Thursday, August 5, 2010

Inebriated Pork guy!

Last evening, i was feeling good about myself so i decided to treat myself in part because i was feeling good, and in part because i had spent the day with someone who feels good about themselves.
Guilty pleasures they are called. I went to this pork guy. He sells raw pork - those who know about pork places you will reckon, they are small slithery places where the pork guys slither in and out of their rank pigpens. They (the pork places) do not stand out like the beef places, in the open, street corners, white tiles in the background and smiling butchers gently waving fly-swatters while shrewdly bargaining pricewise with meat lovers.
The pork places are usually in the backwater quarters of townships. Behind the main street of third-rate town centers. The pork man(is that what they call them?) wont be inside like you expect him to be-tending to his hulk of meat. He will be outside easily bantering with listless looking fellows at the side playing 'omweso' a local game.
You will have to holler, squinting inside, for the smoke from the unattended firewood stove in the corner will make your eyes water. The pork man will spring to life when he finally hears your holler, and will quickly point to the streakiest part of the meat, snidely smiling, his smile saying "you know this is not the best deal, but i am going to indulge your guilty pork pleasure, so you will hurriedly pay and leave" The entire experience will scar you with every step.

So this pork man yesterday seemed offbeat when i approached him. He would continually smile, and had this mad tick in his eye, he looked gaunt and obviously drunk. Slurring his words, he said "So how many kilos can i get you?" "Two" i replied immediately, instant discomfort showing on my face, scowling at his poor work ethic-drinking on the job.
I handed him a crisp note and he handed back two greasy change-notes plus my meat, his hands shaking, clearly showing off his levels of inebriation. I quickly took my items. "Webale nnyo" he mustered in his steadiest voice yet to my retreating back.

I left with a cold feeling in my mind, i kept on wondering to myself, wondering if it's true what they say about Uganda and the fact that we love our alcohol that much, that we have made the horrid shift from social drinking to drinking out of necessity. I remembered something a friend of mine said about people from his ancestral home, and how sad he felt when he visited them recently, the abject poverty manifesting in the entire community, land not tilled, livestock not taken care of, all because of the drinking. He said the men looked withered by drink, torpidly moving around, small, potent drinks in hand.

My fears were confirmed true today when i drove by the pork man's hovel on my way home. The shabby door was closed. I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that my 10,000shs payment last night was slowly killing pork man at the nearest 'malwa' joint, no less, denying him a honest-day's work.

I feel really bad for him.