Lurem / Friends

Acoli

Peter obino ka gama ikine cawa 8 me dyeceng kit ma onongo wa yubu ni. Amato kikopo kawa na oyot cii wa cako wot me cito igang pa Hassan. Wa woto laling labongo lok, kono koko jwane pa long jean pa Peter keken aye obedo ka winye. Wa nongo Hassan ojenge ikom abam matye inyim ot-te. Wa mote manok nok cii wa mede ki wot wa lalingo. Hassan aye ongolo lingo wa ki lok:

“Peter, tika adaa ingeyo kama watye ka cito iye? en openyo kit man?”

“Angeyo”, Peter ogamo, “An acito kunu kikoma i cabit ma okato ni.”

“Ci tika inene?” Apenye.

“Ku”, Peter ogamo ki lworo. Kome omyel. “Adong woko. Onongo pe atwero donyo iot…Onongo pe atwero”.

Wa mede ki wot igudu apua ni laling ling, ka wa ngak kama gudi rwate iye ka ilubo gudu madok tung Kabale kama onongo yam con obedo ‘’stage pa taxi’’. Ikare ma wa cung ka kuru taxi Hassan ocito bot lacat wil ma onongo obedo ite tipu yat muyeme.

“Jal mina kong paket me taa”, En oloko , kun onongo tye ka woto kicaa cene ki ijeba long ne ma angec.

“Ka labolo kono, wel-le adii?”

“Cilling 400 pi tuge acel acel”, lacat wil ogamo kitmeno, kun onongo tye ka goyo apua ma opong ityene ma nyono ngom.

“Ciling 400! Ciling 400!”, Hassan otime ni ipenyo ki uur madit. “Iteng gudu kuca atwero nongo tuge madit kato enoni iciling 300 keken.”.

En dong oloke tung bot lwak ma ogure i stage. Polle gubedo mere ka nenu, ki yom cwiny me kwanyo tam ikom gin acel keken me bedo ka kuru taxi.

“Obedo lok adaa, pe kumeno?” En openyo

Ngat acel onyo joo aryo moo guyengo wii gi.

“Dok ineno joo egi ni”, en omede, “Gimito mere kwalo cene ni. Enini pwud tidi tutwal ento en dong lakwo.’’ En oyengo wiye ki twon uur. Joo mogo ikin lwak ma ogure ni gucako nyero.

Latin awobi ni owinyo mading, lewic omake pi pwony ma ludito oduru iwiye. Ci en obedo calo tye ka temo moko tam-me. I agiki ne, en owaco ni:

“Abimiyi iwel me ciling 300.”

“Uuuum…meno ber. Abitero, kadi bed in pwud ibedo lakwo”, Hassan oloko kun woto kwede ki wot-to noti cene mogo manok nok ki ijeba cene ne. En omiyo labolo ne ki Peter; Peter okwero. An agamo acel. Hassan ocamo mukene ma odong weng, kun munyo gin weng inge kayo gi tyen kiryo keken.

“Taxi park! Taxi park!”, condakta obedo ka redo ikare ma mutoka taxi Toyota Hiace ocoro. En oyabo dogola cii wa donyo i iye.’’Tim ber, nyik anyim kuca, en omede kun royo joo mukene medo i iye. I agiki ne, ikare ma en onongo dong pe twero rido jo mukene, en oywayo dogola ka oloro ci odongo teng mutoka tyen aryo. Wa cako ngwec me cito, wer pa Jimmy Katumba gin ki Ebonies obedo ka koko i itwa. Condakta ocako rayo cene kibot dano.

“Icito kwene?”, En openyo lawot ma acel.

“Acito wa iot yat Mulago.”

“Cilling 500.”

Pe otero kare cii en oo bot wan adek-ki, kun ocako ki Hassan.

“Taxi park – ciling alip 1.”

“Alip 1”, Hassan ogamo, “Wel-le tek tutwal.”

