WEIGHT: 49 kg
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Faridah, my female friend, and I, met Julius Buyinza, a long time friend, who had suggested that we go clubbing in Kampala. So, Buyinza suggested Capital Pub in Kabalagala, a place he last visited five years ago.
It is just steps off the main road on the Kansanga-Gaba Highway. None of those hanging by the roadside would question, why the situation is like that. I denied her the attention she sought from me. I thought she was like the usual women in down- town Kampala who wrestle for customers in a bid to selling their goodies; like clothes, with chants like, Bitaano, Bitaano ejjirita…wuzi nempiso.
We proceeded to the location where we were asked to pay three thousand shillings, each, entrance fee. Faridah wanted to know why she, too, was to pay yet the posters indicated that women entered free of charge. We paid for the three of us. It was eerie inside the pub: the mood was unusual, bizarre in the ghost-like atmosphere. At that point, we realized that we were in the biggest brothel we had ever been to.
Buyinza suggested that we had to move in order to avoid embarrassments. I insisted on staying for sometime; I had got a story to tell; that without a note book, camera or recorder I would use my head to collect and store the information right from source.
That is a sentiment that will sound wasteful to women in Kabalagala. At the top of a grass thatched bar inside the pub, is an artistic mannequin, a sculpture of a woman recklessly sitting holding a glass of wine and posing in a seductive manner? Some were dancing and touching the women — for a fee. I took a step to interact with a few of them. There are still a few Ugandans, mostly with a western Uganda ascent. Forget about the stereotype that prostitutes are those indecently-dressed women.