Building the Nation

Degstar's Inferno

2007-03-28T19:08:00.000+03:00

March 26, 2007
I am an insomniac.
Some days are better than others.
The last few weeks have been horrid.
This is an account of a typical night for me.

12:30am - Sis wakes me after I fall asleep on the couch awaiting The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, to stay awake I grab the last chocolate chip cookie from tea at Charlotte’s place earlier today.

1:30am - elec bursts. Shoot. I’m going to bed, besides Top Gear aint even coming on no more. Bloody hell. Send Sheeba a text, she prolly just having dinner right now. Bloody mosquito is back, wonder where’s it been last few days

2:00am - say the first of what will be many prayers, decide to wear jeans and wingtips tomorrow + Cherie’s Red Ribbon

2:15am - I think its gonna be another of those nights, get up and go fetch a banana from the dining room, eat it in bed, drop the peel on the floor, will throw it away when the sun’s up, lock the bedroom door, think abt sleeping in the buff, might help

2:30am - shit, last Saturday was baby bro’s birthday and even tho I told Sis about it I then forgot! Damn. Double damn. Dats why he wanted to take me out for drinks! And I turned him down (Lenten season and all), oh I’m a bad bad person

3:00am - get out of bed and turn on the light switch just in case, decide to leave it on anyway, think longingly about the quarter of gin in the dining room, Ms. Swan’s packet of fags in my wardrobe, maybe even a joint, anything to knock me out

3:20am - Baby bro gets up to take a pee. I know its him from the way he flicks on the light switch, waits a beat and turns it off when the lights don’t come on. But most of all I know it’s him coz he don’t flush after tinkling. I stopped fighting that, Live and let live is my motto

3:30am - decide I’ll buy baby bro a book for his birthday tomorrow. Reread my text messages for like maybe the 20th time tonight, must drop in to say hello to Geoffa my dentist he’s sent quite a few reminders that I need a check-up and cleaning – yeah I do. Sheeba’s telling me about visiting Birmingham and getting her hair done in cornrows, gud 4 her, she promises pictures. Stella’s sent me the petition to boycott Lugazi sugar for what they wanna do to Mabira forest, I’m down with that. Kalyegira’s fishing 4 info on where I used to work, I be diplomatic in my answer – never kick people wen they’re down, lest they get up n put a hurtin on u – then he wants to write a story on my uncle’s death in the Raid on Entebbe, mmph, mummy rarely speaks of it, wonder if I can get Jajja to do so

3:47am - damn mosquito is back again, maybe DDT isn’t such a bad idea afterall, my ingrown toe nail starts throbbing, must be time to trim it again, oh dear, the blood and the pain

3:50am - take out pen and paper to start writing this stuff down, my memory’s starting to get stretched, use the light from my cell phone to do the deed

3:56am - thank God I sleep alone, the tossin and turning and contorting, I belong in a circus or sumthin, duvet hit the floor long ago, only got a sheet covering my modesty, drumming in the distance, who the hell throws a party on Sunday nite/Monday morning?

3:57am - realize the neighbourhood stray cat hasn’t turned over the trash pails tonight, since I missed supper, I guess that means we had like beans or something, that cat only come when we have meat or fish, in my mind Phoebe from Friends starts singing “Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you?...”

3:58am - I need a phone with radio, like the one girlfriend took from me, contemplate getting out of bed to go get another banana, insomnia makes you hungry like that

4:01am - tired of unlockin the phone every 5 seconds so I can write by the light, definitely going to get that banana, then I’ll have to find another warm spot in my bed that allows me to lie still for more than 5 minutes, wind picks up outside, seems like a drizzle coming on

4:06am - sheesh man, even AJ hasn’t woken up to feed tonight, that’s strange, are they giving him brandy again, I was just joking about doin that! He’s still a baby

4:17am - after holding his peace all nite the neighbour’s mangy flea bitten wound infested cur adds his yelping to the general chorus of dog mayhem out here, sounds like a version of the musical DOGS, as opposed to CATS, chest hurts from leaning over the side of the – wooden – bed to write this on paper on the floor, def. going for that banana

4:24am - banana is finished; fight with sheets to untangle them, think longingly about Valium, again, no rain yet

4:27am - maybe Charlotte was right and I can’t sleep because I’m worried about stuff, then my worries must be for CHOGM! Let’s see, there’s my impending break-up to makeup with Boo, rite now I want the break-up but she comes from a good family, she’d make a great wife, what? U thought I was marrying for love? bambi

4:29am - uganda needs an all nite toll free trash talk show like they have in Manchester on Capital FM or Radio One, the station with Chris Moyles in the morning, that station was wicked, I think the show was called Barbage with this DJ just dissing other people and their ridiculous “problems” like the 16 year old who wanted to drop out of school, have a baby with her 17 year old unemployed boyfriend and then get a council flat coz she would be a single unemployed mother, on welfare, know what he said to her? School first, sprogging later, get ur head n hormones straight – I cant repeat the other disses, they were too war

4:37am - sky’s beginning to lighten, ever so subtly, where’s the chorus of DOGS + CATS go? There’s just that far off lone dog in what sounds like Bukoto-Kisaasi

4:40am - earlier today saw an episode of Smallville in which Clark saves Lois + Lex Luthor from a bullet shot at them by this chameleon assassin – he make himself invisible n stuff – who Lois had fallen for, then because Lois and Lex were both cowering in fright and didn’t see Clark stop the bullet – supersonic speed n all – she thinks Lex saved her life then she falls for him and is now gonna date him –despite Clark’s warning not to- since she broke up with Clark?!!! Small wonder no one in the house ever caught on to Smallville, it’s like the Barbarita thingy, why cant women take constructive advice from their ex-es on the men they wanna date? Just coz we didn’t work out don’t mean I don’t know what’s good 4 u

4:42am - why’d the contestants in “The Apprentice” seem so dense? Aint they the best and brightest that Stato has to offer? Now my entire foot is throbbing like the blood just started flowing back into it, pins and needles here

4:44am - if I had to which would I rather lose? An arm or a leg? If I was being tortured? U cant waltz without a leg –unless u’re Heather Mills ex McCartney- but then u cant make love with only 1 arm, oba a nipple vs a finger? An ear or a … cojone (can u lose just the one?) does Kony give his victims a chance to choose? I’m fed up hearing the sound the phone makes when it’s locking the keypad!

4:49am - 2 days ago Cedric at the shop pointed out my impending bald head for the 2nd time in less than a month, oba I start wearing a clean shaven head? Is my hair receding that fast?

4:57am - the music in the background? Definitely lingala, at this time on Monday morning? What sort of moron is awake to be listening to it? Well, apart from me of course?

5:01am - do we have trains near Kisaasi? Cause I hear a train or the humming of heavy machinery, like a convoy of 60 foot trailer trucks, a very long convoy indeed, shoot! Tis now 5:02am! I concede the fight to fall asleep now, ah well, we’ll just await sunrise then

5:10am - sumthin bites me on the right elbow, scratching it I do a mental checklist of everything I’ve tried before to fall asleep; Sade (Love Deluxe always works), reading, tea, coffee (caffeine relaxes me, not the other way round), physical exhaustion (a couple dozen situps and push ups), yeah I need valium, the trains are back, faint rumblings of thunder in d distance, that’d be nice, rain whilst y’all go to work Monday morning so I can get some sleep, rain’s soothing like that

5:18am - rain sweeps up from the valley, thank you Lord, at least now the dust will be dealt with

7:55am - I open my eyes to electricity after a rather tortured dream in which I was an Italian carabinieri marching upto the gates of the Italian embassy and demanding to be let in … too many late nights my boy? Hmmph?

Together Tunawakilisha

2007-03-28T19:05:00.000+03:00

The East African Federation will be achieved from the bottom up not from the Presidents down, witness the proliferation, not of Kenyan students with their own university, but of Campus 1st years saying they need pocket money ati they’re bursting to the beach? Which one? Ish, ate which one? Diani of course.

A few days ago, there was a chick in my dusty Kisaasi taxi arguing with the conductor in like a South C accent, it got me thinking, where wont you find a Kenyan these days? Then I remembered that we started it, in the 1800s, now they’re just coming back home. Ati what, u don’t click, ok, tell me this, was Mzee Jomo Kenyatta the son of Omukama Kabalega or was he not?

According to an article in The New Vision of March 26, 2007 written by one George Kasede Mukasa who lifted this information from the national archives of the Seychelles sometime in the early 90’s, it states in a document marked “Exile No. 3-1901”;

“In 1897 mutiny broke out in the recruited Sudanese troops. It soon spread all over the country. Finally the two kings Mwanga and Kabalega who had opposed British colonial policies in their country joined the mutiny. They were captured by the British and deported to the Seychelles via Nairobi. They arrived on board the SS Boodana on October 7, 1901. Eleven of them and the three principal leaders were: King Mwanga of Buganda, King Kabalega of Bunyoro and Prince Kabalega the son of king Kabalega. During their transit in Nairobi, King Kabalega is believed to have had an affair with a Kenyan Kikuyu girl. She later had a boy who was to be one of the founding fathers of Kenya. On their arrival they were sent to Mont Plaisir (Majoie) and kept under Police surveillance.”

Could it be? Is the grand doyen of Kenyan nationalism a son of the soil? A millet bread and cowpeas in groundnut stew eater? You know us in Uganda we have a long tradition of breeding future presidents of other countries, lets see there is;

1. H. E. Paul Baguma Kagame of Rwanda, grew up near my village. His crib on the road to the Naalya estate is the only crib in the entire area that has elec 24/7/356, whether there’s loadshedding of elec or fuel going on or not. And he don’t even live there.

2. H. E. John Gonzaga Garang de Mabior (RIP), from Rubaga near the Cathedral. Old soldiers never die, they just … fade way. Aluta Continua Afande.

3. H. E. Salva Kirya Kiir, also from Rubaga but the lower side near Pastor Kayanja’s Cathedral. What’s with the fedora, dude? Get yourself an African leopard skin hat or sumthin, like Mobutu’s. That’s the ish right there.

4. H. E. Benjamin Musoke Mkapa who studied in my alma mater, Makerere. He was a Goat.

5. H. E. Joseph Desire Semakula Kabila, from the slummy surburb of Makindye. He’s a great fan of Ugandan ragga ala Ragga Dee, Rasta Rob MC aka Master Robbo and Shanks Vivie D. He also dresses like a Luwum Street businessman, check out the suit on page 2 of the New Vision March 27, 2007.

