As I listen to the script’s Science and Faith, in the soot filled kitchen I sit. Thinking. About I don’t know what. And then i remember, the other day I tried to eat my candy and I was stopped. I was bundled on the back of blue truck with sirens and taken to a dark room.
I was told I couldn’t eat candy on the streets. I almost protested my mistreatment until I noticed there was no one in my defense. The blue trucks were at every corner.
The city was calm, littered with filth and beggars downtrodden on the wrecked lampposts. There was fine flowing and stinky fluid from beneath the cracked tarmac. The silence was deafening as all the cars that passed had tinted windows. There was always a rush to leave the city centre. Even hooting was prohibited.
And there I was wondering where to sit and enjoy my candy. The men in bluish white uniforms were all over the streets. They were more than the civilians on the streets. They had taken over some square in the city. It had become their camp and base. All the green spaces had been taken over.
“We are here to protect you,” they say.
But why were the people feeling scared when they see these “protectors?” It had become too much that the protectors had also become vendors in the city. They were the hawkers and could also sell airtime. But still I couldn’t enjoy my candy.
There was a notice that before I eat any candy in the city centre, I had to notify the protectors first. But it’s my candy, my right to eat when and where I want.
‘Things have changed brother,’ the chief tells me. ‘We are now mindful what u consume and where,’ he adds.
‘You can’t eat candy from the city square’
Head facing down, coat on the shoulder, I walk to the direction of setting of the Kampala sun.
‘One day I will enjoy my candy freely,’ just one day….. I keep telling my self