Many laughed off the government’s move to proclaim The Mighty Rolex as the chief tourist attraction of Uganda. And further more made Twitter memès out of the posture of the Minister’s nose, when she gave a grand bite to the life-changing snack. But believe me you, Rolex is the most consumed meal by the average university student; any campuser that spends a day without munching at least one Rolex, is definitely Illuminati! Consequently, ‘Rolex guys’ in the surbubs around Makerere University; like Kikoni and Wandegeya, know that their customers cannot ably afford pizza from posh places like Javas or Pizza Hut, so they invented the cheaper, easier to get Rolex Pizza.
Mugoda Gordons, alias Wake The Poet, a renowned spoken word artist and Wandegeya resident says,
“When night falls and restaurants go to rest, trust Musiraamu to come to your rescue. I wonder why Trevor Noah was praising Sula, yet he is an ancestor who left years ago. Musiraamu is the new real deal; his Rolex is one that you eat when you want to be a doctor, and you suddenly venture into rapping: it is career-changing. This is not an eggs-aggeration; the man knows eggs-actly how to morph eggs. I don’t mean to brag, but my rolex guy is better than yours.”
With his witty discourse, ‘Mwana Weika’ reminded me of Joel, my own Rolex guy in Kikoni. – He makes Pizza! – I greatly doubt if Wake’s Musiraamu does.
So, that very evening I rushed to Joel to get myself a taste of the new invention. Sloping down to Kikoni through the small Western gate, right after Kann Hostel, behold, it was Joel kneading his dough balls with dexterity. On laying my request, he told me the ingredients and price of the pizza aren’t any different from those of the usual Rolex; so I had to make an order in the usual way.
They say good things come in doubles. I had to say, “Two-by-Two”, to mean two Chappatis and two eggs.
“Teekamu byonna.” As he whipped the big fat eggs in a small cup milky, I signalled this self-made chef, to spice my mouth-watering meal with all the vegetables. My heart almost melted like the egg-york in the egg-white mixture; as he whipped and added more vegetables.
With practised ease, Joel sliced the golden brown Chapattis, as the aroma triggered the enzymes in my belly to play hide and seek; like wild monkeys in a tree-house. My lips getting wet, akin to those of a dog about to be fed on spicy minced meat, I said to myself, “Patience pays.” Some drips of water onto the pan to clear any residues – it is time to fry; my craving too is fixing to fly. Not away but in a way like that of an addict on sight of his magic vessel.
“Shhhhhhh…”, I could feel the oil on the pan asking me to relax, and enjoy the edible scents. Tantalising is the only way I can describe the fumes that filled the air.
“Ebulamu ki?” I asked for how much longer I had to wait.
“Kyenkana ewedde.” Joel smiled while lifting my whole life in his tool, into a big pack.
I cannot explain how tasty the pizza was. Just ask your Rolex guy to make you one, and if you don’t like it: I give my appetite as a warranty.
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