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It had been quite a dour day, spent watching my favourite TV series, Designated Survivor, as I counted down the hours.
It was day two of the 14 day lockdown that was declared by President Museveni in reaction to Covid-19 pandemic.
I stay in a suburban setting of Buwaate, Najjera which is home to a rising number of corporates.
Before Covid-19 lockdown, it was bubbling with life. Nightlife was fun. There was Nexus, La Venti and a sprinkling of other bars that made life cool.
Once in while together with the boys, we could hit these spots and have fun. Eat Nyama Choma, drink a few beers and mess around with the waitresses.
Now my neighbourhood looked like a ghost town. The night spots were all closed. Mukiibi’s video hall was no more.
The only sound one could hear was that of an odd boda boda zooming from one place to another.
I was locked up in our two bedroomed house together with my wifey, two year old daughter and a housemaid.
I am an IT expert at one of the upcoming technology firms in Kampala. In short, I code.
Wifey is a businesswoman. She runs her boutique in Ntinda. Her business had also come to a halt during this crisis.
Our house is part of a 12 apartment high rise block that was constructed roughly on a 25 decimal piece of land. It is on the second floor.
Neighbours hardly interact with each other apart from the occasional “Hi” we exchange when we bump into each other in the parking lot.
On that day as I tried to kill the boredom and momentarily paused the DVD, I decided to go to the balcony.
Out of nowhere, a housemaid working at one of the other apartments in our complex emerged and started hanging clothes on the line.
She was of a dark complexion with a mound of pitch black natural hair. She was also generously endowed “backside”.
I had never seen her before I guess largely because I left home at 6.30 am and came back after 9PM.
As she slowly bent to pick the clothes from the basin and hang them on the line, her short skirt would pull up, exposing part of her backside.
There was an adrenaline rush in my body. I feared she would catch me gazing at her.
“What are you looking at?” my wifey asked. I had barely noticed as she sprung up behind me.
“Nothing really,” I retorted as I walked back to the sitting room and restarted the TV series. Wifey followed me and it seems she did not notice anything sinister.
Lunch was ready. It comprised rice, Irish potatoes and beans.
Time check 4PM.
I had watched six episodes of Season 2 of Designated Survivor and I felt that was enough.
I got the TV remote control, flipped through the channels and landed on NBS TV.
There was this young man, Canary Mugume, giving us updates on Coronavirus pandemic.
He was speaking fast and reminded me of MC Hammer, that American rapper whose music was a staple back in the day.
But he looked confident as he navigated that touchscreen map, showing us areas that had been badly hit by Covid-19.
I could hardly keep up with Canary so I flipped channels again and landed on CNN.
The anchor was giving grim statistics on how the disease had ravaged the mighty USA.
She was saying the number of people in the US who had died from Covid-19 had exceeded those who died in the terrorist attacks of September 2001. It was scary. Then one analysts said that the US could lose uo to 200,000 people. Damn!
At 7PM, I decided to retreat to the bedroom. My two year old daughter had been all over the place. I played hide and seek with her a little bit and decided to check whether I had received some urgent emails. I replied a few of them and shut my down computer.
Time check 9PM. Time for news. Everything was grim. “Kampala streets are empty as lockdown starts to bite,” screamed one of the news tags.
After another 30 minutes, I decided enough was enough. I switched off the TV and retreated to the bedroom.
Wifey was already in bed, donning that transparent nightie dress that left little to imagination. I could see that she was putting on nothing underneath and was fiddling with her phone, laughing giggly.
“Mikee, there is this Hajj who hired an ambulance to drive him to one of his wives in Bwaise because they are not allowing private cars. Isn’t funny?” she said as she flipped her backside towards me. I nodded.
I put my phone on the side table next to the bed and dashed to the bathroom, anticipating a very “eventful” night.
Two minutes into the shower with soap in my head and eyes, I heard my phone ring. May be it was my boss calling me, I thought or perhaps worse…my side-dish. My wife decided to pick the call.
” This is not Sweet Mike, Irene,” I heard her respond to the caller as she banged the phone down.
“I am done,” I thought to my self. It was the longest shower I had ever taken.
I thought of a number of excuses to give wifey but clearly I had been caught in the act.
“I will tell her Irene is a workmate and she playfully refers to me as “sweet Izo,” I mumbled to myself as I Ieft the bathroom, hoping this could work as an excuse.
Irene was indeed my girlfriend or side-dish. I had been seeing her for the past four months and we had set some ground rules.
She was not supposed to call me after 7PM and in any case I had always emphasised that I would be the one to initiate any calls. She had broken this rule and brought me trouble. These lockdown things!
After what appeared like ages, I gained courage and walked into the bedroom. My wife was now seated on the bed holding my phone. A big war loomed.
What happened next? Continues tomorrow.
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The post Lockdown Tales: Side-dish calls while I’m in the shower… wifey picks phone. Its trouble! appeared first on Nile Post.
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