“Ka pe imito, itwero kato woko ki i stage ma lubo ni”

En ocwalo cinge pi cene. Hassan oculo, kun woto ki ngwiro lok kit ma jo mogo dong lukwo kede. En omede ki daa kadi ma dong wa kato woko ki i taxi:

“En odiyo wa calo dyangi…Kom bedo ne bene onongo tek ataa…Dano i Uganda ni ikare eni gimaro cente tutwal …”

Peter owoto ocito anyim, ocayo lok pa Hassan kun mede mere ki wot kwed wa ikin lwaki dano ma opong I taxi park. En ocwalo wa i tung bar tuku Nakivubo, kadong ocito ongak ikin yoo moo. Ka dong wa mede wadok tung cuk Owino, kun wawoto ikin lucat matye ka dang-nge ataa kun giwot ki cato jami gi ka wa ngolo wii pem mo mading ma kiwoto iye ki tyen. Odi ma ki mwono ki lobo oguru wa itung ryo ryo ducu. Wabedo ka wot ikin yoo mading dok ma opong ki pii macol keken..

“Tika adaa kakany aye kabedo ne ma atir?”, Hassan openyo Peter ki lworo. “Pe amito ki kwala, in bene ingeyo.”

Peter pe ogamo lok-ke, ento omede mere ki telo yo laling. I agiki ne, en ocung inyim ot lobo acel ma pe pat ki mukene ni. I nyim dogola ne onongo ki ngabo iye but bongo mo ma obedo ka lyere ki yamo ma kodo.

“Tika adaa watye ikabedo ma atir?” Hassan pwud dok openyo.

Peter oyengo wiye ni atir.

‘’Cii dong pingo pe idonyo iot?”

Peter oyengo wiye matek cii owoto odire cen manok calo obedo ka moko kwero donyo ne iot. Hassan oloke bota. An ayengo wiya-‘’In igwong’’

“Lareme ma en maro loyo aye okwong donyo iot”, Hassan ogamo, “ Kun oloke tung bot peter. Peter dok odire omede cen.

“An abidonyo iot ka wun jo aryo ni omito cung woko kany”, Agamo lok-ke kumeno i agiki ne, ki keco inge temo poro lok kwee.

Anongo tek cwiny, adonyo iot amwona ki lobo ni. Piny onongo lamuru muru ki iye kunu, ento onongo atwero neno dano ma obutu ikabutu ma lapiny macok ki kor ot. Ngwec lac ma kec ogoyo uma cut. Anyike cok ki kabutu ne.

“Mutesa”, Alwonge ki dwon ma mwol, “Mutesa”. Ngat ma tye ikabutu ni oyenge.

“Mutesa”, An, “David”.

“Anga?”, En openyo, ki dwon ma orwee.

“David”, Agamo ki dwon ma longo.

“Oh, David”, En ogamo ikare ma oniang dwona., “Itwero kong yabo wang ot?”

Ayabo wang dirija, cii yamo ma mit ma ngic odonyo iot. Hassan gini Peter dong gu nongo yo me donyo iot labongo lworo.

“Mutesa”, Alwonge, “Hassan gini Peter gitye kany kweda bene.”

En otemo bedo abeda, ento oyelle kwee cii opoto cen iyi kabutu, ki olo. Dong anene maber pien deero onongo dong tye ka caaro ot. Wange ma yam olunge ma olil maber ni kumbedi dong orungu bel keken; Nyig wange ma dongo ni keken aye odong woko ento pe dong ryeny maleng kit ma con ni. En kong ongiiyo wa pi kare mo manok ka dong ocwalo bade ma odong cogo keken ni woko ki ite bataniya ne ma okwor okwor. Ma opoyo wiya ikom ngat moni acel i book goga pa Tiintin.

