Ugandian ground-based Kampala Casino - The Report

I am really not the gambling type; but I have recently become an occasional visitor at the Kampala Casino. I don’t belong to that nouveau riche crowd but I pop in to “pass time” without disturbing the peace of the mighty ones in their exclusive wing.

Mama Kisanja doesn’t know I go to the casino – because she would murder me for “wasting money when we still have so many things to do at home”!

Not a real gambler, I never go near the roulette tables. I get my kick spinning the standard slot machines.

So the other week I again went to the Casino – ready to spend only Shs 80,000 on the machines. That is the maximum I have set myself for such a silly, suicidal enterprise.

The previous three occasions had been sweet and sour.

The first time I spent Shs 80,000 and made Shs 250,000. The next time, I spent Shs 40,000 spinning and again collected Shs 250,000. That was tempting enough to make me return two days later. Another Shs 250,000 wouldn’t be bad.

But such is the addiction to gambling that you will always take the sucker punch when you least expect it. On the third visit I initially staked Shs 40,000 in coins.

Lost it all. Another 40,000 in – and lost again!

I would try one more time. The slot machine that had swallowed so many of my coins would surely become pregnant and spill out all the coins it had swallowed that day.

I risked another forty thou and quietly prayed for divine intervention.

I lost it all – and cursed God for being so unfair. I mean there are guys like Sudhir who are already making bundles elsewhere and they are the ones who tend to win whenever they gamble.

Anyway, that was already 120 thou down the drain that night. Lousy pocket change for Sudhir not me. Still I was not about to give up. But my favourite machine – Double Diamonds – had other ideas.

It swallowed all my coins – but gave nothing back. I checked my pockets but could only dig up Shs 2,000.

I drove home - dejected. I returned to the casino on Friday night and staked my standard 80 thou. I lost it all. I staked the last 40 thou on me and lost again. Time check: 3.00 a.m.

I grabbed my ATM card and rushed to the bank; desperately drew Shs 500,000 and returned to the casino.

I staked Shs 100,000. I returned to Double Diamonds but a steward implored me to try another machine. “That one is not in the mood today,” he said.

I ignored him. Something told me: Stay put with Double Diamonds. But my coins were running low and I was about to throw away the bucket and go home – when, lo, hit the jackpot.

“Congratulations Baba Paj. Congs!” Everyone was saying. The electronic panel flashed: Shs 6,705,000!

I know there are folks who make one thousand times more money at the casino, but for a smalltime gambler, this was my biggest jackpot ever. My first ever.

I was too excited to take a cheque, so I took cash. It was 4.30 a.m. but I called Mama Kisanja and confessed my secret sin: I was out gambling away the family’s increasingly miserable fortunes but ended up hitting a jackpot.

How much? She asked. Six million, I said. “God works in mysterious ways!” Mama Kisanja agreed: “Ok, you are forgiven. Come home now – but be careful.”

As I drove home, with my ka jackpot under the seat, I remembered the first time I went to Kampala Casino and was mercilessly thrown out. I had arrived shabbily dressed, in tracksuits and sneakers, and was barred at the entrance.

I pleaded; cursed; howled; begged; whizzed; even farted to annoy them; but the stewards would not budge. “We are sorry Baba Paj. We all know you, but Kampala Casino has its rules … and a dress code. Go home and change, then come back!”

I had walked away, so sheepishly.

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