I still recall its sweetness when he gave it to us. Uncle Tom found us playing in the banana plantations. We were searching for the grasshopper which appeared seasonally when it rained in our village.
We searched for them on the ground and in the folds of the banana leaves. The first time we tasted it was when aunt brought it back from Kampala,
“Nakato and Kato come and get some sweets,” she’d cried. We were plucking the legs and wings off nsenene in the backyard of our grass-thatched hut. The sweets were different colours. I unwrapped the white vuvera, polythene paper, from one and threw it in my mouth. I felt the sticky honey sweetness fill my mouth and I swallowed. We ran past Joe’s house to reach Katumba’s house so that he could taste the nsenene.
Kato was panting. We wanted to tell Katumba the news quickly and run back home. Mummy didn’t want us playing with Katumba. She said he had bad manners; he liked playing with his male part in front of us.
“Katumba, our aunt came from Kampala,” Kato told him, from the cool shade where he was seated. He was plucking the wings and the legs of nsenene. The wind was blowing the bananas leaves lightly, swaying them from side to side.
“She brought for us some sweet.” Katumba dropped the saucepan he was holding. Kato broke the sweet, which looked like a small stone, into two halves with his teeth and gave one to Katumba, “Eat.”