#porkpeasandchocolate

The pork was the type you bought on a skewer. Seven well-marinated delicious finger-lickin’ good sizeable cubes on a stick. I was out with my ‘celebrity’ friend and everywhere we passed people were turning their heads, women were giggling when he flirtatiously said, “Hi darling.” Anyway, he ordered (he always does) and told the waiter that could “the pork come on the skewers please?” The waiter said he wanted cash first.

Me: Eh, nawe, do you really have to emphasize that the pork has to be on the skewers?

Celeb: I am paying for it. Gwe, you don't know these people. They’ll very dryly bring you three pieces for 10,000 shillings!

And so the waiter came back 10 or so minutes later, bearing two plates with three pork skewers n’ebigenderako- baked green matooke in its jacket, greens, red chilli powder. And that mix of tomatoes and onions- kachumbari.

He pulled the cubes off the skewer as we watched. Then we dug in and drunk Novida and enjoyed our conversation.

Two weeks later I treated my son to pork at the very same place. I cannot tell you what I was thinking, because in my haste to order, I forgot the earlier very important (free) lesson from the ‘cereebu’. The waiter had brought us six pieces of pork (didn’t look very finger-lickin’ good). For 20,000 shillings! I was flabbergasted (for lack of a better word) and asked him if he was very serious. Then I told him to either take back the food and bring it back on skewers with the bigenderako, or bring back my money. Guess what? He returned, very shamelessly, with 14 very healthy pieces. Anyway, short story- I have never gone back!

Now, I nearly had a fit when I was doing my weekly shopping for groceries on Sunday. The vendor was trying to sell me peas that were very obviously not worth the money I was paying her. She said it was 2,500 shillings per cup. I wanted three. First cup went into the bag, scooped the second and third, and then very deftly, proceeded to fill the cup before she had even knotted the bag with MY peas. Then she handed it to me.

I had a light-bulb moment. Aha!

Me: Show me your cup.

Her: What?

She quickly snatched the bag out of my hands, tore the knot she had tied and like a magician, pulled out another cup, a blue Nice cup from nowhere, as she struggled to hide the original one, all the while pouring the peas back into the kibbo.

Her: Madam, don’t worry. Let me use this cup. That one is bad!

Me: Bad how? Hand me that cup right now!

But she had already gotten another bag and was filling it as I yelled, attracting attention.

I wanted to get the kibbo of peas and tip it over. But I didn’t. So I leaned over and grabbed the other cup from where she had attempted to hide it. She made a lunge for it but not before I had glimpsed what she was so desperate to hide. A false bottom. Cleverly fitted into the cup. For unsuspecting customers. Like I VERY nearly was.

I shot her a dangerous look and then whispered menacingly in her ear (in Luganda), “Have a heart for people who work hard for their money and have families to feed! Why are you a THIEF?? Why can’t you be honest? What will you teach your children??”

She tried, very unconvincingly to defend herself: Auntie, even me I bought the sack of peas very expensive. Nange bansedde, kati ensawo nagiguze emitwalo…

This woman was not in the least bit remorseful.

“Bull****! So bloody what! Does that mean that you give me half of what I pay for?” I was tempted to pull the kitambala off her head.

“Auntie, I’m sorry, forgive me. Let me give you what you paid for.”

But I was already walking away. Glad that I had called her out, and that everybody could see the foolishness on her face.

This happens in many places you go to, especially if you are not a 'kasitoma'. Try passion fruit. The vendor displays nice fat healthy fresh-looking fruit, with one cut through the middle to display numerous juicy seeds. With a dodgy-looking cardboard paper (aren’t they always) on which it says “8 for 1,000” stuck in the basket of fruit.

Hmmmm… if you are not very observant, these sellers can be very sharp. The wretched-looking fruits are placed close to the surface and when the vendor picks three good ones, he very cleverly picks up a sick one with his thumb and throws them into the bag. And many times than not, they are fewer than what you are paying for. It’s only just right to let them finish practicing their crafty skill, and then politely ask them to let you count. Mark my words- you will find the rotten, discarded, misshapen rejects right there in your bag!

Same goes for these people who lenga tomatoes and tangerines. Then there are these matooke 'myeera' thugs. They pick from here, they pick from there. Anything they can nick from the sacks as they unload the trucks. I tell you, you can end up eating a meal of matooke from 10 different plantations!

This list would be incomplete without our gallant butchers. Bannange, kyemutukola with those weighing scales of yours! When we were young, Mum bought our beef from a proper butchery with a clean display and no flies buzzing about. The beef was garnished with a sprig of celery and you just pointed out to him what you wanted. He put it on the weighing scale where you could see, announced how much you had to pay, and you went home with your money’s worth. That was then.

Today, (of course not all of them) butchers have a dodgy-looking block of wood on which they chop your meat. That block of wood is placed at the back of the room. Your guess is as good as mine about how the slab of kisavu, bones (I always tell them I am not a dog) and an old ka-day-before-yesterday’s piece ends up in the kaveera. The meat weighs much less as well. (Someone made me laugh when they told me to only buy from butcheries where the flies hang out with the beef. That that is the good meat, meat that has not been tampered with, the one which has not been ‘Formalinised’)

Other things like bread, crisps weigh much less but for the same amount of money. A bag with ten pieces of yellow potato for 2,000 shillings. And we never ever bother to read the fine print to see the weight. Can the manufacturers even risk and notify you that their products weigh much less?

Just look at the chocolate. What used to be a nice Dairy Milk block for a few thousand shillings (one that you could read a whole novel with) is now a slender measly bar with new packaging (no silver foil to fiddle around with) and teeny-weeny squares that you can pop three in your mouth and they disappear just like that! For many thousands of shillings.

Oh, I had forgotten- the drinking chocolate tins. So big and the contents so little. Sneaky packaging tricks, yeah? Do we ever bother to check products like toilet paper? Do we even know how many sheets we are getting?

What about the supermarket that sells vinegar at 5,000 shillings and a few metes away, the Shell Select shop stocks it for 1,500 shillings a bottle? Their pack of candles costs 3,000 shillings while Shell Select sells the same thing at 1,500 shillings.

I suspect the yogurt packs (won’t name the company) are getting smaller as well. The reduction may not be easy to notice right away but with time you realize that the contents in the package are less.

The bar soap, substandard crockery and cutlery that cuts your mouth as you eat. Smell of China.

The petrol station attendant who fills your tank with air.

The list is long. The list is too, too long.