Snakepit Read Online Free

the resilience of the intellectual element that did work behind the scenes and in secret, men and women continually frustrated by Amin’s stooges, who did not give a damn if it all went up in smoke, as long as they were not caught in the crossfire. Operating in the midst of such scum, Bat sometimes felt like a herdsman in charge of perverse pigs, dangerous and bad-tempered animals which shat everywhere and could snap and bite at any moment. His main task was to call for the modernization of the ministry. He wanted to purchase new equipment for the dam, the telephone network, and to train more engineers and specialists. He kept making recommendations and pressing for change. General Bazooka listened carefully, but he often replied that there were no funds. No funds when military hardware kept arriving in the form of new MiG 250 fighter-bombers, Russian TX 3000 battle tanks, AK-57 assault rifles, to mention but a few. While Bat waited for funds, he concentrated on reorganizing the ministry, weeding out unnecessary posts and cutting down on the red tape, which clogged the whole system and made the ministry less effective.
    The evolution of a daily routine pleased Bat very much. He woke up early each morning, drove to the city, outraced most cars on the way, and arrived at his office with the high of speed still fizzing in his blood. His day was dominated by dictating letters, attending meetings, and poring over documents. He ate his lunch at his desk, except when he had to attend a luncheon with dignitaries, and drove his team like they were a pack of donkeys. After a twelve-hour day he would drive home to rest. Twice or thrice a week he would go to Wandegeya to meet the Kalandas and the Professor.
    Mr. Kalanda worked in the Barclays Bank, his wife in the Uganda Commercial Bank. He was an old university friend with whom Bat used to share a room on campus. They used to do many things together, including double-dating. Between them they had financed three abortions. Now and then, Bat wondered whether Kalanda had told his wife all about their campus escapades. It had been Kalanda who had advised him to try the Ministry of Power and who had read him the rules of survival: “Keep out of politics. Keep democracy and human rights outcries on a tight leash. Keep your passport with you at all times.”
    Mrs. Kalanda was a fine cook, and she would often prepare something delicious to go with their beer. They would sit outside on the veranda and talk, argue, joke and watch night fall. If there was no shooting, they would stay there for hours, relaxing, enjoying the cool, scented evening air. If rifles started popping, they would hurry inside and Bat would depart when the commotion ended.
    Bat received many invitations to weddings. Preparing for and attending weddings had become the number-one pastime in the land, rivalled only by séancing. The ruling class of soldiers, pirates, gangsters and hangers-on showed a huge passion for it. The fact that many of them were Muslims, allowed to marry four wives, and that they had plenty of money to throw around, meant that there was no shortage of big wedding feasts. Nowadays, a man’s worth was measured by the number of guests invited to his wedding, the length of the bridal train, the number of bands which played on the day and the bulls butchered. There were weddings which lasted weeks, as the celebrations moved from the husband’s family to the bride’s family and back, attracting carousers like flies on rotting fruit. Eating, as a sport, flourished, and no wedding was complete without a group of men vying to put away amazing heaps of offal, roasted lamb and goat, gigantic Nile Perch fish cooked whole and huge platters of cassava, sweet potatoes and matooke. The sight of gluttons masquerading as competitive eaters and ending up drooling, vomiting, and getting their stomachs pumped, became part of the spectacle. Wrestling, for one reason or another, had become an integral