Never get on a boda boda when you have diarrhea...

These ladies had a discreet beauty about them that wasn’t slay-queen loud, but instead was like a murmur or mur-maid resting at water's edge from the liquid depths of a wet dream.

The Trump-orange glow of the afternoon sun was organic to a presiding spirit of joy in my heart. Yes, I had arrived.

Then, suddenly, my stomach turned and emptied the air of bird song. Running at warp-speed, my stomach left me panting in its wake when I started running through a city of haves and have-nots in order to find a decent place to take a shit.

The faster I ran, however, the quicker my stomach surged.

They say civilization is in a race between education and catastrophe; at that point I needed to be educated where the nearest toilet was in order to avert a catastrophe!

Finally, I reached Grand Imperial Hotel.

When I got into the lobby, I greeted the receptionists with one hand while I kept the other firmly on a potentially leaking ass. Then I took a left and then a right as I raced down the hallway.

I then got into the toilet and found it was engaged!

Quick question: how can a Five Star Hotel have only a single toilet? Do they think the whole city shares one ass?

The irony is that I was in ‘shit’ because I couldn't take one, and when you are in this situation, no amount of prayer can save you: you either win the rectal lottery or you don't.

However, to my shock, my stomach slowed down and seemed to dry up. Then I realised: it wasn’t even diarrhea: I just needed to fart. So, I did.

Uh Oh.

That’s when I realised I was wrong: I actually needed to take a shit. My soiled underwear and trousers then looked up at me angrily and said, “No shit.”

Yep, I had done a slight ‘Number One’ on myself and I had to get out of the hotel, onto a boda boda taking me to the fringes of the cityscape, where I lived back then.

Outside the hotel, the diffused orange glow of the afternoon sun conspired with my diarrhea-brown rear to create a burnt-orange offering to the gods of poor sanitation.

I hailed a boda; but before I got onto to it I decided I should calculate how I should sit.

If I sat with my legs open by sitting astride the boda, this could intensify whatever stench was coming from my ass and make the boda guy cover his nose with both hands...then we’d end up going off the road or crashing to a shitty death.

Therefore, I decided to Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man.

So, I sat on the boda side-saddle, with both legs on one side of the pinion with the girly elegance of a guy who was taking no shit from any bemused or amused onlookers.