6. H. E. Mwai Kasozi Kibaki who also went to Makerere, at least he was a Gentleman, and is fondly remembered in the shebeens of Katanga, was probably steadying himself up for Lucy. Good man really, what else can you say about him? Think he’s the only politician with a colourful private life? You must not be reading the papers lately… even M7 …

7. the next president of RSA, Tokyo Okema Sexwale or Cyril Adyeeri Ramaphosa, who spent the apartheid years chilling in the ANC camp in Nakasongola district. The skills they honed in bargaining for cassava and fresh beans with the locals have stood them in good stead in their climb to prosperity, the BEE policy has also helped a bit.

Over to the folks at the Historical Society of Kenya, we be waiting?

P.S. seriously Campus 1st years don’t be going to Diani beach, they can’t handle. U cant even claim to be going to outside countries when you go shopping/holidaying/lounging in Nai, its like going to Rwanda, man you just be going to like another district.

Paging All Men

2007-03-28T18:45:00.000+03:00

I am not a crackhead, I’m just very crack-ish.

I would like every member of the Homo sapiens race who does susu – in an arched semi circle - whilst standing on two legs to lend me a hand here (Ivan, I believe my description is ambiguous enough to include you, no?).

What are the 10 things that, in a perfect world – perish the thought, but could you just imagine? – You would want to tell your wife/girlfriend/girlfriend’s mum/sister/friend/the chick from the Bukedde editorial team (Baz?)/the bu nice waitresses at Cheese bar/22 year old chicks driving $60,000 M-class Mercedes SUVs/Angella Katatumba/Juliana/Iryn/Barbara Yata/the chick who reads the 9am news on WBS (again, Baz?)/your boss’ wife/sister/secretary/the blogger chicks who are dying with anonymous stalkers/the worship leader in the church that she makes you go to/ur boss (Ivan)/the Kenyan chick u secretly have a hard on (women call it a crush) for (that would be me, for Suzanna Owiyo/Awiyo/Awilo…KC, some help plz?)/Aisha from KFM/Crystal from Sanyu FM/one of the Hot 100 FM gals…

What gems of masculine insight and galaxy realigning nuggets of wisdom would you bring worth if you could, not under the influence of one Tusker too many – is that possible? – and with nary a thought as to the immediate cataclysmic repercussions of said honesty; what would you say?

Here’s one thing I would say;
1. If you want me to hold you and cuddle you and rub your feet and shit, when its like “us time”, don’t be slapping my hand away and telling me to get God when I wanna take it to 2nd base. Get this, either we’re playing baseball or we’re not, don’t be getting all cosy with the batter’s bat if you aint gonna be handling what the pitcher’s gonna throw at you. Change your love language if you ain’t ready for all or nothing.

Nah, that wasn’t brutal enough, I would say;
1. I don’t care if you’re running for Guild President/Employee of the month/Bank teller of the quarter/Choir girl of the Easter Production/Mayor whatever, when I’m walking with you, forget the kissing babies, glad handing peeps & “hi Barbara” across the street, that chick didn’t remember u love, let it go, don’t be broadcasting “us” to every third person, cant you see they cant be bothered to be happy for you? Us? They got their own issues already.

Still not quite hitting the spot! Maybe;
1. No I don’t want to go your friends’ birthday party with you; I’d rather say home and read last Sunday’s papers. Go show them the picture of us you carry in your wallet, the one you made us take.

Nothing new there. How about;
1. I will never be “down” with your best friend’s boyfriend. Ever. We will say “hey” to each other and that will be it. I will not invite him to hang out with my boys and I. LOL!

Oh, I’m hopeless at this, maybe I should say;
1. Look, if I wanted to have the light falling just so on my bed through the window, I would move it over there and not have it over here, ok? Take a chill pill already and leave my bed alone! Besides my ex likes it this way for when she comes over…

I can’t do this, I haven’t the ruthlessness to do this but the guy who wrote the male remix to Beyonće’s Irreplaceable, now that’s a guy with brass ones, big round brass inkpots.
Men, over to you.

sh............t!

2007-03-21T23:59:00.000+03:00

Mr. Magoo,

negro, i dont know how i did it but this shit happened for real! i just had to tell someone.listen today i had all three of my women up in my sister's shop, man i was rolling! basically i had Aisha sitting next to me on the divan checking out pictures or some shit on my laptop, then Elizabeth Swan (from Pirates Of The Carib...role play negro, role play) was on my other side and finally CuCu was at the desk checking out the latest issue of African Woman in which my siso appears as Degstar's sis n friends - her friends gonna b pised at that description - this shit was off d hook!!! i mean the one i'ma do next all about to feel my flow - if galfrend chucks me at end of Lent, hell i might just do her anyways, i'm nasty like that LOL - Ms. Swan and i, well i like her freak and wen i went to get some ice cream with her, i asked and she said we gon do it on the beach next so i gotta find a good beach, any suggestions? then like i had both Ms. Swan and Aisha trying on the merchandise for my viewing pleasure - in case y'all forgot we sell women's clothing, Cherie we got bonus points coming ur way, Carlo, i have the sweetest fitted woolen jacket with sheringbone pink piping for u, the rest of u, where u at? - and i was like, that skirt bring out ur hips Love, that blouse was made 4 you Sugarpie, why dont u try on these linen pants? hey Love get out of the changing room i wanna see u in that little number ... man i sold so many skirts n blouses n shit today! i think i've discovered my calling - to sell women clothing. so like, damn, i had all three chicks in the shop today n i didnt plan it, they all just came by, man we even had Select fries n Chicken together, all civil like. and i, well u know how u have nightmares about all ur tricks showing up and u say sumthin to mess up dat shit? uh ha, not me negro, i handled that shit, baby girl best be getting all up in my grill 'cause man i'm getting a wee bit tired of saying no to my body, i'm like R. Kelly, my mind's telling me no but my body, my body's telling me yeeeesssssss.....i dont see nuthin wrong..with a litto bump n grind,remember how we use dto get down to that on the tape player? well, i'm goin all old skool on this shit. damn man, we coulda had some drama up in there, all past, present n future, instead we had fries, chicken, ice cream AND I SOLD A LOTTA THREADS! my sis musta just love me, i'm good for business like that.

how'd u like me now?

Julius.

honey, I'm home!!

2007-03-19T23:29:00.000+03:00

xtra xtra
3 dollars only
6 new posts,
dont miss a single one.

i ApoloGIZE

2007-03-19T22:59:00.000+03:00

truly twasnt my fault
even me i did not want
first my laptop would not access the internet
and somehow all the cheap cafes employ CPUs which dont recognise my flash disk
then i got all caught up in trying to make a buck
or two
then a lot of shit happened
like my cousin took a french leave from school
i hear to go get her "O" level certificate
then she came to my house
i s'pect she had a lotta proggie planned
women's day weekend n all
then her dad found out and also came to my house
so there was a big ass row
she refused to go home with him
saying she wanted to go to her mum's - mum n dad dont live together
he reminded her of d deal from the last time this shit happened
-yeah she dun run away from home before, see
-i blog my shit, she runs away from places
she finishes S.6, she a candidate, then he takes her to Mum,
she didnt buy it, wanted to go now
he lost it
came short of disowning her pesky ass
drove off in a huff
she stayed for a few days
spent her days playing dress up in my sis' closet
-which my sis claims to be "nothing to wear" afflicted
and her nights watching La Revancha
so i called Mum, we call her Cassandra, for advice
then cousin went back to school
and got expelled, for staying out too long or something
then her dad came home and told us
that her mother had in fact passed away last year
and he'd found out this year
kept it a secret from his daughter
planned on tellin her in december
so anyways - wen he fetched her expelled ass - he took her to see her mum's grave
blasted his in-laws for not telling him wen it happened
while my cousin just ... well she cried n den cried some more
so basically no one is saying it
but does that mean she gon drop out of school this year?
i mean, she dun gat expelled already

am i forgiven now?

Life Is...

2007-03-19T22:56:00.000+03:00

Started on Thursday March 1, 2007
Finished the day I posted it

Life is;
1. Seating on the couch watching Straka on the Late Show whilst alternately chewing on a rolex, sipping on lemon quencher and typing this out. Its lent and I’m fasting Rock Nite because of all the evil influences it brings into my otherwise peaceful life, like the last time I went, after BHH 2.0, I ended up … hang on, one of my exes reads this blog for all I know the woman of my life has stumbled across it, discretion will be the wiser option here.

2. spending the last 4 hours listening to Aisha teach me about the benefits of islam, with a special emphasis (at my insistence) on the sexual habits, laws and freedoms of those who are believers. There is a difference see between believers, those who have proclaimed the one true God Allah and his prophet Muhammed PBUH, and the other run of the mill muslims who are not believers. Kinda like us christians and our confess with your lips and believe with your heart stuff about the difference btn savedees and the other lot.

3. Did you know that the Holy Qur’an has a couple verses dedicated to the proper way to make love? Basically anywhere as long as it’s not in number 2. Think I jest? Look it up in chapter 4 - the Sarqat al Baqara

4. Sitting in my brother’s office at the Conference Centre looking out over the parking lot, smelling the wet asphalt and the clean crisp air courtesy of the just ended drizzle, listening to How does it Feel? By Avril, sipping on busheera porridge and for a long fleeting moment – after a really long while – feeling that everything could be … just right.

5. loving your girlfriend even when she tells you that she’s having a really hard time thinking about … stuff … like are you the one for her, did she choose you with Godly direction or was it just her hormones speaking? Like when she asks you to pray that y’all get married and when, thrown for six, you reply with a host of positively uplifting scriptures and wise sayings e.g. Ecc. 9:10, she unleashes a century on you by asking you to remember all these “excellent sayings and scriptures” should the occasion arise … like say should the Lord divulge that you are not the Adonis of her life, the Jason of her sky, the Antonio of her Venice, the Darcy of her village, the Pip of her society or the Heathcliff of her Moor.

6. The Cricket World Cup being on. Time to dust up on the old skills, teach these bu young Turks a spin or two.

7. Benoni breaking down marriage for you and making it seem as easy as … a cold lager going down the hatch on Rock Nite with Puddle of Mudd doing Blurry in the background on EV bass bins … he always did have a knack for simplifying stuff down to the barest details and you always did have a knack for looking at Gulliver through the eyes of a Lilliputian.

