By David Tumusiime, Uganda:
She would not let me put on my earphones. Even after her intro. Which I had not asked for. All I had wanted was to sit next to a beautiful woman in the taxi. I did not think it was necessary for her to inform me, when I greeted her, “Hi, I have a boyfriend.”
She had an engagement ring on her finger with a diamond the size of a small Ugandan district. I had already seen it. The gold heart-shaped locket nestled in her cleavage screamed many things already. The most important: don't even start. So I wasn't going to.
But I did not need assistance getting the message. She did not have to issue a Chronicles, Volume One like I could not decode it all on my own. My signal reading was better than Uganda telecom. So I could not understand why she would not let me settle down and find some obscure Bob Dylan in my shuffle and let this rolling stone trip begin.
She wanted my ear. But only my ear. To talk. Like I was some sort of Maurice Kirya gentleman. When she did not even have on her blue dress. Just some black skin tights and white tee-shirt that served her more than justly. Enough to make her a head turner. Make a man stumble towards her in a daytime taxi like he was in a midnight one.
She had noticed that I had a stash of DVDs in hand. She wanted to know what sort of series a guy might enjoy watching. I had Spartacus; I had Vikings, Breaking Bad and Big Bang Theory. But she did not think her guy might enjoy any of those. He was into sports a lot and could tell the difference between the Championship tournament and the premier league.
What kind of series could a sports junkie guy enjoy? Ones a girl could curl up in his embrace and pretend to follow too? Seriously, she asked. In a taxi, of a long journey, expecting expounding. From me. Plot breakdowns of each series I recommended, so she could tell if it might fit.
I should like to say I snubbed her. Gave my undivided attention to the highway blues of Bob Dylan. I did not. I let her use me and liked it too.
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