In the 1990s, there was a game called 'Duulu' that became very popular in many households around Kampala. We played it using the seeds of the Kabaka Njagala fruits. The seeds were referred to as Duulu.
When we were playing it at home and school, I also saw it (in a movie) being played by grown men in the Arab World, except they used marbles instead of seeds like us. The game was often won by the guy with the best target in his fingers. He could keep pushing your Duulu until you were thrown out of the boundary - a line drawn some distance from the gap.
The gap was that hole that earned you massive points if you threw your duulu straight into it. Each successive push was a point. At home, we played it for no rewards beyond bragging rights, but at our primary school in Kansanga, it was monetized. The school never provided lunch to all the kids. Only those who paid for lunch could have access to the posho and beans prepared by the cook.
The cook also had a side hustle, which was lucrative. She prepared the katogo of cassava and beans each day, which she sold at 100/- and 200/- depending on the size of the plate. If you could not afford lunch from the two options, you either 'fasted' through the afternoon or packed food from home. A few clever chaps came up with an idea. If you had 50/- (which could not buy you a plate of katogo), you could agree with three other chaps with a similar amount each and go into a game of dual.
The winner of the game would then have the 200/- and pay for the bigger plate of katogo. He then had the luxury of extending some scoops to the losers.
All was well until a chap named Ssekandi showed up. He was a lanky fellow. His fingers were long, and the dude had a target! He always won the lunchtime duulu championship and enjoyed his katogo alone. He became a mainstay on the players list while the competitors changed daily, with none beating Ssekandi. When it became obvious that Ssekandi could not be defeated, a massive boycott was organized circa 1995 to force Ssekandi into sharing.
As those agitators went about their thing, another group, which included yours truly went to the Headmistress to push for the inclusion of some sort of meal in the school fees paid by everyone. We registered progress when the school agreed to provide some white porridge to all learners without an increase in costs.
With changes happening beyond his control, Ssekandi found himself with nobody showing up for the Duulu competition. His skills went to waste. The cook also had her side hustle gone just like that. Life happened.
~Egesa Ronald Leonard
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