We sent reporter X out to cover a story about night life in Nkozi University ? You cannot read that story because it wasn’t filed. Instead Mildred Apenyo found the reporters notes, and now presents: A night in the life of a corrupted journalist
5.00pm: X and Brenda decide that they’d like very much to attend this party that everybody has been making noise about. X isn’t susceptible to the “pleasures of youth” so she’s definitely going there for purely journalistic purposes.
7.00pm: Location, Nana hostel. A boy named Pepsi has put together a cheap transport plan. He promises not to run off with their 20bob and invites them to board the shuttle and wait.
8.40pm: And wait some more. This is presumably because Nana guys mascara their beards. Because why else would they delay so much?
9.00pm: On the road. No. Wait. The bus is pulling into some petrol station. And parking. Oh come on! What are these people’s bladders made of? Cardboard?
10.00pm: Everybody is a more than a little snarky now and is speaking with tiny explosions of spittle. If this doesn’t stop soon, we may all drown in saliva.
11.00pm: Nkozi. Finally. Smell that? No, me neither. Masaka doesn’t have any defining smells.
12.00am: Party Party Party woohoo! There’s a girl literally dressed in buttocks. Really. She’s wearing a tiny blouse and buttocks. This sort of sets the pace for the night.
1.00am: X has been swigging from a small bottle of bitter and is now, sadly, corrupted. Everything around her is appallingly blurry. Soft edges have invaded the world. Focus evades us all!
1.30am: Because a pen and notebook would’ve cramped her style and taken hand space (that is currently being filled with a bottle and a tube of lipstick) she’s left them behind. All hope is not lost though. She pulls a snazzy little camera out from one of the folds of her dress.
2.00am: Brenda is standing in a tree. She’s holding onto one of its branches and swinging to a beat. X, in a spirit of journalism takes pictures.
2.30am: The battle is lost. After a few more minutes of walking around and bullying people to pose for her, X decides that the world is her dance floor.
3.00am: Fears have been expressed by people in various corners of the party venue that there might be some sort of djinn in attendance. There is no Djinn. That is just how reporter X dances when she gets corrupted. Like a demon on steroids.
3.30am: Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a stale crack? Nope. It’s our rogue reporter. She’s been held up in the air for longer than she can remember. She looks to the side and finds Brenda, similarly elevated. They bump fists.
4.00am: A creature which is almost certainly male plops itself in front of her. He’s however, probably in a misguided show of eccentricity, wearing a transparent shower cap.
4.30am: Showing no regard for the number one rule of inebriation that goes, “Do not lose the person you came with”, X runs off with this creature. Because of the never before known level of intoxication that she’s reached, what happens thereafter is a blank in her mind.
4.30am (still): Thank God for small mercies.
11.00am: A boot kicks X in the head. Hehe. There’s no boot, only a hangover. Clutched in her hand are her camera and tube of lipstick. ResPekt.