When my colleague Stella and I boarded a bus to Mpigi to view the International Little League baseball match between Uganda and Canada, we had no idea that we were being fatefully guided to a phenomenon one only sees in movie stars (which is not the same thing because those stars have spent hours in make-up anyhow).
It took ages for us to hit the road. At Kyengera,the road was under construction so it took ages to get out of that too. When we got off at Mpigi, we endured the nastiest boda ride on a 2km dirt road stretch.
When we reached the baseball field, we were hot, tired, covered in fine dust from head to foot, and pissed as hell. Because the match was over.
Our Ugandans had won so I felt a little solace about that. Stella went off to take pictures of all our little boys so she could pretend to be one of the many international journalists covering this magnanimous event.
I stood there and sulked. Until I saw him moving in and out of the crowd. My heart literally stopped.
Wait, it’s stopping again at the memory. I must catch my breath. Long sigh and deep breath. Much better.
I have no idea what country this fine Caucasian brother was from. He had dark shoulder length hair parted to the side that was streaked with sweat. There was no wind but it seemed only natural that his hair was blowing in a breeze the angels worked overtime to provide just for him.
His face was designed in a proper workshop with rulers and sandpaper. Square jaw, full lips and a nose that is the International Standard Unit for plastic surgeons everywhere.
He was tall. He was big. He was muscular. He was wearing a grey vest, sandals and blue jeans ripped at the knees that would have made anyone else look like they came straight out of an old Bon Jovi music video.
The sweat glistened along his arms, and the muscles that were his entire long, lithe body beckoned provocatively at me. Had he started to walk over to me to ask for directions to the toilet, I do not lie that my breath would have begun to leave my body with every step he took closer in my direction. And as soon as he opened his mouth, I would literally have swooned.
Plain plumb fainted.
I doubted my sanity. Such a human being cannot possibly roam the earth freely. He must be imprisoned, kept in a facility to breed perfect little children. I feared the sun and the heat were affecting my sensibilities.
So I looked for Stella and frantically begun to inquire.
“Have you seen that fine-?”
“OH MY GOD, you’ve seen him too?! Brother is kyaba too much. Man, that shit ain’t natural, to be walking around, looking fly like that!”
Well. So I wasn’t imagining things.
At that moment, our boss told us he was leaving so we happily jumped into his car for a free ride back.
(Even while falling in love, Ugandan girls like free things. We weren’t going to hang around for all the handsome men in the world).
So the boss (let’s just call him B) started talking about another game between the adults the coming weekend and Stella and I were in ecstacies. As B was within hearshot, he could not help listening to us preparing to attend that game just to see Hercules again.
B was curious. And maybe a little jealous that women in other cars weren’t crooning his praises. Which guy was that, he wanted to know?
“You know, that guy. That man in the vest-the long hair- that chap in the ripped off jeans-the hot one”.
Stella and I were falling all over ourselves to describe someone who could not be described.
“Oh, yeah!”, said B. “He’s got this really super hot girlfriend who works here too”.
It’s interesting how one simple sentence can change the world. Countries don’t need to go to war. They just need to employ the appropriate use of sentences.
So that was that. I started moving right along instantly.
Who needs the perfect guy anyway? Just there dating super hot girlfriends discriminating against plain girls who have real character. Instead of just mere super hotness.
What is super hotness anyway? They can keep each other. Msscchheeewww.