We arrived in Jinja at People's Bus Terminal, around Lubas Road at 10pm in 1989. It was in early January. It was raining heavily and we had two pieces of luggage, ebitundu, one containing Irish potatoes, emondi zamukooreeka and the other dried peas.
We alighted, reero uncle yampa the smaller luggage of peas, and he carried the Irish potatoes.
Tukatambura kuruga Jinja town up to Masese landing site, a distance of about 5 kilometers. I fell into stagnant water in the potholes because as we walked through the dark alleys, stagnant water looked like dry land.
Jinja nkarebayo ebintu byingi, konka erizooba kambagambiire, let me tell you about one experience that taught me a hard lesson that I will never forget.
Shwento akantungira omwanya in Jinja Secondary School, natandiika senior one.
At that time, Jinja SSS was the biggest school in terms of population, in the whole country, some even say in East and Central Africa.
The school had a total enrollment of 4500 students--enkumi ina nabitaano. Omu senior one alone, tukaba turi 480 students. We had twelve streams in senior one, from A to M. At the end of first term, I was number one in S1B. Nkabasinga nabagarika hari.
Eizooba rimwe, shwento akampa esente kuza omukatare, Jinja Central Market, to pay and collect my school uniform hamwe nebindi bintu.
Nkaruga omuuka, omukasheeshe, natambura naaza omu tauni. When I crossed the railway line after a place called Kazimingi--those who know Jinja know this place--it used to have many maize milling machine. This is where we used to buy kawunga for mingling. Our major food then was kawunga and mpuuta.
This place also was the stage where people going to Walukuba and Masese boarded taxis from. It perhaps had the oldest vehicles plying any route in Jinja. Ebimotoka bikaba bikuzire, majority of them, old and tired beetles, ebikyere, Volkswagen, that when you entered, you literally could see the ground through the holes on the floor of the vehicles.
Some people often joked that if the breaks failed, the driver would ask passengers to pull out their feet onto the ground through the holes, to cause the car to grind to a halt.
Anyway, across Kazimingi was a dusty taxi park where vehicles plying long distances to Kamuli, Wairaka, Mafubira, Budumburi and other places would pick passengers from.
It is here that I found a man, surrounded by several other people, playing what looked like a lucrative game.
He has a small table and three cards-matatu, chanisi cards. The cards liked identical on the top, but inside, they were different.
The game was known as wakareeba, okalabye, okabwoine. The game master would speak the language of the majority of the people that sorrounded him or who joined to play the game.
The rules were simple: Two of the cards had no image on them. Only one had a drawing.
He would shuffle the cards while singing: bwotekka wanno offirwa, bwotekka wanno offuna, and ask you ngu, nooha owakareeba? Who has spotted it?
If you were convinced that you had seen which of the three cards had the drawing, you would put money on top of that card, and if you got it right, you would win double the amount of money placed, betted.
Good deal? Yes, it looked.
I stood and watched and watched contemplating whether I should use the money my uncle had given me to multiply it and make a profit.
As I looked, two men came and played and won, and left.
Then another one came and looked at me and said, "young man, you look lucky today, if you play, you will win."
I listened to my heart and believed him.
I watched closely and got absolutely sure that I had seen it.
I placed 500 shillings. He turned the cards and I was wrong. It was potea. He took it.
I was now 500 shillings less and couldn't therefore buy what I had been sent to buy.
I stood still, nkomuti gwamashanyarazi, wondering what do to next.
"Try one more time, you will be lucky," another muyaye who came around told me.
I watched the man shuffle the cards, and this time I was absolutely sure I had seen it.
I placed another 500. It was again, a miss.
The second loss hit me so hard. I now could not even buy half of what I had been sent to you.
What would I tell my uncle, I contemplated. Would I tell him the truth about what had happened or was I to manufacture a lie?
The man who was operating the wakareeba now seemed to pity me. He looked at me closely and suggested another robbery trick.
"You can also use your watch to win," he said .
He valued the Disco watch I had on my wrist at 2000.
I thought hard and it looked like a possible final move to salvage my loss.
"I could be lucky this last time," I said to myself.
Slowly, I removed the watch from my arm, held it in my hands, said a prayer and looeor at the cards even more closely.
The man shuffled the cards slowly, as if to give me a chance, to this time get it right.
He placed them face down.
"Make your pick," he said, before adding: "This time, if you fail on the first attempt,I will give you another free chance." He was speaking in Lusoga "ndakuwa omurundi ogundi,"
Hesitantly, I placed the watch on the card that I was sure was the one. The master slowly reached out, turned it upside, and I was wrong..The third time. The third loss.
"Try your luck on the remaining two cards," he offered omurundi ogundi.
I placed my hand on another card. He flipped it up, and I was wrong again.
At that point I did not even wait. I simply took off, running back home with no uniform, not groceries, no money and no watch. I later learnt that the two men who played and won, were actually playing a syndicate. They were part of the robbery team staged to give the game some semblance of credibility.
From that day, over 30 years ago, whenever I find people gambling, betting here or there, whether it is in a casino or on the streets, I look the other way and walk away as fast as I can. Gambling!
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