It is either the people from my village are revoltingly ugly or Marki Wabwire the photo man is a bad photographer. Photo shoots in my village are an annual event when Wabwire is in "town". The singing of the joints of his old black-mamba bicycle wakes the whole village up with a start. Mothers dive into their closets hunting down for clothes that do not have patches on them. This is the point where clothes are discovered lost and many househelps lose their jobs. On this day, petroleum jelly is used extravagantly leaving faces shining like alluminium foils in the sun. kids are forced to put on matching 'vitenges' with their siblings.
The old men generally maintain their cool. They treat Wabwire's arrival not as important but of course jumping like small boys on the inside. They would look for their Christmas coats and ask the house helps (assuming they are not fired or arrested and charged with stealing their wives' clothes) to iron them. Others will be sipping their breakfast while fighting with a stubborn tie that refuses to be tied. Those wealthy enough to own shoes will be airing shoe polish tins in the sun so that the little residues of polish present will melt and avail themselves for usage. Schools will be empty with only the camera shy teachers sulking in the staffroom about the myopic nature of my people from the village. This is how big Wabwire is in my village!
But do not be fool by the air of importance around the man. Ironically, he is one photographer whose image he forgot to care about! he had a small head with everything big on it. His neck was long and surprisingly strong, and from which a black camera the size of a suitcase hanged. His bony hips danced to the tune of the creaking bicycle as his toe stuck out of his akalas pedaling away to the stuffy structure that was his studio. On the door of his studio, a sign was proudly written on a cardboard with charcoal "WABWIRE AND SONS PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO" Underneath the sign was a rough translation:"DUKA YA PICHA"
By noon, the studio will be full with a long line outside. Wabwire would have hang a blue bedsheet he used in highschool to serve as his back drop. he would then take the families one by one into a gruelling task of posing and smiling. At the end of the day, everyone went back home anxiously waiting for their photographs. Wabwire would ride away to the city where he allegedly "washed" the photos. Weeks would grow up into months and Wabwire wopuld be a cursed man in the village. Everyone complained about his delay; from the chang'aa dens to the "chama cha wanawake" women's group; from primary school playgrounds to the market place. Rumours will even start going round that Wabwire had robbed them off their money! some even vowed never to take any photos again!
But several months later, Wabwire will ceremoniously return with photographs containing ugly people from my village! the anger against him would soon be forgoten as soon as people received their poorly taken photos.
"When will you come again?" the women would ask the super photoman.
Trying to wear a business like face, which made him look like a scared scare-crow, Wabwire would take sometime then answer: "mmmmh... let me check my schedule and i will let you know."
With that, the bad photographer would travel to the next village to continue with the vicious cycle of terrible photography!
*the names used in this blog do not refer to any real person. The characters are purely fictional. any reference to a real name is purely coincidental. lol ;-)
The old men generally maintain their cool. They treat Wabwire's arrival not as important but of course jumping like small boys on the inside. They would look for their Christmas coats and ask the house helps (assuming they are not fired or arrested and charged with stealing their wives' clothes) to iron them. Others will be sipping their breakfast while fighting with a stubborn tie that refuses to be tied. Those wealthy enough to own shoes will be airing shoe polish tins in the sun so that the little residues of polish present will melt and avail themselves for usage. Schools will be empty with only the camera shy teachers sulking in the staffroom about the myopic nature of my people from the village. This is how big Wabwire is in my village!
But do not be fool by the air of importance around the man. Ironically, he is one photographer whose image he forgot to care about! he had a small head with everything big on it. His neck was long and surprisingly strong, and from which a black camera the size of a suitcase hanged. His bony hips danced to the tune of the creaking bicycle as his toe stuck out of his akalas pedaling away to the stuffy structure that was his studio. On the door of his studio, a sign was proudly written on a cardboard with charcoal "WABWIRE AND SONS PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO" Underneath the sign was a rough translation:"DUKA YA PICHA"
By noon, the studio will be full with a long line outside. Wabwire would have hang a blue bedsheet he used in highschool to serve as his back drop. he would then take the families one by one into a gruelling task of posing and smiling. At the end of the day, everyone went back home anxiously waiting for their photographs. Wabwire would ride away to the city where he allegedly "washed" the photos. Weeks would grow up into months and Wabwire wopuld be a cursed man in the village. Everyone complained about his delay; from the chang'aa dens to the "chama cha wanawake" women's group; from primary school playgrounds to the market place. Rumours will even start going round that Wabwire had robbed them off their money! some even vowed never to take any photos again!
But several months later, Wabwire will ceremoniously return with photographs containing ugly people from my village! the anger against him would soon be forgoten as soon as people received their poorly taken photos.
"When will you come again?" the women would ask the super photoman.
Trying to wear a business like face, which made him look like a scared scare-crow, Wabwire would take sometime then answer: "mmmmh... let me check my schedule and i will let you know."
With that, the bad photographer would travel to the next village to continue with the vicious cycle of terrible photography!
*the names used in this blog do not refer to any real person. The characters are purely fictional. any reference to a real name is purely coincidental. lol ;-)
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