Ivan Presents...

I figured Kwanjulas were a straightforward affair.You go to some place get fitted into this long dress and then wear the coat and for some reason you don't feel less manly.Actually,on the contrary you feel like the alpha male and later during the course of this thing,you think nothing of the guy doing a little curtsy every five minutes.

As of Saturday,this impression changed.

I did the whole dress thing,"get in touch with your feminine side,whoa!!slow down,that's way too feminine...here,wear this coat over it and no one will ever know"..so I wear the coat and no one ever knows.What someone does though,is ask me to remove the shirt I'm wearing underneath.Not in a kinky sort of way,more in,"Get that ****in' shirt out of there,you look less cultural.What are you trying to do,get us fined?"

I remove the shirt and I think its as it goes over my eyes that I fail to notice the dark clouds gathering overhead.Its a sad day to be the guy removing your shirt in the name of culture...

We jump,actually that's a lie,"I",I jump into this truck thingy that was responsible for transporting among other things,a goat and a cow.Its a terrible combination that.It would probably sell BIG Time in Hollywood,but back here,its downright annoying.

We converge at Shell Bugolobi (look for a Ugandan,they'll draw you a map) for what later becomes a full out briefing.Its also a perfect opportunity for me to switch cars.Please bear in mind that I am not a snob or anything,but there's a way "Smell of Cattle" is not the fragrance I wish to be wearing when we arrive at the in-laws.I make a bee-line for one of the cozy carz and then get stopped.There's a briefing in here and I gotta be a part of it.

In the past I've wanted to develop a deeper understanding of my language.Its incredibly embarassing.I should know this stuff.But lots of times I am angered by some stupid Taxi "conductor" and I can not find the words to actually tell him what I think of him and what suspicions I harbour of his upbringing.With any luck I should be able to find the Luganda equivalent for Baboon and sloth's offspring in the next couple of weeks.Until then,I am stuck with this shrug and the following interpretation of Our Side's negotiator's speech.
***The Negotiator is,on top of being a title of Samuel L. Jackson's flick,the guy that's responsible for getting the girl's parents to say."Take her,make her happy...be in someone's blog"****

This is what I heard our negotiator tell us.Made it seem like some sort of football strategy...
"blah blah do not tug your Kanzu,you will be fined,blah blah blah,and when I clap you clap blah blah blah Ladies,you have to kneel.I should have informed you before you got that expensive looking Busuti (keep that Ugandan nearby,(s)he knows these things,you don't) blah blah blah.Stop tugging at your Kanzu for chrissakes.*punch* blah blah,now we are going to need some volunteers...

I sort of tuned out at this point...I was taken up by the dark clouds and the drizzle.I couldn't understand how I had overlooked that.Well,no matter,our in-laws probably have some sort of shed erected in our honour that's got a little solar something somewhere...

They didn't.Well to be fair they had a tent,but no sun.Midway through the proceedings,it starts to rain. I only mention this because I happened to sit at the edge and I was collecting drops.This in turn had the effect of stretching the function.The negotiators were non-plussed and seemingly wanted to give everyone their money's worth.NOW???of all times?We should have hired a taxi "conductor".

We finally got to the bit where we hand over the gifts. The dude that had ushered us in was like,"relax,we are not selling the girl,we don't fine or anything"...I couldn't find him at that moment otherwise I would have demanded an explanation.The good thing about going and doing the gifts thing is that it gave me a chance to wringe my coat and collect water in a pail...for no reason.

If I'd known where the negotiator/speaker (he is getting monotonous!)was going with his tripe,I would have probably "forgotten" to bring in the beers.Heck we all would.We found out to late that this guy had actually figured that the letters in the names of Beers actually stand for something.No,I take that back,for a lot of things. So for the next Half hour he goes on to tell us that BELL is Beauty Ends Loathing and Lust or some such banter.If he'd gone into Tusker,I'd have quit drinking the damn thing.

We finally got round to the part where we eat and pretend we hold no grudges against the speakers.Particularly hard when you're dripping,but...

After all this stuff we say our goodbyes,a feeling of accomplishment on our side and theirs; Great,Our speaker probably bored them to bits!
and we leave..but not for home,that would be way too convenient.We go to an Irish Pub dressed up in Kanzus.
The good thing about this,the guard can not frisk you.It just ain't natural...