In Rukungiri district, South-Western Uganda, Lubega Charles’ family gathers weekly around a pit filled with ripening bananas. The ocassion begins with peeling these bananas, tossing them into a boat-shaped wooden vat, where the patriarch, barefoot, takes center stage.
Lubega extracts sweet juice from the bananas, filtering it and adding sorghum grains, transforming it into ethanol.
This concoction, known as “tonto” or “tontomera” in the Luganda language, hints at its consumers’ impaired coordination. Weaker than bottled beer, tonto carries a fruity aroma with sorghum bits adorning its dark surface.
Tonto holds legendary status in Uganda, celebrated by folk singers, politicians seeking public appeal, and concluding traditional ceremonies with tonto parties. Its admirers span across all walks of life, from suited officials to sandal-wearing laborers.
Yet, tonto’s existence faces threats. The allure of cheaper bottled beer tempts consumers, and authorities aim to restrict the production of home-brewed tonto due to potential deadly contamination. The absence of official oversight in tonto’s production also means a loss of revenue for authorities.
Parliament’s proposed bill seeks to regulate alcohol production, potentially criminalizing tonto’s home brewers and other traditional brews across East Africa.
However, farmers grapple with a pressing issue—insufficient planting of banana cultivars essential for tonto production. Communities prioritize commercially viable banana varieties used for popular dishes like matooke, neglecting the cultivation of bananas crucial for tonto.
In the rustic realm of Muraro Village, Nyakagyeme Sub-county, Rukungiri district, a humble peasant Lubega, traces his rendezvous with tonto back to his childhood days in the 1970s. He laments the dwindling number of cultivars essential for extracting banana juice, possessing only a handful of these precious plants.
His modus operandi involves painstakingly sourcing bananas, one bunch at a time, from neighboring farmers until he fills the petite pit on his plantation.
With bated breath, he awaits the natural subterranean warmth that swiftly ripens the bananas, setting the stage for the weekly pressing—a revered event in their familial tapestry.
The mere thought of a world without tonto to vend sends shivers down their collective spine, as this ritual is interwoven so intricately into their lives.
While Lubega proudly extols the unwavering demand for his weekly brew, he rues the recent sluggishness in both demand and supply. The root of this quandary lies in the stagnant retail price of tonto over the decades juxtaposed with the mounting intricacies of its brewing process. His laborious quest for bananas now spans greater distances, aggravated by the soaring price of sorghum.
“Crafting tonto demands a colossal investment of time,” Lubega laments. “It’s not akin to someone effortlessly harvesting matooke, tossing it onto a bicycle, and turning it into immediate cash. No, alcohol—tonto—demands journeys far and wide.”
Amidst the allure of the rapid gains from matooke, savored raw as a Ugandan staple, Lubega paints a picture of the profound toil and patience demanded by tonto production—an elixir that emerges from distant horizons.
With each brewing session, the family crafts five to six 20-liter jerricans, each commanding a price of approximately $8. In a market where a mere half-liter of tonto fetches 27 cents, significantly less than the cheapest bottled beer priced at 67 cents.
A sole customer, only identified as Ndyanabo, purchases tonto and its distillate, reselling it to small bars across Rukungiri and other Western districts of Uganda. To Ndyanabo, tonto isn’t just a drink; it’s a lunchtime favorite—a refreshing alternative to beer, akin to juice without the looming threat of a hangover.
Describing tonto as a hangover-free “porridge,” Ndyanabo ardently advocates its daily consumption, hailing it as a necessity in one’s routine.
Another tonto vendor, referred to as “Kabaduudu,” revels in receiving two jerricans of this brew daily. He acknowledges the challenges faced by his business but remains undeterred, affirming the sustainability of his trade, drawing patrons from every corner of Rukungiri.
“Tonto’s saga will endure,” he declares confidently, projecting an air of invincibility against the odds.
Amidst the bustling commerce of these vendors and their patrons, tonto emerges not just as a libation but an everlasting tradition, resilient and unwavering.
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