Dying of Thirst

-          Dude, you’re facebooking in church?

-          At least I am in church. For you, you don’t pray at all.

-          Of course I am praying. It is Sunday yo.

-          So you are also facebooking in church…

-          No, I’m watching mass on TV.

The session I love the most during mass is the one for testimonies. You get to relate with people’s experiences. So I’m watching this dude giving a ‘testimony’ and it goes something like;

“…brothers and sisters I want to tell you about my experience. It is very very worrisome and I hope you all learn from it. I used to say that I have swag but that word is very very bad. I found out that SWAG actually means, Secretly We Are Gay. Can you believe it? Gay? I knelt down and prayed for forgiveness then I fasted for three days. Now I don’t have swag. Please don’t have swag brothers and sisters.”

Sincerely, kill yourselef.

Ay dude, you’ll love this one; how about Stupid Weak Ass fagGot? Nice, huh?

I honestly hope that dude’s wang is bigger than his brains.

I don’t often get a chance to listen to the Word of God. I haven’t been to church in like forever. No, my nephews’ baptisms don’t count. The only reason I was there was to hold the camera. I even failed to take any clear pics because my hands were shaking. Yes, you’re right – I was hangover, mob. Three hours earlier, I had been in some club with my hands in some skank’s bra. I just wanted to have a laugh at the funny names people give their children.

Guzagugunyaga Telefonsa Scovia

So I am watching some Christian thing for students on UBC (don’t ask, I was with my auntie). A woman walks to the podium. I think she’s a gospel artist or something. She talks about how one’s body is the temple of God. She talks about fornication among the youth.

I hear you guys are shagging like rabbits.

Then she tells the congregation to touch their dick/vajay (tick where applicable) areas so that she can pray for them.

Boy, did it feel good to be on this side of the TV.

You should have seen the size of the awkward cloud that dawned in that room. The guys started scratching their beards in an effort to exhibit SWAG. Some girl placed her hand on hers briefly before burying her head in her palms in apparent shame. It couldn’t be done. The woman was serious. She said, ‘if you don’t have one put up your hand and I pray for you also.’ A small number took a deep breath and touched their procreation arsenals.

Then she told everyone to close their eyes. This way you couldn’t see that the ka chic you’ve been eye banging every mass since October wants to pray for her thing. Nanti she doesn’t want to have sex until she’s married.

Ouch!

Most of them then did as instructed. Now there was some babe who real – what’s the word…dried? Eh, that babe could dry banange. Her she didn’t even close her eyes. And the camera guy was also merciless. He also dried on her. At that moment, Saddam Hussein was an angel in comparison to her.

She had this look of I have no intention whatsoever of impeding my wanton mentality.

You go girl!

Last weekend I travelled home to see my mother. I needed to talk to someone. The logical refuge would have been church but I had no interest in touching my penis in public. I was slowly losing touch with reality. I was running low on self esteem and purpose. See, I don’t have many friends. I keep a small circle.

Freddie, I see you. Matter of fact I be you my bikki – realest!

You’re going, “whaaat? How about me!?”

Hey, you are a booty call, not a friend.

As soon as I arrived, my Big Bro (big up to yoselef over deya!) rolled me a sweet, well sorted stick of hash. Not those sloppy, headache inducing, soil stuffed Kampala joints. I’m telling you, when this brodda rolls you a joint, you understand why TRUTH rhymes with SMOOTH. He combines truthness and smoothness…

A few hours later I’m standing behind my dad’s old pickup truck with my mum. She’s holding my duffle bag which is like a weed store of sorts. I am trying to find the words to explain how the weed got in there.

“Maayi, I’m telling you, that’s not my bag. Wait, what’s that? Is that what I think that is? I know that’s not what I think that is. Is that – is that weed? That is what it looks like? I knew that old woman on the bus would pull some shit like this…”

I see the hurt and pain in her eyes. I should have stayed away. I don’t want to become unwelcome in this place. There’s nothing the world has for me. I have the whole world in the person standing in front of me. They say we hurt the ones we love the most. How can I explain to her that if I don’t have my fix, I’ll probably lose my mind?

Alcohol puts problems on hold. You might wake up with a few more. On the other hand, when you smoke weed, you take a step back and figure out your problems. It makes you see that it is you who’s complicating life.

But I cannot tell her that. That’s just stupid. What problems could you possibly have at your age? All you have to do is wake up, walk to class, understand that Engineering rackus and replicate it on a piece of paper. What could possibly be so hard and problematic about that?

She told me the bitter truth;

If you don’t work, then you haven’t earned the right to drink. Otherwise, you are just grooming yourself to become a crook. Now smoking is the worst. A cigarette has thousands of harmful substances which have like a hundred side effects…each. Marijuana will make you paranoid and there’s short term memory loss to worry about. You’ll read a book cover to cover but you’ll remember nothing, zippo. Spend more time on your books instead of hanging with the who’s who of magnanimous assholes. You won’t be of any use to them if wind up jobless three years from now.

Don’t do that shit yo.

“You young men are dying of thirst. You need water, holy water. You need to be baptized with the spirit of the Lord. Do you want to receive God as your personal savior?”

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