8. Swearing for the umpteenth time how badly I need a new laptop, one that does not believe anything more than 256 MB of RAM is an ostentatious waste of space. A laptop that, weight wise, feels like a manila paper folder and not Frank Wood’s Pure Mathematics (aaah, Frank Wood, the terror of the ’99 PEM class). A laptop, can y’all hear me that I can carry down to Café Pap without being embarrassed at the time it takes to start up; flashing lights, whirring noises and all, can I get an Amen? Most importantly though, a laptop that does not begin shaking uncontrollably and spewing thick white smoke through its vents whenever I try to install Illustrator CS2, kwegamba, a laptop that – if I wanted – could take Windows Vista, just as soon as someone has finished debugging it. I’ll settle for a G4 iBook.

9.

Commercial Break 2

2007-03-19T22:53:00.000+03:00

As I said to Olivia a month ago, if it was good enough for the wisest man who ever lived, its good enough for me. I’m down with polygamy. The papers confirmed it recently; there are more of you than there is of us, so y’all gotta learn to share. And don’t be jumping your place in the queue.

Peace & Love,
Julius.

Death of an Eland

2007-03-19T22:50:00.000+03:00

4:26 am
Thursday February 8

I am not a happy camper right now. I am so unhappy that sleep has jammed to take me away to the land of Baywatch Beach babes, where the chicks just run around all day in their oh so clingy bikinis. Lemme tell you why I am not happy and then you’ll want to stay up with me, I hope.

My bro and I are working on a proposal for like a really big corporation, actually the biggest in its field, seriously big, they’re in the top 5 tax payers big, which we’re handing in on Friday. His boss is on maternity leave so he’s been holding down the fort on his own, I chip in occasionally, being more than somewhat skilled in these things of Creative Stuff and PR and Advertising and leja-leja. He got the brief yesterday but one and we started work on it that night. Then yesterday I was in Entebbe doing stuff that will earn my mum, and me eventually Ushs … it’s a 7 figure amount. I get back into town at 6pm and I’ve told him we’ll work late so I head over to his office at the Serena. Yes, seriously. Ok, not the Serena, the Conference Centre right next to the Serena, same Compound.

I get there; lay out the Artboard and the themes we’re working with so we can like try to cobble a working concept together. So whiles he’s getting started I nip round the corner for some takeout and to call Pete in Nairobi who’d been AWOL for a bit. Did you know that the working girls in that area were already out at 7:30 pm? Damn, it’s hard out here for a pimp-ess! Bambi, they had nice perfume. Anyway I get supper, we make coffee and then the artwork starts flowing fast and thick. Mummy calls, yes I call her “Mummy”, what do you call yours? “Mother?” so dats like an hour of jazz and hey presto, before we know it its like 10pm; I’m like really into this other design job I’m doing for a client, and so is he, so we just plow on ahead, 11pm, midnight, 1am, more coffee, bad music on Radio One, we’re like oba we go home and sleep? Anti he has a paper at 4pm today and I’m attending my Cousin Akim’s Kwanjula today at Noon, I think I’m s’pposed to be his “brother” but as usual ain’t no one telling me shit until the last minute.

Somehow we forget to leave and before we know it it’s like quarter to 3am and I’m like, I don’t wanna lug my laptop around at 6am when a cab can drive it home for me now so we make 1 last cup of coffee and call YelloCab. Now, me I’m a creature of habit, when I find someone or something I like, I stick with them till death. I used to have 2 YelloCab captains to call; Laeticia during the day and Oscar at night, we’all was so tight that even wen I was piss drunk and flat broke, Oscar would take me home and put me in bed and I’d pay him when next I saw him. Or I’d call Laeticia and she’d come pick up his dime from the office. He’d even turn off the meter and like say, “man, just gimme 10k and we be kawa”. We’all was family; Oscar knew all my babes and their pecking order and he’d keep my ass out of the doghouse on more than one occasion like when he’d bring one over and she’d be asking him whether I got other women and he’d be like, “waah, that guy me I know him, he’s saved kabisa, he doesn’t do those things of play playing around. He’s serious alo!” then he’d tell me so I’d know to stick to his script. We was tight like that. Then both him and Laeticia moved on to, I guess, better jobs and I’ve been stuck everly since. Now I only go out when there’s a car in the picture.

So when my bro’s cab arrives and parks at the hotel despite instructions to the contrary, I’m thinking, ok, this is one to watch, this must be a bad apple. Oh, the pain of being proven right. We get in the car and I ask him first off if his meter works, a fortnight ago, 1 of them told me his meter don’t work and then charged me 5k from Arirang Restaurant to Cheese Bar. For you KC, that’s like charging you 50 bob from All Saints Cathedral, Valley Road to Nakumattt, Mama Ngina Street. Broad night time robbery! Jamma assures me his meter works and turns it on and sure enough its set to the night time rate which is like double the day rate, sawa, we burst.

Now get this, we’re going to Ntinda from the Serena, the easiest route is, upon exiting the hotel, to turn left opposite MTN/Crested Towers, go up to the junction and turn right down to Kitante Road, left again, then right at the Golf Club Roundabout to make another left onto Acacia Avenue upto Kisementi where you turn right at Capital FM past Al Zee’s through Kisementi then up, right again, past Lohana Academy, left onto whatever that road is called (Prince Phillip Drive?) that runs down past Arya Primary to join Lugogo Bypass where you turn left, drive 60 metres to the Kiira Road Police Station and then go up through The Bukoto Flats and straight to Ntinda, sindio? Even piss drunk I could drive that route with one arm. And I have done so.

Now this dwanzie exits the hotel and turns RIGHT, clearly disregarding the “No Right Turn” sign, me I think he’s gonna turn left at the Radio Uganda Roundabout to connect down to Kitante Road. Wapi. At the Roundabout he turns left and seems to be heading up Speke Road as if towards Speke Hotel sides, I’m like “Ssebo, we’re going to Ntinda, innit shorter to go that way (pointing to the direction I mention above)?” Qouth he, “ok, we’ll pass there if that’s what you want”, “yessir, that’s what I want”. He swings the car round and then the meter kicks in and starts doing Inzikuru, Kip Keino and Gebreselassie on us. I’m keeping one beady one on that motherf..ker, yes I am.

Cabbie flows with the program until the Golf Club roundabout where instead of turning right to Acacia, he does a left at which I holla, “Negro, hold up! Where y’all going son?” “I’m going to drive through Mulago to Ntinda” “but it’s shorter to take Acacia Ave through Kamwokya” “me I don’t know that shortcut” “what the hell kinda cab driver you are if you don’t know shortcuts? Scratch that, what kinda driver doesn’t know shortcuts?” “Me I don’t know Kampala shortcuts” - to myself “shit, another just off the bus Johnny come lately rip off artist from Mbarara!” - Out loud – “yeah whatever, follow my directions hereon, go through Acacia!” We were good till we got to Capital FM, then he asked for directions so I turn him Right through the Al Zee crowd – drunkass kids standing around in the road sipping from plastic tumblers - then we get to the other end of Kisementi and – y’all wont believe it, he turns left!

For the benefit of y’all who don’t live in Kampala, lemme break that shit down for you. Turning left and not right like the plan above, meant he would go down to La Fontaine where he had 2 options;
1. turn right onto Bukoto Street which is the only Kamwokya Street with potholes all the way – 300 odd metres - down to the left turn junction onto the main Kiira Road – at the Kamwokya market - where you then turn right and do like 1.2km/1200 metres (basically 3 football pitches laid out end to end) to come back to the aforementioned Kiira Road Police Station
2. go straight past La Fontaine and end up back on Acacia where he’d turn right to the Mawanda Road junction to make another right turn that would leave him approaching the kamwokya market, option 1 above, from even farther up than the distance between the market and the Police Station

I was totally out of it! I demanded an explanation. His heated answer? He wasn’t going up towards Lohana “because its not safe!” This road has for tenants, NGOs and gated compounds, with security lighting. It’s such a boring surburbian road it doesn’t even have stray dogs chilling in the area. More like Chihuahuas and Jack Russells, safely asleep in their padded baskets next to the Mistress of the House’s bed. And did I mention almost all the gated compounds have askaris? With pump action shotguns, Ugandan style?

Well, I told him I was not going to be ripped off – their meters run according to the rotations of the tires, the more spins they make, the more your ass pays – and if he was not going to take my preferred route, I would pay him off, get out, in the drizzle, and walk back to Al Zee’s where there were plenty of cabs to be had for the asking. He shut up and drove to Ntinda, through my route and when I saw he was speeding in an attempt to get more tire rotations I kept quiet about the road repairs opposite the Kwik-Save Supermarket just after Blue Mango. And indeed, he bashed his car in the neat square holes that the City Council creates out of our huge raggedy ass potholes before they fill ‘em up with murram, y’all know what I’m talking about yeah? Then he bashed his cat again in the potholes opposite the Ethiopian restaurant as you enter Ntinda proper because he was going too fast to see it coming. Made me feel all warm and tingly inside.

Needless to mention I stopped him in the trading centre, we got out, paid him off, went got ourselves some Rolexes then jumped on boda bodas all the way home. Shit, we shoulda just taken bodas from the Serena, if we could find them, it woulda been less stress. I feel better now so I’ma catch some shuteye, 5:42 am, the Muzzein dude’s calling the faithful to prayer. Gotta be up at 8:30 to get my Kwanjula groove on. Then I remember that the Girlfriend has my Kanzu.

Damn, can’t a brother get some peace? There’s war in the Middle East and war on the streets … it’s hard out here for a pimp!

Peace & Love,
Julius.

Ekigambo kya Wiiki

2007-03-19T22:44:00.000+03:00

My brother, by dint of his job, comes into more than occasional contact with all sorts of street wise characters. As a result of his parlays with aforementioned specimens of the homo-sapiens race, he will frequently repair to our domicile with one or more gems of literary street smart wisdom. Such as this one from the other night, expressed to him by some Charlie on like Nkrumah Road;

“Ekye beyi kisigala kya beyi! Omuganda takola mu Securicor.”

I’m still peeing myself.

Memoirs of a Brick Layer

2007-03-19T21:20:00.000+03:00

A couple weeks ago, last but one to be exact I woke up bright and early on Monday morning and purposed to change my life. I wanted to get rid of the pretentious self absorbed nihilist that I had become and become a compassionate world peace loving tree hugging do-gooder. I wanted to be one of the good guys, the ones that Pastor Joshua waves at when he’s bumping through the potholes of Kisaasi on his way to KPC North.

So I got out of bed at 7am, a recent record for me, donned my Bluenote jeans and tired trainers and went to my new found purpose in life. I had discovered my calling, I had found my nirvana n adhere I was on my way to embrace my destiny; here I was on my way to my new calling, as a muzimbi! Carlo poppet, that means the guy who works on a construction site. No, not the kind who wears a hardhut, Timberland boots and a high visibility jacket, the other kind, the one who wears next to nothing, walks around barefooted (or in car tyre sandals at best) and looks like a cross between the tribal dancers from MJ’s Black or White video and a lounger from Kireka. Kireka, hmmph, aint that where Baz lives?