“Apwoyo bino David”, en owaco ma amoto cinge. Jo aryo mukene ni gunongo ni gi mi mot gi ki cen. Akwanyo kom acel keken ma onongo tye iot kenyo cii abedo piny inget kabutu ne.

“Apwoyo bino”, en oloko, ki dwone ma pe winye bene. “Dano weng dong gi ringa aringa.”

“Wu gwoke wunu wun weng”, En omede, “Omyero we gwoke wunu tutwal , ka pe cii wun bene obibedo calo an. An acayo tam weng ma kibedo ka miya: ‘Kwero mit lajwac’…’Tic ki condom’…Abedo ka tamo ni gin-ne time ikom jo mukene keken.”

“Anga matye ka gwoki?”, apenye, kun awoto ki ngiyo kwede ot. Ki Ite kabutu ne onongo tye iye cwan ma kor cam mogo odong iye.

“Lamera”, en ogamo, “En bino kany kicel kicel.”

Cutu cut en olwonga, “David, kel bacen”. Becen onongo tye ka tyena kenyo. Atingo malo. Kore ma odong cogo nono ni obedo ka goone ki yweyo matek ikare ma obedo ka ngoko gin moni ma obedo calo keda. Peter otuki ngwec woko ikare ma oneno enoni. Hassan kong obedo manok, ka dong en bene okato woko. Ki olo ma dong obwoye tutwal ,Mutesa odok cen ikabutu ne.Inge yweyo manok,en odunyu doge ki teng bataniya ne.

“Tim ber lor wang ot-to”, en okwilo lok-ke, ki koyo ma obedo ka myelo kome.

Aloro pata dogola.

Inge kare mo manok, en onino. “Bye”, Acike ki dwon mapiny, kun awoto ki wot adok cen i deero ceng woko. Peter gini Hassan onongo gu cung woko ka kura. Wacako dok cen, laling laling.

English

Peter came to collect me at about 2pm as we had previously arranged. I quickly finished off my cup of coffee and we headed off towards Hassan’s home. We walked in silence, only the swishing sound of Peter’s jeans disturbing the atmosphere. We found Hassan leaning on the railings in front of his house. A brief exchange of greetings ensued before we continued our journey in silence. Hassan broke the silence:

“Peter, are you sure you know where we are going?” He asked

“Yes”, replied Peter, “I went there myself last week.”

“Did you see him?” I broke in.

“No”, said Peter cringing. He shuddered. “I remained outside. I couldn’t go in…I couldn’t”.

We walked on along the dusty track in silence, turning off at the intersection leading to Kabale Street on which there was a “taxi stage”. While we stood waiting for a taxi Hassan walked over to the vendor seating underneath the shadow of a mango tree.

“A packet of cigarettes please”, he said removing his wallet from his back pocket.

“And the bananas, how much are they?”

“400 shillings a bunch”, replied the vendor, tapping his dust covered feet on the ground.

“400 shillings! 400 shillings!”, said Hassan feigning shock. “Just up the street there I can get a bigger bunch than this for 300 shillings”.

He turned to the small crowd now gathered at the stage. Most looked on in curiosity, glad at this distraction from the monotony of waiting for the taxi.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” He asked

One or two nodded their heads.

“And you see these people here”, he continued, “they just want to steal your money. This one here so young and already a thief.” He shook his head in apparent disbelief. Some in the crowd laughed.

The boy fidgeted uneasily, embarrassed by the admonitions of his elders. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind. Finally, he said:

“I will let you have it for 300 shillings.”

“Uuuum…ok. I’ll take it, even though you are still a thief”, said Hassan pulling a few notes from his wallet. He offered the bananas to Peter; Peter refused. I took one. Hassan ate the rest, gulping each in 2 bites.

“Taxi park! Taxi park!”, shouted the “conductor” as a Toyota Hiace van drew up. He slid open the side door and we got in. “Move up the seat please”, he said as he coaxed in yet more passengers. Finally, when he could squeeze in no more people, he slid the door shut and banged twice on the side of the van. We drove off, the music of Jimmy Katumba and his Ebonies blasting our ears. The conductor began collecting the fares.

