“Who is your friend getting married to?” Mitima asked Nabulya.”I don’t know the man. I have never met him” she replied. They were about to cross Westminster Bridge. Nabulya pressed her foot down on the pedal to slow down the car. Mitima looked at her friend’s black high heeled shoes and wondered how she managed to drive while dangling from such height. Her long arms and slim hands gently turning the driving wheel, revealing red and black decorated nails. She looked down below at the boats on the River Thames, they looked like garden insects crawling along the water. She remained silent, wondering why she had agreed to go with Nabulya to this wedding preparation meeting. She hardly knew any Ugandans in South London and this was not her friend. It had been about ten years since she went for any sort of Ugandan social gathering south of the river.
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