Harriet N. Musoke

Oh My Pancakes!

I grew up loving kabalagala.
They were sweet, words can’t say enough;
They were sweet, and I later learnt that they are more nutritious;
Than bread that could get my hips bursting;
And because I am not disciplined enough at doing exercise,
Kabalagala remains my solace for break tea;
Lest, I lose my hard earned figure.

The muzungu, a high flying headmaster during my school days;
Imparted it into our little brains;
Girls must look good, presentable, well packaged;
Part of the outlook and sex appeal is the figure, so I try;
My feast on pancakes has never ended.

Since it was my delicious, anybody close to my auntie had to provide;
Or else, bad books with Evar meant a fall out with auntie;
And lose her, beautiful and famous as she was;
So this loving uncle bought them for me on the way to Rubaga Church.

While in church, bored stiff, I asked for my delicatessen;
Auntie, my pancakes;
Sh! Sh! we are still praying;
Auntie, my pancakes (voice getting a little loud);
Sh! Evar, you will have them after church;
Auntie, my pancakes (voice loud, caught people’s attention);
She gives them to me to avoid embarrassment.

Back home, I confessed to mum, two pancakes was not enough;
Don’t worry that my auntie had had a scam of it;
Mom gave me that big bank note to go get some more at the store;
Guess what! I went flying.

Coming back home after 2 hrs, mom wondered why I took so long;
So what happened?;
The seller did not have enough pancakes so I had to wait;
Overwhelmed at the loss of her money and my basketful;
Mom asked me to eat all of them;
Or so she thought, she had punished me;
I ganged up with my girlfriends and we ate them all;
To mom’s surprise;

Till now, pancakes remain my delicacy;
Oh! My pancakes