We have finally scrounged, scrimped, cheated on our taxes, water and elec bills and gone without the Nokia N80, shots at O’Leary’s, new clothes, fries from I Feel Like Chicken Tonight, 6 monthly dental appointments, Mamba Point dinners (ok, scratch this) and most importantly, daily Rolexes, to save up enough money to, finally, start building. It has been a long hard road and it just got started. So to celebrate the fact as well as to ensure that there would be no fowls meeting an early demise in the environs of my would be home I took it upon myself to participate in the festivities on the opening day of building season.

It was kinda hard at first when I arrived ku site and changed into my work clothes, kinda hard when the other even more scruffily dressed bazimbi are calling you Ssebo in respectful tones and then sending you to the corner of the plot that’s overgrown with weeds, grass and such not to extricate the bricks lying underneath all of that undergrowth. My job was to provide customised solutions to the real bricklayers whilst leveraging their vertical growth objectives with the prevailing market driven horizontal conditions. In plain speak, I unearthed bricks and carried them to the vicinity of the dugout foundation whereupon the other guys used them to put the foundation together.

And so for the last few weeks I have been a builder. We are now at the roofing stage and it has been fun all the way through; for the other guys really. After the first day I decided to get out of the way and let the professionals do their job whilst I resigned myself to doing the menial jobs like fetching water for mixing the sand and cement, cigarettes, chapattis for tea, the occasional trowel and of course, ferrying dozens of bricks from the edge of the site to the builder who needed them most at that particular moment.
My CV now has, in addition in addition to my shelf stocking, bar man and bingo hall attendant roles, my newly found calling as a builder. Forget Bob the Builder, we’re rolling with Degstar the Digger. At any rate I take comfort in the fact that I was the most colourfully dressed muzimbi, in my neon blue gym shorts and lime green t-shirt with black sleeves.

Dear Pea...

2007-02-01T23:26:00.000+03:00

Wednesday January 21, 2007
23:41 pm

My dearest Pea,

Hi,
I’ve been thinking about you lately you know, on and off kinda like, mostly since I read Your Letter to Your Future husband. Woman, that was … awesome, so deep I downloaded it and took it home with me, every so often I read it to remind myself what sort of man it is that I’m working on becoming.

Anyways, I was planning on writing like a Letter from me to my future Wife …

I had written a lotta stuff here but we just had a power cut and I lost like a paragraph so, kwani I am pissed kabisa! So lemme just go on with what I was saying.

Yes, that letter I was planning on writing; it would be my way of honouring your invaluable contribution to the estate of holy matrimony among others, a way of putting in B&W my path towards the realisation of my ambition to turn into the sort of man that my girlfriend deserves to marry in a coupla years. Then a few days ago I read your interview with CB and the comments that followed, a good number of them being less than pleasant and I thought, “man, what’s with the negativity?” or as Shaka Ssali sez on the VOA, y’all ought to “get better not bitter!”

Then today I had a really bad day.
Suffice to say that I wouldn’t wish it on the one person I believe deserves all the nasty things that can happen to one person in one lifetime; not very charitable I know but then again not being charitable reaps dividends in the here and now, not in the Great Beyond that we’re going to in the afterlife.

So on my way home I stopped to buy a rolex to cheer me up, and for good measure, asked for two; see if 1 is good for you then 2 must be better for you. Then this chic walked past me and I just thought of you cause she just really really looked like you – compared to the picture on CB’s blog, except that that picture showed your front and most of what I saw of this chic as I awaited my rolex was her back. Side. Oh I saw her face alright; I just saw more of her other … side. Yeah she was fyn!!!!!!!

Then I get into a taxi to get home with my supper of 2 rolexes and 3 avocado pears and guess who gets in and sits right next to me? Yes you! Her who looked like you. You know what I mean, and then when she called out her stop she did so in this singsong throaty voice that just had me tingling all over. Yeah I know I shoulda said sumthin but what if I had and she’d replied in a manner that … was rather bereft of … intellectual aptitude? Dude, sometimes you’re better off not knowing. And at the time my intentions towards her were not of the tea and cookies variety.

I decided to take that encounter as divine confirmation for me to pen this so now so there. I happen to think your interview with CB was brilliant and if its true as your friend pointed out that you’re a very private person, then allow me to thank you for daring to share with us, a bit of your story and its mountains, plateaus and valleys.

I believe that people are only as good as what they know, that’s what sets us apart from the next person and makes people rack up paid internet hours so we all can explore, share and learn more about the different worlds we inhabit and the different paths we have all trodden thus far and the trails we intend to carve out of the jungle of life. Am I making sense here because if I’m not, I blame it entirely upon the fact that, for once, I am not under the influence whilst I write this. Did you know Ernest Hemingway wrote some of his best stuff after more than a fair share of a good Scotch? Yeah I know he then went and blew his head off whilst his newly wed 4th wife was in the bathroom next door but, how else was he to ensure his eternal legacy? Believe you me, if Paulo Coehlo had killed himself eons ago, we’d have all heard of him a whole lot sooner and not been asking, “who’s that white bearded old man in the orange scarf being interviewed on the sidelines of the just ended World Economic Forum?”

Now the part I did not get was all the stick you were getting for just sharing the facts of your life. I mean its cool and all that your parents, all of them, are who they are and you’ve done all these amazing things with your life yeah, but at the end of the day they’re just that, your daddy and mummies, and your life is just that; the things you’ve done with your last 20 odd years on planet earth. I certainly don’t begrudge you any of that, if anything I am rather proud of you because for me you represent the best of the different worlds that we inhabit today as offspring of intertribal/inter-national/inter-continental relationships/marriages who have one foot in the mostly rural upbringing of the majority of our parents and the other foot in the utterly cosmopolitan environment that we inhabit and will raise our own children in. y’know what I mean?

I love that you are just as comfortable in the depths of Kijabe as you are on 5th Ave, I love that you would probably enjoy yourself equally whether you were bargain hunting in Owino market or in Greenwich village (there are flea markets in the Village right?), and I’m sure if you had to, you could whip up Ugali and Nyam Chom with as equal panache as you would Tuna Risotto. Even if it came out of a can. For me you are the future of the East African Community, a God fearing individual who can spend time in the smoky manyattas of the Turkana and the Karamojong convincing them of the necessity of giving up their pastoral lifestyles and of educating their girls while at the same time jetting off to the World Trade Organisation to argue the case for less subsidies for Wazungu farmers so peanut farmers from Northern Uganda can have a fighting chance internationally. Then again maybe you should just talk to the US Dept. of Agriculture about that. We should all be so lucky. + you can sing, I love a woman who can carry a tune or two.

We have a long running joke in my church, Kampala Pentecostal, that the Christian army is the only one that shoots its wounded. I’m gonna be nasty here and say that your haters musta been female because in my bar, one of them – cant remember which one - we have a joke that kinda goes like this; if a woman rolled up infront of her buddies in an SLK Convertible, they’d most likely go like “bitch please, who do you think you are showing off like that? It’s probably even your man’s car! The one you’re sh*gging this week!”
If however a man pulled the same stunt, we’d all crowd around, slap him on the back and go like, “damn Negro, dats a fine ass ride! Nigga what you do to get a ride like that? ‘cause I’ma do it twice as hard so I can get me one of those, with a Bang & Olufsen stereo and 18 inch rims baby! U heard!?”

Perhaps you shall draw solace from the life of the woman whose story gave rise to this scripture; Est 4:14b

Kind Regards,
Degstar.

Whats wrong with Season 6 of 24

2007-02-01T23:19:00.000+03:00

What’s wrong with Season 6 of 24;
1. Jack has clean fingernails in the scene when he’s talking to President Palmer, dude you just came out of 3 years of torture in a Chinese prison, how do you explain clean fingernails? What, the Chinese were giving you manicures?

2. President Wayne Palmer is not Presidential enough. Negro please, how do you go and make Wayne Palmer President? Seriously how? One black President was novelty enough, two maybe, but to have the weasly younger brother of David Palmer as the new Prez!? Double Negro please!

3. Nadia, boss of CTU, is bullied easily. She gave up the info – to Chloe - too easily that Jack was alive. Ok fine, not too many people can stand up to Chloe but still Nadia cracked too easily, she shoulda fired Chloe or suspended her or something.

4. Jack hasn’t talked in 2 years, according to the Chinese, but his speech, when he starts talking, is neither halting nor hesitant. When I get up in the morning, it takes me a few minutes to find my speaking voice. If I’d been quiet for 3 years, it would take me a little while to find my speaking voice. But then again, what do I know, I’m not Jack Bauer.

5. Morris works for CTU. Morris the dude who used to sell shoes to rich old women in Beverly Hills now works for CTU. Ok, he’s got some mad skills as evidenced when he uses a satellite that’s not on the government grid to help Chloe track down Jack. And he has a most delightful British accent. And I love his dress sense. plus gez d one goin out with Chloe. damn.

6. Adrian is in middle management at CTU. Adrian the nerd is in middle management. Proving once again that in the West you only need to work at a joint for like 3 days (3 seasons, did he last that long?) to be promoted to management.

7. The guy who’s the President’s Chief of Staff? His shirt collar don’t fit too good. It makes him lose credibility in my eyes. To be the part, you gotta dress the part. That’s why Amama Mbabazi will be the next President and not Gilbert Bukenya; ‘cause Mbabazi dresses like a President should, even better than M7 himself.

8. Right after the COS (Chief of Staff) has assured the POTUS (c’mon really; President Of The United States!) that the only way to stop the terrorists is to sacrifice Jack, he leaves the Oval Office and there are no marine guards or Secret Service agents outside in the corridor. In which USA?

9. Jack’s nose hasn’t been broken. What self respecting torturer will not break ur nose? I would. And knock your teeth out while I was at it too. Then mess up your eyes so that one was always like just rotating around in its socket. Man, I could mess you up some. Like hang a brick from your … baby factory. Stick a red hot rod up your Number 2 … mbu I should be impressed by the scars on Jack’s back. Puleaze!

10. After Bill Buchanan cuffs Jack to the grate as per the terrorist’s instructions then Jack gives his little speech about dying for a worthwhile cause, Bill walks off in a highly emotional state. Curtis Manning on the other hand, who spent more time in the field with Jack, just turns around and walks off, no goodbye, no love, nothing! Which black man ain’t got a word or two, or a prayer, for a condemned man? Man, that’s gangster.

