The Officer Commanding (OC), Kira Road Police Station, Bukoto can make a woman want to get locked up for drunk-driving just so she can dream the night away in his presence. I see the man on the road at least once a week but I can’t get over the way he warms the blood under my skin. Before I go on, you ought to know that this is one of those thoughts that you’re sure you’re saying in your mind, only to realize much later that you actually typed it out loud.
I saw him today as I was winding up my morning run. He stood right outside the station, at the opposite side of the road. Arms akimbo, legs apart, he was talking to a driver with an over-loaded truck. His jaw was stern, his dark face unyielding but his eyes were so full of soul. I decided that this was the place I would do my stretch exercises. I placed my right hand onto the pole besides me and grabbed my left foot behind me with my left hand, gently pulling my heel towards my butt. I held position and looked straight ahead to appreciate the ray of masculine glory standing a few yards away.
His uniform exuding strength from his strong lean body; His well-fitting shirt running from his square shoulders and nicely outlining his broad chest and solid arms, just before it disappears, tucked securely underneath his firm torso; The black belt that is buckled steadily across his slim but solid waist firmly holding his trousers in such perfect place. His khaki trousers…GAWSH his white khaki trousers…they go on forever. Shelling narrow hips full of spirit, a tight butt filled with hope and triceps stuffed with promise. The black boots at the end of the long steamy journey; strapped firmly over a shin that clearly strides with purpose.
The sweat rolling down my neck was no longer from just the run. I looked back up and right there in that brief moment, his eyes caught mine. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. The adrenaline in my veins refused me to even try. The beat of my heart was pulsing unevenly. With an impartial nod, he smiled courteously. I started to smile back but he had turned his back to me and had started walking back into the station. Just as I was making the cautious decision to calm the hell down, a voice right in front of me bellowed – “Jangubebinkutwaleko”. Startled, I looked down at the man with a red helmet and orange jacket, and with whatever breath I could find, I responded “Neddassebo…ndibulungi”. I found my feet and run off. The man in the white uniform now only but a fleeting warm memory. P