#jerksofalltrades

It was only when I got home that I realised that three of the tomatoes she had given me were old and squashed. Darn her, I muttered under my breath.
But how many times have you wished that the "fleas from a thousand camels infest (insert subject) until their dying day"? I cannot count how many curses I have issued in spite of saying to myself that it is just money that I have lost. But the fact that some people wake up in the morning and plan how to be dishonest rankles. So I came up with a list of 10 "professions" where it is the norm to be devious, and if you are not, then you should be looking for another job. And, I am not saying that all the ones I have encountered are unpatriotic but... remember, that one bad apple spoils the rest. In no particular order... drum-roll..........!!!!

1. Mechanic
If you do not find him crazily weaving your car through the Wandegeya traffic, then expect to find the oil filter of your Rav4 replaced with a broken one. Maybe they have even siphoned your fuel. In their greasy overalls. A workmate's motorcycle broke down recently, and because he was rushing to work in the morning, he took it to the nearest garage and asked them to have it repaired and he would pick it in the evening. Trust those mechanics--- he had just ridden a few meters away when it broke down again. A mechanic will make you trust him with his "sweet" words, calling you "boss" or "mugagga" but then they go ahead and do shoddy work, or no work at all. There's a story I read somewhere about a mechanic who took a Mercedes for spin and ended up spinning it into another car.


2. Hairdressers

One of the reasons I cut my hair was because I was tired of ugly comments- from- you guessed right---- hairdressers!!! By the way, most of them here are unprofessional and have just learnt on the job and landed upon anything they can do. I imagine that a good hairdresser would professionally advise you on what products are good for you, what hairstyle to avoid, what weave you cannot afford and how often you should do your retouch. Pre- short hair there was this lady that I asked to do pencil corn-rows. She grabbed at my hair at the back of my head and meanly told me in a very loud condescending tone that "this hairrrr, no! my dear (patronizingly) your hair is too brittle and you practically have none!" Of course I was disappointed. But I walked into the next saloon and had my hair plaited and made it a point to pass by looking good.
I have also seen these interns (the ones who come early to sweep and clean up yesterday's mess) braiding someone's hair, really tiny braids. I think somewhere in the middle of the poor woman's scalp, they got tired and they suddenly started parting the hair into bigger "squares", giggling and whispering that "she will never know anyway".

3. Butcher
For many years I had this untold fear of these meat-mongers. The meals I cooked were devoid of meat, and when I discovered that I was not enjoying being vegetarian, then I started going to the supermarkets for sausages or minced meat. I discovered later that my fear revolved around being given a piece of rotten meat. I recall that Mum sent me to her "trusted" butcher when I was younger. I took back the kilo, wrapped in newspaper. There were no plastic bags those days. I was taken aback when Mum exclaimed that half of the meat had gone bad. But deviousness really exists among this lot. You point out to someone that this is the steak I want, some bones and no fat, and when he puts it on his chopping block, which is usually at the back of the teeny-weeny room, he quickly slips in some carefully concealed congealed mess, which you only discover when you are cutting it up.

4. Restaurants/ Waiters

I called the waiter over. I had gone to Zanzi's to treat my son to some "sticks" of pork and catch up. The waiter told me that each stick cost 4,000 shillings- I ordered two. After about 15 minutes, after which we had even ordered a second bottle of soda, he confidently plonked six measly pieces of fat and bones on the table. I could not believe my eyes, but it was all I could do. I let my son enjoy the meat (if you can call it that!). Thieves that they are.
A few weeks later, I was at the same place, not by choice, but a friend had asked me out. He ordered three sticks of pork, with "ebigeenderako". He specifically ordered the waiter to "bring the sticks here so that I can see them!" The lesson I learnt was that you need to ensure that you eat pork, and what you have paid for. Otherwise if you try to play the boss, then you eat bones.