11. Man, there’s a ki hot chick singing on Tv, I’ve even paused the 6th season of 24, episode 1! Kyokka I have to get her name; this video is just too hot, dere she’s called Queen Fatia and the song’s called Baibe. I likey likey.

And that’s just the first 10 minutes of the first hour.

To H.E. The Ghetto Prezident

2007-02-01T23:14:00.000+03:00

H.E The Prezident,
Kamwokya Ghetto,
Somewhere in Kifumbira.

Mani, Bobi Wine,

Dere is no reason for you to be listening to me going on in my distinctly non ghetto patois but I just thought you’d wanna hear about my day last Wednesday. I’d had a long day, what wit shady suppliers, and even more shady craftsmen, you know the kind, tell you they’ll make a table for you in 3 days and disappear for like a week and then don’t answer the phone when you call their sorry asses or in your case, you give a mechanic your Mustang to go change the oil or something and the bomboclat takes off on a joyride along Musa Kasule road in Wandegs and those ends of Kisekka market where all the tree shade garages are so all his peeps can check him out maxing in your droptop whip. Bloody infuriating, innit? But no, you are a bad man rasta, aint no one gonna mess with your shit.

Me, I was there in a ka taxi from Ntinda to Wandegs so I could offer some much needed TLC to Poppet, that’s my Barbie and I’m like her Wine, see shez doing her exams and shit is like tight so I gotta step up and like tell her Wendi! Ontegera mani!
Kati the taxi goes down Old Kiira road and we go pick picking up passengers den like we stop in front of this big tree, I think the ghetto calls it the Mvule stage and like I turn to my right to like check out the scenery and I notice this ka slender chick in the hardware shop container to our right as if papa-ring to rush outta the shop and cross the road to come into our taxi and ohmygawd, is that who I think it is? And I follow her all the way round the taxi until she gets in and sits her admittedly very slender 3 quarter length jean clad legs in the seat right infront of me. I’m still gobsmacked when the taxi drives off and I’m thinking, “WTF is Barbie doing in a taxi with me?”

See I aint no ghetto Prezident, and PAMA Artiste of the year 2006, but if I was, and if I was you, my lady wouldn’t be riding in a taxi with the likes of me who can only carry one tune, and that in the shower at that. I’m sori what? You no understand what I be talking about? Negro, your woman was riding in a taxi with me. No, that’s cool, I just don’t think – like LL Cool J sed – its safe for my woman to travel that way. Unless of course I am with her. Negro, even Butchaman got a ride to be driven around in, “because I’m a star and stars don’t drive themselves. They just relax and be driven anywhere”, and his claim to fame? One song, complaining nti women don’t feel him coz he’s crippled, far as I know his Johnny work fine, what’s he griping about? By the way, your woman, when I see church rings I’ll call her your wife, is as if not simple, as you will shortly see.

Mwana guy, nga tutuuka awo ku stage ya Mawanda Road. Sorry KC, I meant we reached the Mawanda Road stage, Ugandanspeak. By the way, random fact, Uganda Waragi mixed with Smirnoff n Coke is lethal! I am looking at Straka and seeing her in a different light, literally!
Sorry man, I was saying we roll up at the stage and some weird shit is going on, the driver stops den he moves up again den he stops den there’s loudish hooting from the left side of the taxi, kati we all turn and there’s this very agitated boda boda rider with an Indian passenger on that side and the rider aint too happy about sumthin. Ob awat? Ok, far as I can make out, the boda wanted to bypass us so the driver stopped, the first time, den the boda also stopped den when the driver again steps on the gas, the boda steps on the throttle, yeah I know, stupid.

Now it’s getting interesting, the boda guy has literally dropped his bike and is yelling at the conductor asking why he knocked him? The conductor is yelling back, asking if he’s the one driving … Umph, boda dude, u were behind us so technically you hit us. And the conductor was not the one driv… oh shit the boda guy’s going for the conductor , shit shit he just hit him, y’all see that he smacked his ass! Conductor’s fallen down and I swear I hear coins tinkling, there goes the conductor’s change, now they’re rolling on the ground and hey guys stop them, on second thoughts let them pummel each other, I wanna see how this goes, my money’s on the conductor, he may be smaller but he got lotsa spunk in him, dude’s giving as good as he gets. Hey guys, stop! Stop! That’s the conductor’s change y’all are picking up, what? You gonna give it back to him, yeah I thought so, bastards the lot of you, wait, Barbie’s saying sumthin, wanji Mummy?

“Banage abasajja mugende mubatase! Musajja watu bamukubba bukubi!” Umph sister, you may be my hero’s woman but no way am I getting in a fight because you say so, ok? U seriously want me to get up in dere, man that’s what the driver is doing, saving his conductor! Man I aint gonna be brawling with these guys, I, I, I, I just took a shower, plus I smell good. No way I’m getting all sweaty no sir, no how. Damn Bobi, your woman don’t give up, she’s actually questioning our collective cojones because we wont get out and fight for our conductor, Nnyabo I will have you know that I got big ones, both made of brass, damn, she don’t give up does he? She a real Ryde or Die chick this one, eeh? Yeah but she’s spoiling this fight for us, man, cant she allow us our bu little pleasures?

Now she wants us to get out and take this fight apart, wait, didn’t u just want us to support our guy? Now its like, “omusajja bamukubye nnyo, mumujeyo tugende!”, “mwe ababye ebinusu bya conductor mubidize!” ok, you wish! “Conductor, jjangu tugende, omusajja muveko!” ok Barbie, enough, let the man take his ass whooping like a man, ok, like Bobi, yeah.
Oh damn he’s listening to her, fight’s over, ok lets move along now, shiiiiit Barbie just spoilt a spot of good clean wholesome fun for the rest of us. Ok fine let’s go, whatever.

Silence all the way to Wandegeya. At the Mulago stage, the local chick next to Barbie gets out and as she does so, she sez to the conducter, “mwana Charlie, oli boy nnyo naye omalaako!” nuff said, the conductor is so stroked by that that when we get to Wandegs and they turn left at the Ministry of Public Service he offers us a Ushs. 200 refund for the remaining distance of like 50 metres. Cool, Ushs. 300 to Wandegs from Ntinda, a free fight for entertainment and Barbie sitting infront of me; how good does it get?

Then there was the drama in the taxi home from Ntinda at midnight but that’s a story for another time.

‘nuff Love and Respect Your Excellency.
Ghetto Peoples Forever!
A lifelong Fan

Phat Galz

2007-02-01T23:01:00.000+03:00

A few nights ago I saw the movie “Phat Girlz”, the one with Mo’nique and … a whole bunch of unknown people trying too hard to be funny. When I go to the library, any library, my criteria for borrowing a movie is quite simple and runs along the following lines;

1. Does it have black people in it? Good, I’ll take it
2. Are the said black people the Wayans Brothers? Keep your flick
3. ok I’ll take anything that has Laurence Fishburne, Samuel L. Jackson, Will Smith, Richard Roundtree, Djimon Hounsou, and absolutely Terence Howard
4. it must have lots of car chases, gunfights, explosions, computer wizardry and shit
5. Absolutely no Billy Blanks! I’m kidding, who even stocks Billy Blanks movies?

So you must understand then that “Phat Girlz” was a bit out of my league but I just wanted to placate Esther who runs the Movieland library (product placement for you). Man, this movie was; “£$^&*())*&^^%%$%$££””””. I watched it with the subtitles on, I do that to American movies because they all got such messed up accents, Why cant they all speak like Hugh Grant?

First of all, all the songs they had in the soundtrack that came from Mother Africa were simply subtitled “African music”. So they played some Femi Kuti and labelled it “man playing African Music”, played some Etta James and labelled it appropriately (by the way her version of “At Last” is what Poppet and I will dance to at the wedding reception, like our first dance together and shit), then guess what, they play 2Face Idibia’s African Queen and guess what they label it? Yep, “African Music!” bloody idiots the lot of them, no wonder their ancestors got carried off into slavery while the rest of our Jajjas were running off into the hinterland. Stupid begets stupid.

If I’m coming to your church to visit because you’ve asked me to, or just because its convenient on that day, I’ll bother to learn your bu-customs and shit so I know when to stand up, sit down, kneel, genuflect, raise holy hands, bow towards Israel/Mecca/the Sun. its called respect for your hosts and shows that your Mummy taught you empiisa. Then you go and get some of the better known African musicians, put them in your movie and just call it “African Music!” How dumb is that? That’s like a Bushism right there. Even a petrohead movie like “Torque” got the song lyrics and singers right and it must be said, apart from a lotta good looking bikes and stunts, there really aint much else to Torque; but here’s a sobering thought, I saw Torque 2.5 times and Phat Girlz once. And that was more than enough.

And not to mention that when the Nigerians spoke in their native Yoruba or Ibo or Fulani or Hausa or whatever, it was labelled “African Language!” katonda wange, are y’all so doggone ignorant y’all don’t know Nigeria alone got like, I dunno, at least 100 tribes and equal number of dialects? I mean African Language!? WTF is that? If they’d been speaking Swahili, maybe, but they were not. African language my ass, get on back with your country ass to Montgomery, AL and pick some more cotton if you too goddamn lazy to find out from, oh I dunno, the Library of Congress what language your characters were gonna speak. Oh just ask your Nigerian expert on the movie, you did have one; that I know coz there had to be someone to teach y’all how to eat fufu and dance the Money Dance and speak with weird mbu Nigerian accents. Negro please.

2ndly, why is it that whenever Mo’nique’s character was getting all dressed up for dinner or the club, she always did this hair-pulled-up-into-a-bob on the top of her head hairstyle? Like seriously girlfriend, you look better with your hair let down. Assuming of course that all those curls and ringlets were your own and not from some chick in South Korea.

Now, what I really wanted to say is this; I feel for plus sized people living in the US of A, getting treated like you some kinda freak, seriously y’all should come on down here every winter so I could give y’all love like your beautiful regal selves should be loved. Down here in sunny ol’Africa we love us some women with meat on their bones so whether you’re a thick madame, phat girl, chunky, porky, bacon buster, plus sized, whatever, girl, you are exquisitely and flawlessly formed. And if you are more Halle Berry than Mo’nique, don’t worry, a little time and money will sort you out; behold the phenomenon known as Straka nee Pamela Otali!

But seriously, if you’re the way you are and it’s not due to inappropriate nutritional habits – and u got issues with it, wssup with that? If you don’t love yourself, Child, no one else gon do that, apart from your Mum – scant comfort when you cant remember the last time you got you some. I used to want to be bigger and beefier – I may be of Rwandese extraction but I’d rather not look like I am - but all I kept getting was a potbelly. I’ve made my peace with it and so should you. Once again, me, I like a woman built for comfort not for speed.

