It was in 1996, when my school mate,
Kabugo passed on,
Kitalo!
Having had a previous accident,
His Liver, leaving him in a health fiasco ,
Alas the while!
We shared grab-case,so
He dished to people like Kitonsa,
The boy whose every breakfast,
Became a manifest,
At our behest
!
At first, it was the school nurse,
That literally knew nothing,
Like musawo wekinansi,
Drinking munanansi,
Then Kitovu Hospital,
Where they did little,
To intervene in his worsening life!
We sat at school no longer cool,
For there was this cool cool drink,
That was never cool,
I detested it’s shape and design,
It was ribbed, with a pointed top,
For the delicious leak !
Often it leaked,
Drip-dropping
Upon his death,
We mourned, and wrapped him,
In his green sheets,
The girl friend wept,
The tears of love and death!
I looked on vegetatively,
Then, virgins being many..
The funeral wailers of Buwama,
Mpigi, were like Shawarma..
They all tasted the same,
And detested shame,
In death and love,
For they sang for both,
And evoked some spiritual concern,
That some could concede,
Upon darkness cometh that noon.
That night, the moon delayed to come,
As night dancers and mourners gathered,
In the overgrown coffee shambas,
To catch those enjoying the funeral..
Yes, the funeral shawarma!
Tosamwa Samwa
Again like Kafiti, the Village Wag