5. Taxi conductors
This is a group I thoroughly dislike. In all my use-of-public-transport life, I have encountered only one conductor who said "thank-you". A Moslem wearing a cap. And he was clean-shaven, in clean clothes. The reason I do not like touts, as they are sometimes called, is that they are always on the defensive. Today, a lady sitting behind me shouted "parking!" The conductor heard her and repeated to the driver "parking!" The driver made like he was stopping, then continued on. Obviously, we made some noise. And the conductor had the nerve to say "Naye, you didn't say you were stopping and now you are shouting at me!". Msssscchewww!! I think the wind they are subjected to at the door where they hover somehow confuses their thinking. And they have this notion that they are looked down upon, the reason they always spring up like a jack-in-the-box when there is as much as whisper that they are overcharging. These are people who up fares as they wish. Not that the mileage changes, it stays the same. But when they get to the stage and there are many people waiting, they immediately increase the fares. Then they want to squeeze their bones in that seat next to you, and they want to take up the space for one passenger. I remember writing a piece on "the conductor's place is on the kameeme!" That cooker behind the front seat.

6. Pump attendant
Now these ones... these ones! They are adept at filling your car's fuel tank with "air". I don't know how they do it, but many a motorist has complained about paying for ten liters of petrol that he knows will last him the week, only to drive a few meters away and the car stalls. So when I go to the fuel station, I get out of the car, stand next to the fuel pump and watch as the attendant fills up. And then I hand over my hard-earned money.


7. Fast food places
My aunt had an event at her home and instead of going through the hustle involved with cooking, she hired the services of a fast food place in town to supply food and refreshments. For the guests who were served first, it was all good. Then those who went last were fed all the left-overs from a party the night before. These had been cleverly mixed into the good food but they did not want to waste it. And it had already started to go bad. Another "beef" I have with them is the ridiculous change in prices of their food. Today, chips and "a pair" of sausages is 6,000 shillings, and tomorrow it suddenly sky-rockets to 10,000 shillings. And the quantities just get smaller and smaller. Devious-masters these!

8. Food vendors
I'm talking about the ones in the markets and then there are those ones who sell on the pavement and who will curse you loudly if you so much as accidentally step into their pile of tomatoes. In particular- the ones who sell passion fruit, carrots, tomatoes on the sidewalk meant for me! They always make sure to throw in one or two spoiled pieces.
I once saw a woman who fled and left her wares on the street. She was selling shelled peas in a basket. A cup cost 2,000 shillings. One customer asked her to give him two cups. She poured one cup into the kaveera, and as she was scooping a second one, he suddenly asked why the peas in the bag looked so "few". "Yooyo kawo muzeeyi," she said, avoiding his eyes. "Gwe, olabika onzibye! Ekikopo kyo tekiwera. Leeta ndabe!!"  And he made to grab the cup from her. Quick as a wink, she jumped up and took off, her basket tipping over in her haste and green peas rolled over everywhere. "Mwe mutubba! Kalabe!!" the man screamed after her. What had happened was-- to him, the amount of peas did not exactly match the size of the cup, so he asked her to see it. But she scampered off because --- her cup had a huge piece of extra plastic welded to the bottom. This makes her charge more for less. Thief that she is!

9. Police
I won't say much about this group because I have already vented about them in the past. But devious is another of their names. Most of them. They use their uniform, however low in rank they are, to get what they want. One night, my car developed a mechanical problem and I ended up in a minor accident, scratching a police car in the process. It was a tiny scratch but my God! I found out that these were drivers who had really huge chips on their shoulders. After a lot of back and forth, they callously demanded money--- laughing nervously, not saying what amount it was exactly that they were asking for. Then they started theatrics of "everyday you laugh at us because we are paid meager salaries, because we do not eat lunch, because we live in mama ingie pole!!" Bannange!! Now where was all this coming from? It does not matter to me whether you spend the whole day yawning and eating air-pies at the Constitutional Square in the guise of waiting for opposition activists, or if the boots you wear are 15 years old. Anyway, because of their deviousness, I ended up paying 300,000 shillings to repair minor scratches. Scratches are minor, aren't they?

10. Shoe vendors

Now here is where I have beef with the Chinese. Trading in shoes which are clearly below standard, shoes which are not fit for Ugandans' feet, shoes which, when the sun shines really hot, you may end up leaving your sole on the tarmac. Plastic shoes that last three days then snap. Fake leather that starts to peel after a good brush. The shoe pads are made of manila paper.
Another group are these ones who sell shoes under the lamplight at the roundabouts along the Northern by-pass. The shoes are second-hand. I admit, they do look very nice under the orange lights. You check, fit, prance up and down to see how comfortable they are. Good. You haggle. You pay. You get home. You check. Small tear at the back. And then you know the shoe will not last. Darn you! night shoe-vendor.