Listening to & Watching; Ainunu by Gen. Elly Tumwine.

Pause, breath to 10 boy… Wusaah!!!

ROTFLOL!

Afande, stick to soldiering and making Afrocentric clothing!

Commercial Break

2007-01-22T20:25:00.000+03:00

By the way, the shop is now open for business and since y’all bought copies of Baz’s book I shall expect similar levels of support for my sister and me as we build the business. Museveni is visiting the shop as we speak, Cherie was there last week (CB u’re onto a good thing, don’t let this one go, Josh, u’re my dawg n all but I’m jumping out of you on this one, the babe is KFC finger lickin fine!), LA – I know your wife would love one of our bu suits for working women as indeed Baz, so would …ahem… gundi; and the rest of y’all; if M7 with whom I have a hate-hate relationship has visited our shop, who are you not to come?

Kamikazi, C34, 2nd floor, Ntinda Shopping Centre. I wait with tape measure and bated breath.

Secret Lovers; Ode to Luther

2007-01-22T20:22:00.000+03:00

1st go read the previous post then come back, this will make sense then.

It has always been my incredible good luck to do as the Great man Luther Vandross said, “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with”, over the years. Hang on while I turn up the volume on this here Damian Marley song and pour me-self a finger or two of gin. Sip, smack my lips, aaaaahhhhhh!! Rite, lets get on with it shall we.

Yesterday I ran into Nancy as she was sneaking out of her office to run an errand in town, she gave me a hug, I gave her rather svelte body the once over then she popped her engagement ring in my face. She’s getting married this August, a week after Lolo finally makes an honest woman outta Rita. Damn. ‘Course I did the polite thing and said how lucky Andrew is and all that and promptly forgot what I was doing to walk her down to Uganda House. When we ran into Fatboy outside the head office of Cherie’s bank and she introduced my ass as her oldest boyfriend, you know I was like that’s the shit right there!

By the way if anyone got the 1st 4 episodes of 24 season 6, would you like hook a brotha up? Man, Fatboy got them but no way he gon let me take them outta his house and you know its just not kosher sitting all up in another dude’s crib to catch you some Jack Bauer; so if you got the hookup, puff, puff, pass … Baz taught me that by the way, yeah he been a real good influence on my life.

Nancy was my first one and only true love. Before Fazy, Peaches, CuCu & u, Kikaazi. She was in P5D and I was in P6D. She sat at the same desk with Pamela, who was also my one true and only love but that’s a story for another day. Little, now big, Mark Ssesanga sat between them. They all sat like next to the window in the corridor to the loos. Man, I would go to the loos like every 10 minutes just so I could make eye contact with, inevitably, all three of them; what would happen was that I would very slowly drift into view and catch Nancy’s eye – she has the most arresting eyes I ever saw, then Pamela on the other side would – thru some female intuition thing - cotton on to what was happening so she too would turn and I’d catch her eye then Mark would turn to see what was going on, prolly hoping to see some fly P6 girl but waapi, I always loved the look of disappointment mixed with awe on his face everytime he realised it was only I. He could have reported me to Ms. Tekiba, senior woman teacher, or some such thing but he couldn’t; afterall I was Deputy Head Boy, on my way to full Head Boy. I was an enemy he did not want.

Then end of year came, Pamela’s parents took her to Namagunga Primary and Nancy’s took her to Kabinja leaving me … and Mark. LOL. I moved on to other pursuits like maybe passing PLE and did I mention I used to sit with Rita above; Lolo’s soon to be fiancée? Damn small world. Never got over those two chicks and didn’t see them that much through the years until I was in “A” level and we went over to Gungas for a drama show. I was walking outta the main hall up the little staircase that sorta leads up towards the tennis courts – mugging equipment & costumes - when at the top of the staircase who do I encounter but Nancy. It was such a charged re-union I don’t remember little else apart from the way she stood and just looked at me; she has such amazing posture – she’s a national swimmer by the way - and those eyes! I was drowning in those eyes and just reaching for the light, I just wanted to be in the light my brother! Tell your neighbour “In the light my brother/sister!”

Then picture this; those days school buses were few, so most of us made do with trucks yeah, old school Tata trucks, so there we are chilling in the company of all these fine chicks, me and Jeremy – who’d been my health prefect in primo – and was now my HP just outside of the Gungas main hall, all resplendent in our Blazers when guess what Mr. Basoga the truck driver does? He guns the bloody truck which is parked in front of the gate and we think, “thanks mate, that means we got another 30 minutes”… Wapi, as we start to crawl towards the truck, Jeremy and I, the guy stepped on the gas and hightailed it out of the gate. Instantly we shot each other horrified looks along the lines of;

Me: dude, where Basoga going?
J: he’s driving off stupid!
Me: well, stop him, u the HP; don’t he know u aint on board yet?
J: does it look like he care?
Me: well then Negro, we best gets to running!!!
J: oh hell no!! I’m the HP! I got a rep man!
Me: u wanna walk to Mwiri?

It took all of 10 seconds of stupefied silence and then the entire lot of geezers around me erupted into a flurry of flying Blazers, askew ties, waving hands, pounding shoes and cursing that would make a fish market wife proud. We did not look back, we just ran! And then the bloody driver stopped the truck at the main road! Nah, he was prolly just waiting for traffic to chill so he could join the highway, and that was the last time in secondary school that I saw either of them.

The next time I saw Nancy was at an All Saints Cathedral camp at Taibah College School at the close of 2000. I was newly redeemed from the sinful ways of the world and eager to cement my new found faith; that and the fact that Loice was in town from Nairobi to attend the camp; she’s my Kenyan best friend. Nancy and I saw in the New Year together, seated alone at the bonfire in the centre of the Taibah Junior football field, just the two of us, huddled together against the cold. Praise the Lord. That’s when I first discovered that true love, like ours, is eternal.

Then she showed up at Charity’s wedding meeting 3 months ago with her boyfriend and I introduced her to my Poppet. She told me yesterday she was eager to see the woman who’d replaced her so her first question to Poppet on seeing us was, “Hi, I’m Nancy and u are?” I had to discreetly take her aside and point out that Peaches, to whom she was referring, was like 4 girlfriends ago. 6 if you count the Kissing Buddies. Aah, Peaches, that was the truest love of them all, all 4 odd years of it; it was also the chastest relationship of them all.

2 weeks ago I had a repeat of a moment much like the one in the previous post. Unless I’m very very stoned – that’s more than a hint by the way - I will retain the details but this I will divulge, it was an eye opener. In a screaming way. Think Michael Jackson doing “Scream” on speed.

So here’s my conundrum. I meet a lovely young lady, we become friendly, date for 3 months then Julius steps in and she steps out. I see her again in like half a year and the fire’s still there. But by then I’m with the 2nd person after her and serious about that. Not so serious though that I will turn my back on a little Slap & Tickle, y’know, a little sum-sum for old times sake. So like even though I’m really a romantic at heart who believes in one woman created for me and all that, Julius has convinced me beyond reasonable doubt that any one of a 100 women could be that One, y’know what I mean? I’m figuring this year, in return, I’ll just let Julius sow his wild oats and get his nasty mojo out of my system so I can go back to being a nice safe goody two shoes who gets referred to as a “really sweet guy” by chicks I’d rather be shagging.

Who am I kidding? Dude, I like this shit!

Valley Road

2007-01-22T20:10:00.000+03:00

We stood on a cold stone ledge under the cold stars
Shivering and rubbing our hands briskly together
Our breath pluming in the night like smoke
Yet as we did, we toasted inside
For we spoke of matters of the heart
We banished the blinders that sought
To tell us what and what not to see
We spoke first in rhetoric that encircled itself
& finally in straight open terms that sought answers
Twas truly amazing
That coals we thought had long since burned out
Were well and truly afire, glowing like a million candles
When it was the right tyme, we were not prepared
Now that we were prepared, our moment had passed
We clung onto memories of what was &
Fantasies of just what could have been
That first kiss that never was
The dreams that were never shared
So we looked at each other long and hard & as we did
We sighed one long final sigh
As a shooting star plumed and dipped overhead
Even though we both did not say it out loud
We were probably thinking the same thing
How we were fated never to be more than friends
We moved closer together as if to reassure ourselves
Of the bond that existed betwixt the both of us
For from this moment on, we could never live in the past
Full speed ahead twas & and I was sad but happy
For as friends we’d go so much further
Then we looked up & the spell was forever broken
On a cold stone ledge under the cold stars

I first wrote this in July of 2000 shortly after the aforementioned event outside the main hall at the Valley Road Campus of Daystar University. Love and the Nairobi chill were in the air! U haven’t loved till you’ve loved and lost, in Nairobi.

I have ha ha'ed!

2007-01-16T19:53:00.000+03:00

Imitation really is the sincerest form of flattery.

I have ha ha’ed!

There I am interrupting my movie so I can catch the news on TV at 9pm like my grandpa taught to do, always watch the news he taught me, always, when I decide that today gundi of WBS is not looking as hot as usual so I flip to NTV to catch Cousin Maurice but no, theirs hasn’t started yet so ok, I’ll go the only analogue station in the country, yep, you guessed it, I turned to UBC-TV and guess what hits me immediately Bbaale Francis comes on screen;
1. he is not wearing a tie and jacket but rather a beige cashmere looking sweater like thing
2. He is reading the news whilst STANDING UP!
3. Bbaale Francis sold out, he gave up the desk to go read the news while standing up, like those teenies on NTV
4. furthermore he sis making jokes and quips while reading this story on Old Kampala and their introduction of garbage collection strategies, something about the “old learning from the new” or vice versa

My God! After all those years of setting the news reading agenda – from the days of the 7:30am news on Radio Uganda on my trusty Sound Solo radio set uptil last year, all 20 + odd years of my news listening life, Bbaale Francis has sold out and followed the lead of NTV! Peeps who opened shop like last week! Damn, times are a changing indeed!

U guy, I have ha ha’ed!

And for an encore, there’s a news item about the President urging local leaders in some upcountry hamlet not to accept monetary inducements to influence their political decision making. Hmph… this from the man who introduced the politics of the brown envelope handout (& the State H’se Scholarships, & the 5M handout to MPs, & the plum consolation job for vanquished political cronies and opponents, 2 mention but a few) … Bbaale Francis reading the news whilst standing up, M7 urging villagers not to take money to influence their decisions… what’s the world coming to? Next, we’ll hear mbu Nsaba Buturo is tipped to become the next IGG when Justice Faith Mwondha’s contract is up.

