If this isn’t the most kafunda thing you have heard this year, please recalibrate your social status. You are obviously a lot more ghetto than you previously thought.
If you have heard anything that is more typically obviously, evidently borne from idle minds filled with cheap gin, you must be a Rocko Defense Sechuliteh.
This is what might have happened. There are four middle aged men, one of them being Paul Mutabaazi, father of the MC Fresh Kid. He is acting bashful at all the attention he has been getting lately.
When his son became a music star he became something of a feature of attention, but not quite a celebrity, not quite a star. These are kafunda men; they are not hip hop fans. They like their music old, melodic, and twangy– so they go with country, reggae and lingala. As far as they were concerned, the baby was just chanting discordant nonsense on the TV.
They made fun of Paulo because his kid was squeaking rancorously all over television and it amused them. Paulo grinned and took it all in, riposting, “Hey, whatever hustle works.”
Then in came the ministrations of the honourable state cabinet member, and the hullabaloo that ensued, and with it an elevation in attention, Fresh Kid became a news figure, a public talking point and a true celebrity.
Now Paulo was sitting pretty. The burden of school fees lifted off him. Plus a nice income from, well, from wherever musicians get incomes from– I know we don’t pay royalties to anyone and Fresh hasn’t got any concerts at Serena, clothing lines, commercial endorsements or even a TED talk– but this is a kafunda. They don’t do accounts here.
You millennials, yuppies, Museveni Generation peeps who prefer “happening nightspots” don’t know what Kafunda is.
It is two low benches, a swaybacked tabled between them, lit by a lamp that can’t be bothered to emit more than half a watt at a time.