Sunday, April 17, 2005
Got It...Is this Plagiarism...
See, the thing is, usually, when people tell you to go for “The Sprint”, they make it sound so exciting. Like it’s an event that could only be eclipsed in awesomeness by the abrupt declaration by Joseph Kony that war isn’t really his thing and he’s opted to become a missionary.
What they don’t tell you is that there’s a chance that you might actually derive from it levels of excitement as high as those a child sitting in on a discussion about the downward spiral of the Cuban economy. It started simply enough — long journey to Garuga with the adrenaline levels moving at a speed surpassed only by snails racing through mud on a hot day. The guys I was travelling with were great company though. Made the journey worth it, actually.
You have to understand that I am not a sports scribe, so the last thing on my mind was whether Emma Kato’s new vehicle could actually round a bend without losing any fuel in its tank. I was out there for the thrill of… actually in retrospect, I can’t say I had a clearly laid out plan. That probably means I shouldn’t belly-ache about the presence of Uganda’s own Amarula Family (sorry Uganda, such stuff shouldn’t keep happening to you). There was some spiel about someone willing to reward with sh5,000, anyone that found his sh20,000. It was actually quite funny. Seriously, it’s been funny since its inception in the ‘80s.
Moving on, there were a couple of food stands. The most impressive thing here were the chips. They actually looked palatable. Ordinarily, such places inspire the notion that fries found there will have been carved from a tough-as-nails spud that will defend this reputation from inside your stomach and emerge victorious elsewhere.
Speaking of which, there were actually some loos. It’s not that I went looking for them as such, but when people emerge from bushes zipping up their pants and smoothing out their skirts, one can’t help but figure where you are supposed to go when you need to go about your business.
At this point you’re probably wondering whether I am actually going to subject you to a long-winded piece with no mention of skimpily clad vixens that were out to show off as much flesh as they could whilst acting surprised that guys ACTUALLY DO find this appealing.
Well, sadly yes, there were none of those, and if they were there then they did a pretty good job hiding.
There were, however, a number of Fashion police cases and a chick with hips huge enough to disqualify her from some competition involving faces.
And there was the lake a short distance away, with people swimming and a kid that figured swimming in the nude was actually the way it was meant to be done. Speaking of lakes, I half expected to see some guy emerge with a sack of cash flung over his shoulder and disappearing in the crowd. I might have gotten there late.
Then there were the cars. It’s been a week since the event, I honestly doubt there’s anything that I could say that hasn’t been said yet. Well, they were fast, and they looked like cars that were being used to wreak havoc. You know what? This isn’t really moving in the direction you would want it to.
Not very unlike the performance of the make-shift band that was set up to actually draw our attention away from the naked swimmer or the people oblivious to the importance of keeping the environment clean.
Right, back to the band.
Initially it was churning out some good stuff, no lie! The songs actually drew a crowd of people who were either drunk from the cheap brew that was lurking in the depths of gourds and calabashes or heading towards drunken stupor. Then suddenly without warning, they started doing adverts for Jomayi something or other, the guys who made the rally possible, or the music that was keeping people away from the rally and the fast cars wreaking havoc. Looking past that, it was pretty cool as far as rallies go.
Granted I figured they should start being picky about who should attend these things (the way that bouncer at Silk pulls it off).
By the end of the feat everyone had accumulated enough dust to start a low-scale farm — on their bodies!