This quip made my week;
I went to see Olivia, y’all remember her dontcha? And when I expressed my displeasure at her loss of weight, specifically in the bum area, she concurred with these memorable words, and I quote, “yeah, y’know these days when I turn around to look at my bum, instead I can see the ground!”

Happy eating Ollie!

& this one also,
“I’ve never been a fan of horror movies and I think I’ve turned out ok; I talk dirty for chrissakes!”
Divulged by my ex-ex kissing buddy, after I tried to get her interested in a Lions Gate horror movie.

Laters,
Julius.

The Gud, The Bad & The Downright Nasty

2007-01-08T19:57:00.000+03:00

10 things you ought to know about me starting now;

1. I get what I want. If I didn’t get it, it was because I did not want it enough, not because you were so adroit at refusing. Someone share this fact with the casting director for "Tintin goes Bananas".

2. My cooking is so good that it has women – thankfully – falling over themselves in paroxysms of dizzying ecstasy. Last Christmas for example, I did char-grilled pork chops, marinated overnight in whisky, garlic, cardamom, milk & pepper. Our guests, all female friends of my sister, were so thrilled they lined up to express it one after the other; on both cheeks … and the lips.

3. I watch Straka Mwezi’s show. As much for the fine selection of Ugandan music as to see what she’s wearing today. Irene on EATV, eat your heart out. Good Lord Straka, woman, what’re you wearing!? Yes, she is live on TV.and if u cant beat them, have d decency to watch them n laugh scornfully whilst doing so.

4. I like to rip linear holes in my clothing and then sew the holes up with thread of contrasting colour. I will occasionally wear a pair of jeans for months on end until it achieves that just-right aged look, down to the frayed hem. Vestiges of my bohemian youth. All my formal clothing however, is custom made.

5. Create Compelling Spectacles, Law 37, Page 309, The 48 Laws of Power. In my youth I owned a mid calf length grey woollen skirt with black piping at the hem. I wore it occasionally; it made climbing the guava tree in our backyard easier. Do what you will with this information.

6. The coolest “local” video for me right now is “Ekyeddalu by Gerald Kiweewa”. Fucking brilliant it is. It’s like an anti-HIV/AIDS song but who cares, it rocks my world. Soon as I get my hands on the softcopy I’m gonna remix it with the beats of Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down. But for the first few seconds I’ll use the opening sequence from the Boulevard of Broken Dreams. I also like “Atetutua” by DJ Laguna even though I understand nary a word.

7. I’ve stopped reading inspirational; self help and get rich quick books. They’re all based on the Bible. And I already read that like a few half dozen times, starting in p3. Cover to cover. My fave part, The Prayer of Jabez, 1 Chronicles 4:10. Allow me however to recommend in the most glowing terms, “How to Win Friends & Influence People” by Dale Carnegie. The Dale Carnegie. Still blank? Crawl back under your rock.

8. I don’t believe the Devil has tapering horns, the head of a goat, the body of a lion, cloven hooves and a pointy tail. I believe he’s better looking than Laurence Fishburne, the one man I admit is fine. If he, the devil, were to seduce you with his looks and charm and wit and shit and ask you “who’s your daddy?” you would – whilst in the throes of … - declare “you Lucifer, you’re my daddy!” Remember he was the best looking angel till he tried to jump the queue. Idiot that he is, he resorts to mere sin to trap you. That’s why you needed Jesus to get up on the cross and shed his blood to save your sorry ass. Something about his blood paying the blood price for you.

9. I talked to myself as a child. I was comfortable with the notion that I had a split personality. Later I learnt to suppress Julius and lead a quasi-normal life. Lately I’ve gotten tired of his clamouring and been letting him out to get some air. For short periods of time. Like when I accosted Amon Lukwago, Tim Bukumunhe and Patrick Oyulu at the Launch of Brand Uganda in the Victoria Ballroom @ Munyonyo 14 months ago to inform Tim that, on his behalf I had let Eng. Lawrence Zikusooka know that by marrying him, and not Tim, Dr. Gladys Kalema had made a huge mistake. That was Julius. On like 4 straight double shots of Black Label. Subsequently he passed out in one of the cottages. He has now completed his banishment and will soon be eligible for playtime. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

10. …

Expected a No. 10? What is this? Downing Street? Didn’t you just read No. 9? The glib reference to Julius having completed his punishment? He doesn’t always keep his word, right Degstar?

Honey, How Was Ur Day?

2007-01-08T19:20:00.000+03:00

Today is Wednesday the 4th day of 2007.

I just came from my Aunt Kate’s house and I’m not sure I wanted to hear what she had to say about the subject of today’s Tyra Banks show. My aunt is a teacher and very strait-laced in my opinion. I was there as part of my new drive to be a pro-active member of my extended family; stuff like dropping in on the old folks so they gradually grow fond of me, that way when girlfriend has her way with me in the next 2-ish years, my aunties and uncles will come to the do because they actually want to be there.

So there we are watching Tyra talk to a bunch of white teenage girls about … gasp… their liking for fellow girls! No, not the liking of Stella is my best friend and I share everything with her, the liking that every able bodied man has for Trisha Campbell, who by the way is the hottest woman alive – y’all remember Kid n Play? Yes she’s not quite 18 anymore but she is hot! I digress, these bu-young girls were there on national cable TV telling everyone how they are bisexual and proud of it … down to the college stunts where like they get drunk and pass out at a party they sneaked out to attend and wake up in the morning naked to discover nudie pix of themselves on the internet … stuff like that.

So I opine to my aunt how TV has degenerated and stuff like that should not be on TV where impressionable kids are gonna see it and all, y’know, (do u want to discover on Open Up with Irene Kulabako that your 16 year old sister likes girls and boys?) cause most of these, they were like 8 girls, were coming out to the world and their families there and then. And Auntie turns to me and sez, “no, it’s good! We should have more of this cause its therapeutic and all”, man, I was thrown! I mean, abuse victims sharing their trauma with us is one thing but teenagers telling us about the nasty shit they be getting upto under the influence of alcohol, drugs and testosterone/oestrogen is not for me. Especially when the teenagers in question are daft redneck atheist American kids. No thanks. I don’t like Americans. Godless nation of baby killers the lot of them. Killing Afghan, Iraqi and Palestinian babies. But Auntie Kate says it’s ok for them to do so, so I guess it must be.

Y’know how people give you a business card with a street address on it so u assume that’s their office in case you need to drop by for some official work or something? Today I found out that it don’t exactly work like that out here in Kampala. Late last year I met this guy who does technical stuff; he did the interior for my sister’s shop. She’s followed my lead and quit her desk job to pursue her dream; starting a design house. Come down to the Ntinda shopping Centre, in my new role as shareholder, I get the opportunity to help you pick out blouses and skirts and pants, we’ll have so much fun I promise! So, Hussein walked in and sold himself and we hired him. He still hasn’t quite finished painting the coat hangers, if you look closely you can still see splotches of silver against the black paint but then again, true to form, that’s a Ugandan for you.

Well anyway I get commissioned to do a signpost and being the optimist that I like to think I am, I call him and brief him. Today I took him the softcopy so he’d get started on the print work and since I’d told him I was bringing it to him at his office I figured I’d just go to his office in the City Centre Complex on Luwum Street. Imagine my consternation on walking into Shop B28 to discover not the technical stuff shop I expected but a shop retailing … men’s attire! Jeans and boxers and shirts and Chinese shoes! I ask the lady behind the counter (why are they always fat, brown, speak Luganda and take 0.75 minutes to answer when you ask a direct question?) if Hussein is in. What else could I do, that was the address 0n the card. First … 0.75 minute pause … she said she had no idea who Hussein was, then I showed her the card which she studied contemplatively for all of … 0.75 minutes … then said she hadn’t seen him all day. Ok. Cool, whatever. I’ll … umph … call him then shall I, ok?

Which I did. I didn’t think it would be wise to mention that I’d just been in his “office” so I didn’t. We met out front, did our business and I left. Believe you me, I had 2nd and 3rd thoughts about giving him the job, but I have a deadline to meet and … I have a deadline. Speaking of which, I’ve been pigging out on Boston Legal lately, James Spader’s character Allan Chase, totally rocks! William Shatner’s Denny Crane is a close second. So in this one episode Denny is losing the plot, forgetting stuff and being kinda loopy so he takes this black-market drug called dextroamphetamine to combat the onset of, he believes, Alzheimer’s, yeah, and it works! He gets his memory back and he feels on point and he’s just going at 110%.

Outta curiosity and a lot more, I went to this pharmacy in Ntinda on my way home and ask them if they stock the drug. The elderly pharmacist looks at me kinda strange and asks me to repeat the name so I do. Spell it even. Then he shakes his head kinda sadly and asks me why I want it. So I tell him I hear it helps with like stress and memory loss and tiredness and stuff; I saw it on TV, it helps college kids read longer and harder and pass their exams. Says he, it’s a very controlled substance not available or licenced in Uganda. The only way I’d get it is if it was smuggled into the country, purposely. And while he stops short of declaring it illegal he points out that using it would make me 2, 3, 4 times better at what I do than the next guy. Run faster, read harder, fight better, climb higher, make love for longer … why would I want to do that to a young beautiful person like myself. Yes indeed, why would I?

To his credit he offered me a Korean ginseng extract called Ginsomin. And here I was thinking all this time mbu ginseng was only an aphrodisiac. I guess like Freud said, life really comes down to sex at the end of it all.

Auld Sang Lyne

2007-01-08T19:17:00.000+03:00

1. What is it about the date January 1st that has us believe we have a chance to make a new start? It’s just a re-alignment of the moons people, u wanna make a new start? Give your life to the Lord Jesus Christ who died that you and I may have life eternal. Floating on clouds, picking out the strains of Amazing Grace on our harps, sipping on honey and nectar.

2. Why do we wait until the fireworks and hugging and drunken kissing and general tomfoolery is over to resolve to be different; emotionally, physically, financially and spiritually? You wanna be different? Buy, read and apply “The 48 Laws of Seduction”, if you’re already married, dating or otherwise shackled, get “The 48 Laws of Power”.

3. Why do we wait an entire year to suddenly discover good Samaritan-ness at Christmas time, taking it upon ourselves to visit and pray – TV cameras in close pursuit - with hospital patients, orphaned children and elderly people? Where were you the rest of the year? Be more like me, don’t bother pretending at all. Give a few coins to that dude in Wandegeya who begs in impeccable English and calls you “brother/sister”. You’ll feel really sanctimonious. Or if u want, and I quote, “in as much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me”.

