This was my most memorable meal.
Simon and I had risked our lives on taxi from Kampala to Masaka. (Not musaka, for that was what I ate with chips on some other memorable meals in another time and another place). Those taxis, Peugot 404 estates, were always overcrowded and driven dangerously fast.
In Masaka we found another taxi which was driven much more sensibly to somewhere well to the south. I forget the name, but it was a Roman Catholic Mission. Simon knew the Monsigneur, a monsigneur Sematiki, or something like that. The only thing I can remember is that it was a name beginning with ‘S’, but not a common Ganda name.
This was the first Roman Catholic mission I ever visited; the first of many. Most purpose built Catholic missions are build on the layout of a Roman villa, with a covered path around the edge of the atrium. We were each assigned a room on the perimeter of the atrium and then fed. Simon contributed some tinned food, but we were provided with a wonderful meal. Even now I remember the colour and flavour of that fibrous yellow matoke that had been steamed in a banana leaf. And the baked tilapia, and the groundnut sauce.
I didn’t even struggle with the bones of that fish. I have no idea how they did it. I just ate it.