Philip Matogo
The reason why I never commented on that killer who appeared in CCTV footage strangling a Boda boda rider in Rubaga Division in Kampala is because I had a similar experience.
It was so harrowing an experience that when I saw the suspect, John Bosco Mugisha alias Mukiga, my underwear filled up courtesy of a flood-tide of urine.
14 or so years ago, Steak Out bar in Wandegeya was the place to get drunk and hook up with bosomy belles.
I was chilling at the counter, drinking beers and winking lewdly at every lady who seemed like she was floundering in a Sahara of minimal male attention.
However, the more I winked, the more the ladies rolled their eyes and stormed away in a huff like a People Power Muslim being offered pork by a Movementist.
The more I got rejected, the more I drank.
So I drank myself into a blind state and staggered out of the bar at 3:00 am.
Jumping on a boda, I told the cyclist to take me to Ntinda on the double…which matched my vision.
As we sped off, I vaguely recall him making a phone call slightly before we reached Shell Petrol Station, Nakawa.
At Shell-u, as he corruptly called it, a tall, flat-stomached man with black jeans and white t-shirt materialized out of nowhere and joined me on the pinion of the boda boda.
It was strange him jumping on the bike with us, but I was so high and just assumed we would be dropping him along the way to Ntinda.
Besides, Nakawa was completely deserted with not a person or means of mechanized transportation in sight…so I thought…why not?
Moments later, we were on the dipping and rising road the locals call “Stretcher” and we were approaching Ntinda.
The boda guy suddenly slowed to a near stop as he turned down a gravely road off the main road.
This wasn’t where I was going, so I assumed we were dropping off the guy whose crotch was up against my butt as we rode.
In gay-ward motion, I saw that we turned down an otherwise empty road, so I instinctively felt something was wrong.
Although high as Snoop Dogg on weed and wing, I got a little scared.
Suddenly, the intensity of the situation was amplified and I was thrust into a world in which the safe-looking suburbs are anything but.
The boda boda stopped and the guy seated behind me wrapped his arm tightly around my neck as he put me in a choke-hold so that I couldn’t breathe easily.
And then he lifted me off the boda as I instinctively emptied my left pocket of my phone, wallet and house keys and flung them into a nearby bush.
Physically, my body was soon paralyzed.
My mind then drifted into nothingness; I was unconscious.
Later, I awoke in the darkness with a start, gasping, panting, confused.
“Toka hapa!” a night watchman ordered me as I realized that I was lying in a bush in Ntinda Suburb.
I suddenly searched frantically around me and found my house keys, phone and wallet untouched.
I then jumped up and walked back to the main road, grabbed another boda boda and then rode to the nearest pub to celebrate the fact that I didn’t die that night.
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