“Where are you going?”, He asked the first passenger

“Up to Mulago hospital.”

“500 shillings.”

Soon he came to the three of us, beginning with Hassan first.

“Taxi park – 1,000 shillings.”

“1,000 shillings”, said Hassan, “that is too expensive.”

“You don’t like it, you can get off at the next stop.”

He held out his hand for the money. Hassan paid up, muttering how some people were swindlers. He continued complaining even after we got off the taxi:

“He squeezed us in like cattle…the seats were so hard…people in Uganda today love money so much…”

Peter walked ahead, ignoring Hassan as he guided us through a throng of people at the taxi park. He led us in the direction of Nakivubo stadium, before turning off into a side street. We then headed towards Owino market, walking past vendors noisily selling their wares and crossed over a narrow footbridge. Mud buildings surrounded us on either side. We walked on along a narrow passage strewn with puddles of dirty water.

“Are you sure this is the right place?”, Hassan asked Peter as he looked about fearfully. “I don’t want to get robbed, you know.”

Peter did not reply, but continued to lead in silence. Finally, he came to a halt in front of a mud building which did not look dissimilar to the others. At the entrance hung a piece of cloth in a slow motion with the breeze.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Hassan asked again.

Peter nodded.

“Why don’t you go in then?”

Peter shook his head vigorously and moved a little distance away as if to emphasize his refusal. Hassan turned to me. I shook my head – “you first.”

“His best friend should go in first”, Hassan said, “turning towards Peter. Peter moved further away.

“I’ll go in then if you two just want to stand here”, I finally burst out, exasperated by the parleying.

Gathering my courage, I walked into the mud shack. It was dim inside, but I could make out a figure lying on a low bed close to the wall. A strong stench of urine hit my nose. I moved closed to the bed.

“Mutesa”, I called out softly, “Mutesa”. The figure in the bed stirred.

“Mutesa”, it is me, “David”.

“Who?”, he asked, his voice reedlike.

“David”, I repeated louder.

“Oh, David”, he said at last recognising me, “can you open the window?”

I opened the wooden shutter, letting in some welcome fresh air. Hassan and Peter now cautiously made their way in.

“Mutesa”, I said, “Hassan and Peter are here with me as well.”

He attempted to sit up, but the effect was too much and he fell back, exhausted. I could see him more clearly now there it was lighter in the room. The once chubby face was now sunken and wrinkled; only his large eyes remained prominent, but they had lost their sparkle. He surveyed us for a moment and then extended out his skeletal arm from beneath a grey blanket. It reminded me of a character from a Tintin comic book.

“Thank you for coming David”, he said as I shook his hand. The other two satisfied themselves with greetings from afar. I took the only chair in the room and sat down next to the bed.

“Thank you for coming”, he said, his voice barely audible. “Everybody is running away from me now.”

“Be careful all of you”, he continued, “take precautions or else you will end up like me. I ignored all the warnings: ‘Zero grazing’…’use a condom’…I thought it only happened to other people.”

“Who is looking after you?”, I asked, surveying the room. On the foot of the bed lay a plate with the hardened remains of a meal.

“My sister”, he replied, “she comes once in a while.”

Suddenly he called out, “David, the basin”. The basin was lying at my feet. I held it up. His thin chest heaved in violent spasms as he painfully vomited out salivary bile. Peter run out at this sight. Hassan stayed a moment, and then he too left. Overcome by the exertion, Mutesa lay back on the bed. After resting a moment, he wiped his mouth with the edge of the blanket.

“Close the window please”, he whispered, a shiver running through his body.

I closed the shutter.

After a while, he fell asleep. “Bye”, I said softly, retreating into the sunlight outside. Peter and Hassan stood waiting. In silence, we began to walk away.