance floor, between three shelters thatched with grass, fills with night revellers. They prattle in animated tones and prance about to soul stirring music - Kuuma Obwesigwa, Dorotia, Nakonkona...
It is 8.00pm, but there are plenty of people dancing in a curious heat. There is, on every face, a hunger for fun and yearning for fulfilment. The clientele keep increasing. They dance to the music as if they are praying to a new god of ecstasy.
Teens in skin-tight slacks and tops
gyrate hips in fast strokes. They
dance as if any distance between them is taboo, grinding their
crotches while cuddling. Most of
them come from Mukono and its neighbourhood.
If you are not prepared to see heavy petting, do not head for the dance floor.
“Many spoilt girls converge here to give full vent to their sensuality,†28-year-old Jimmy Ssekandi, a regular customer, says with a chuckle.
“Others are experienced flesh peddlers from the city who think they have an edge over Mukono sluts.â€
Revellers affectionately grip their beer bottles while they dance and stamp to loud music.
Snaking through dancers, a girl shoves me. Like the others, she is dressed in close fitting slacks and a tight sleeveless yellow top. She turns and stares at me in that glazed drunken stupor. Whereupon, she staggers away, lifting a foot and then making several attempts before finding some place on which to put the next.
As booze and music flow through the patrons’ heads, they mime their favourite tunes passionately. Nakonkona.... nakonkona, mwana muwala nga tamuwulira, chant the revellers in unison. The dance floor quivers with echoes of voices, music and stomping.
Besides the teenage girls, are men in their 40s, who like pretending that they are still in touch with their youth by seducing young girls and jiggling their old bones. And there are middle-aged women wagging their bums as if they have just rediscovered their youth.
A man in his late thirties to my right, dressed in grey trousers and a flowered silk baggy shirt clasps a slender light skinned girl. She is clad in a light green mini-skirt and white sleeveless top.
Her turgid pointed breasts jut out. He fingers them as if he is feeling their quality, then leans forward and kisses her face. The man thrusts himself towards the girl in the sensual yearning heat of the music.
Everywhere couples are smooching. Sensuality and drunkenness transform the spot into a vortex of sin.
Infected by the unrestrained merriment, I engage one of the girls in conversation. Annet Kobusingye is tall, light-sskinned with an aquiline nose and long braids. She moves closer and holds me tightly, her belly rubbing against mine.
Fire surges through my veins, eliciting carnal desires and endangering my morals.
This must be the most suitable place for taking rapid steps in the career of vice, I think.
“Buy me beer,†she says coyly. I dig into my pocket and pull out sh2000. She dashes to the bar. I wait but the tall beauty does not return. The girls here are cunning and street-wise. It is not wise to unleash your passions for them before padlocking your pockets.
Throughout the night, men and women flock to Kisumali. Sex with the girls costs between sh3000 and sh5000.
However, not all patrons lust after women. Some stand hunched over pool tables. Others are glued to the television, watching football.
Nevertheless, women, booze and music fires the patrons. At dawn, couples and singles sstagger home, lulled into a false sense of fulfilment.