Few people in Uganda are willing to speak openly about weed. Fewer still are willing to admit that they smoke it or that they’ve tried it before so when we put out a call for weed tales, I didn’t expect quite so many to come in. We’re not going to publish all of them in this article because of how short your attention spans are, yer weed lovin’ bastards. Part 2 will be on my blog tomorrow.
I lost my weed-virginity in my second year of uni. As is usually the case in the loss of such things, I was not at all prepared for the love of cheap muffins the holy herb would spark, or for the kinds of dreams it would induce. At the time, I suffered from bouts of sleep paralysis. When I added heights to the mix, things became buladde. Night after night would pass in a loop of brightly colored doodles, paralysis, chilling sounds of rattling chains and guttural laughter. Were those demons? Was it katanga’s weed? I will never know. My stories are not nearly as awesome as the ones we’ve received however, so let me shut up now.
I smoked weed at around 3pm at a neighbors place once and it was so freaking hot but I was feeling cold in two places, my lower eyelids and my feet. So I decided to go back home. On my way I kept on hearing voices from both sides of the path telling me to walk on the shoulders of the path, each voice calling me to its end.
My first meeting with weed happened when I was about 5 years old. I used to live with my Grand mom and her crazy sons and Nephews. They loved their pot. They had a few plants hidden in the garden. I still wonder why gramps didn’t uproot them. So they went on a smoking spree one day, got high and climbed up on the roof. They then poured soapy water on it and started sliding down.
I may or may not have smoked that time, but I recall being up on the roof. When It was my turn to slide down, I ended up in the rain gutter, holding on to the lightning conductor.
Ko my bros, after a few slides, weed told them they could fly. They all flew or jumped down off the roof and landed in gramps’ flower garden, unharmed.
One saw me still up on the roof and told me to jump, that he would catch me. Yea, the concrete driveway caught me alright, it broke my fall, earned me a compound fractured arm. Broken ribs, hairline fracture and my left leg broke in two places. After that, I smoked only half a stick.
Once, a friend and I smoked and then ate a whole loaf of bread without any liquids to wash it down.
Some other time at a drink up at Engen Lugogo, I pulled several times on the joint when it was being passed around. This was apparently some high class stuff from Bugolobi known as the Nalongo. Several hours later, I woke up to the sound of crickets and frogs at a deserted Engen. Only one other friend of mine was around. He was still out cold.
More recently, I was on a bender after a very stressful day so when someone suggested the good stuff, I went all in. An hour or so later, I was a Rastafarian in my head and I pulled all kinds dance strokes. I think I also attempted to speak in patois but my friends tell me it came out as severe gibberish. I also dozed off while standing several times…and I didn’t fall. I don’t think I am meant for this weed business.
The Forever High Road Trip
In the name of sisterhood, I have done some unspeakable things. That is why I am writing this rather than telling it.
There are three of us. My big sister Cat is the craziest one of us all. She does the weirdest of things and she always wants us to join in the crazy.
This time round she suggests a road trip around East Africa and actually fundraises for it so we have no excuses (money is usually our excuse when she brings up a dumb idea). I agree, Of course I am in as long as everything is taken care of. I mean, why not?
So I get a sick leave from work one Tuesday after a whole day of a pretend headache and fever, and rush to meet my sisters who had been waiting and already high on something at Capital shoppers Nakawa (This was usually the starting point of all our crazy escapades.)
The car was well fitted for a week Long Road trip and instead of chairs, there were beds. When I asked why, Cat answered, “you do not expect to travel for free and also sleep in five star hotels now, do you?” So I climbed into the back of the car and sit on one of the beds and just immediately Cat pulls my lower lip and pours some sugar looking stuff on it. Up until then I was wondering why Letty, my young sister hadn’t said anything since my arrival.
The car starts to move and Cat slyly says, “Expect to be high throughout this whole trip. We shall call it the forever high road trip!” Heights must have already taken over, because why else did I not oppose this? What is the point of a road trip, if you are going to be high the whole time? If all Cat wanted was to smoke weed all week long then we could do this more comfortably at home….Jesus, sometimes I think she just doesn’t want to think.
Now, I would love to write all the details of this road trip because I am sure that it would make a great story but unfortunately, I don’t remember much about it. Actually I am not sure we went around East Africa as originally planned.
Seven days of our lives…. We lost them. I do not know what we ate, where we slept, where we went. I only remember joint after joint, smoke, loud Music and too much laughter.
I woke up on Tuesday one week later in my bed and I thought it was a dream but the headache and the obvious loss of weight begged to differ. When I got to work later that day with my red eyes, my work mates sympathized with me and my boss told me to take another couple days off. I was grateful for that because I needed to find Cat and kill her.
Three days later, when I finally did find her, she was smoking a joint, listening to loud music. She probably knew that I was pissed because before I could say anything she handed me an envelope like she had been expecting me. Inside the envelope were pictures from the road trip….and suddenly it was worth it. The three days long headache, my possibly damaged lungs….it was all worth it. Not that I remember any of it. “We should do this again sometime.” This time, it was me suggesting.
Sometimes….I get flashbacks and I think of them as the memories from our forever high road trip.
I tried weed out in High School, messed around with it in campus and even once sold it to pay my hostel rent…but you know what they say, never get high on your own supply.
My best stories are from when I was at East High in Kenya.
The school had overzealous watchmen. Every time the smell of weed hit the air, the watchmen would raid the dormitories and make guys line up. They would then smell their fingers (the smell of weed is not easy to get rid of).
Well, one of the guys down the line was really scared of being caught, so he stuck his finger up his ass, so that the smell of his shit would disguise the smell of the weed. I am told he was left alone, though the watchman stared at him suspiciously.
There is the story of the guy who smoked weed right before walking around town. Whenever he would get to a place where electricity wires ran up above him, he would bend down to pass. Weed smoking can exaggerate your senses. A house fly can go by and you hear the sound of a chopper.
I have many, my first boyfriend’s dad was a drug lord. I gave my dad his first spliff on the terrace of my house in Morocco.
[box type=”info”] Disclaimer: We at www.muwado.com do not promote the smoking of weed. We are just aware that people smoke it and funny things happen. So if you want to share your story as well, send it to [email protected] and we shall run it in the next segment of this series. Jah Bless! [/box]