4. Didn’t anyone else see the footage of Kampala City Council officials tearing Karamojong children from their street dwelling parents to deliver them to the Kampiringisa Remand Home for children? What sort of place is the Remand Home, what sort of facilities does it have? More importantly, how well funded is the joint? Do they have EATV? We must give the, literally n figuratively, poor children, something to aspire to. Look at Bobi Wine, he too came from the ghetto, now he drives a Ford Mustang and smokes weed all day. What else do you want? A stable home? The chance to be a child? Grow up.

5. Why do y’all wanna come to church on Christmas day and take up my seat after staying away all year? Y’all think I find that amusing? Heck no! Go to a church that needs you, like the Mormons maybe, Or the Witnesses, or the one opposite TLC.

6. What brand of Christianity – and I use the term loosely – does that church opposite TLC subscribe to? St. Andrews in Bukoto has been constructing their Community Centre since before I was a tot, playing Cowboys and Indians in the then bush between Total Bukoto and the Brown Flats. That church on the other hand was built in like 3 months on prime real estate! I hate rich churches with shady doctrines. St. Andrews don’t even have tarmac!

7. I am not attending any weddings this year. Nabikooye. Well maybe Cousin Akim’s, my presence at that one is bound to benefit me, immensely, in the months and years to come. Like say when it’s my turn to say “I do”. So for my personal selfish benefit I think I’ll go.

8. I haven’t been on a plane in a while. Which long lost aunt shall l lean on this time to be my benefactor? Heck I could just make up one, it worked the last time.

9. What do I have to do to stop receiving those SMS invites to La Club Rouge – can’t they see that I can’t even be bothered to know their proper name? When I wanna go out, I go to a place where I can see other people’s girlfriends and sisters pretending to be Rihanna. Places like Steak Out and Cheese Bums. Formerly known as Cheese Bar.

10. Why does Showtime Magazine only use skinny girls these days? Hey I like Barbara, we were tight in my previous life but damn, gal needs to get some meat on her. Karitas is jobless last I heard; can’t she be talked into her old job?

Have a rip roaring year y’all, thank you all and one for the felicitations.

26 & Hating It.

2007-01-08T19:14:00.000+03:00

The day Saddam was hung by the neck till he died.

I’m 26 and hating it right now.

Oh don’t get wrong, I appreciate the fact that I’m alive in a country where the life expectancy of a black male is anywhere between 45 and 48 years of age. That’s cool , me I just want more out of my life. Like I just finished the latest edition of African Woman, in which my sister has an article or two – name dropping for you – and I’m gobsmacked by the fact that Stella Atal and Hood Jjuuko, artists of not inconsequential acclaim, are both my freaking age! That’s what is getting my goat. That and the fact that Saddam has been executed. The Beeb won’t let up on it so I might as well wade in with my 2 cents worth.

I am a firm proponent of the death penalty. I was. I am. Ok, I was until this morning when my brother woke me – he never does – with the news that Saddam had been excecuted. My first jumbled thoughts were of Cousin William, who went to Namilyango in the mid-nineties and was a member of the RCC, the Revolutionary Command Council, itself modeled on the same organ run by Saddam in Iraq. Something smells to high heaven about this execution. First of all, since when did it take only 4 weeks from sentencing thru appeals to execution of sentence? And why was Saddam bumped off for a crime that insignificant? Seriously, the man was accused/guilty of far worse crimes, depending on which side of the bridge you’re on with this one.

And that was the shammest trial if ever there was a sham trial. I could draw parallels to a certain trial here not so long ago in which a prominent musawo was arraigned swiftly, on wild allegations at worst and circumstantial evidence at best, and almost sent to the gallows yet a gun wielding member of the national army is out on bail after smoking three people in broad daylight in front of hundreds of witnesses during a peaceful gathering of political party activists for a quasi-cultural ceremony. You do the math and dare to call me a conspiracy theorist. Saddam was prolly guilty of a lot of nasty shit, e.g;
1. invading Kuwait
2. Poison gassing the Kurds
3. Fighting Iran and being co-responsible for the death of 1 million people
4. killing his sons-in-law for daring to tell on him after defecting to Jordan
5. Trying to kill George Bush Snr. According to the Idiot Jr.

But he deserved his day in court like any other accused criminal, which is why Nurri al-Malaki the Iraqi Premier is to be commended for keeping his promise to hang Saddam by year end. And on Idd Adhua too? That’s some cold shit. Speaking of year end, does anyone know if Nsaba Buturo has refunded the monies he took from Mega FM as he’d promised to do? And has he explained why he took money for a ministerial trip to Malaysia and then neither took the trip nor refunded the money?

So, adieu Monsieur Hussein, you will find yourself in suitable company when you get to Purgatory, you and General Pinochet, Comrade Pol Pot, Marshall Mobutu, Comrade Mugabe (when the strains of satisfying Grace Mugabe finally get him), Jonas Savimbi, Emperor Bokassa, Kaiser Hitler, General Abiola and Joe Kony … oh shit he isn’t dead yet, what are those Black Mamba boys doing? Shouldn’t they be out scoring the jungles of Southern Sudan/North-eastern Congo for Kony’s murdering ass instead of scaring poor old geriatric judges in the city? Mbu an anti-terrorist crack unit! Ha! Don’t they watch 24? That’s how you do this shit.

So what I was saying earlier about being 26 and hating it? Well, after quitting my job and rejoining the world of the people who have lives and live worthwhile lives, I have been finding out just how much I have missed out on, like being creative and artistic and non-conventional and traveling the world and establishing a reputation for doing something really well and…… following your dreams y’know? So I’m bitching about the fact that these kids who are my age are living the lives I wanted to live! That’s my life dude, give it back! I didn’t even finish reading the magazine, I was just too too stressed out.

By the way, that Princess Komuntale is quite the dish isn’t she? A bit skinny but that can be remedied with a sustained diet of pork ribs and Tusker. So, who of us wants to be the first one to have a go at getting the royal garter?

Ho Ho Ho!

2007-01-08T19:10:00.000+03:00

What I would have asked Santa for, if I believed;

1. My girlfriend’s parents to accept me and love me and bless our relationship without making too much of an issue over the fact that I’m originally from Congo by way of Rwanda and not somewhere in Kiboga.

2. Our Dear Leader, He of the Solitary Vision and Sole Redeemer of Our Beloved Nation from Bad Leaders, finally keeping his promise to tarmac the road from Kabale to Kisoro. I too would like to go home without having to take out travel insurance first.

3. Our honourable Parliament passing a resolution to reduce both their numbers and the number of constituencies as well as place a ceiling on the emoluments of a member of said Parliament for at least the next 10 years. In addition, stripping members of the cabinet, with the exception of the Prez, deputy Prez, and Premier, of the dubious “right” to enjoy a siren blaring police truck clearing traffic on their behalf.

4. Osama Bin Laden – now that I’ve written his name I’ve given the National Security Agency licence to hack into my emails and track my correspondence – to die from like prostate cancer so the US of A will run out of excuses to invade “Axis of Evil” countries and kill their leaders for the heck of it. Checks and balances are good. In the Blue corner, USA, Britain, Trinidad & Tobago and The Bahamas; in the Red corner, China, North Korea, France, Germany, Syria, Iran, India and the rest of the world; that’s us.

5. The results of my daily push-ups and sit-ups regime to finally start showing, I can feel that six pack on the inside, underneath the blubber, now I’d like to see it on the outside. Also while I have no problems with my hair growing as fast as it does, necessitating fortnightly visits to Farouk’s barbershop, maybe I should go for gold and have it growing on the top of my head as well. Having lost my widow’s peak years ago, I would like to still have a full head of hair for like another 2 decades.

6. Oil to start flowing out of Bunyoro, yesterday, so the price of everything from a taxi ride to a rolex will drop several units. Come to think of it, if we’re producing our own oil we wouldn’t have to pay through the nose tariffs for thermal electricity – in the absence of hydro electric power - because our own oil would be a lot cheaper than the imported diesel Aggrekko uses, right? We used to have elec all the time, many many years ago.

7. m7 to announce in his welcome speech at CHOGM that he’s resigning from office effective December 31 2008, in the meantime repealing the legislation that allowed 3rd term, ensuring the prosecution of you know who(s) for corruption, embezzlement, valley dams, Global Fund, junk choppers, Tri-Star Apparels, NSSF, Kony, potholes, dust, Ruhaama, letting Prof. Bukenya take over for the remainder of his term and in an exclusive interview with The New Vision’s Els de Temmerman, indicating his private belief that yes indeed, Dr. Ham Mulira, current ICT Minister, will make an excellent President in 2011.

8. The suits in the respective Treasuries of Ug, Kenya and Tz making a Customs Union happen ASAP, so that the political federation, to include Rwanda & Burundi of course, will in turn come to pass by 2011 when Dr. Ham Mulira will become Federation Governor (President) for Uganda, Nicholas Biwott for Kenya (u guys aren’t giving us too many options y’know), Bernard Makuza for Rwanda, Pierre Nkurunziza for Burundi, Anna Tibaijuka for Tanzania and Jakaya Kikwete President of the East African Union. We should be so lucky.

9. Finally saving, stealing, commandeering and blackmailing enough money to buy a navy blue VW Golf GTi with headrests on all 4 seats, 18’s, Ipod compatible Bose 5 CD changer stereo with surround speakers, AC, power steering, xenon headlamps, sunroof and 2 exhaust pipes, at separate ends of the backend. Nothing fancy really.

10. Health, wealth and happiness for every last one of you, your families and loved ones.

casino royale.

2006-11-28T23:19:00.000+03:00

did you know dat certain scenes fom the movie were shot in mbale, uganda?
u doubt? {i did too} go check it out on wikipedia. ye, wen does the movie start showing here? wasn't it supposed to kick off on november 17?

i find it amazing dat the regular gossip hacks have not trumpeted the fact that a tinsy winsy bit of a JAMES BOND movie was shot in gud ole Ug! Baz, sleeping on d job? oba i'm the one whoz not reading the gossip columns?

4 me, in preparation for Casino Royale, i have decided to rewatch every single 007 movie ever made. i am having a blast, even tho Kananga is not as scary this time round - black voodoo dude from Live & Let Die, also d first time dat 007 tapped a sista. u know wat dey say; once u go black .... witness d emergence of halle berry in Tomorrow Never Dies.

P.S. Baz, u r not a hack. u r infact a highly respected member of the 2nd oldest profession in d world. who just authored his first book. n prolly did not include certain pple in d dedications. u see wher ei'm going with this?

been a while, yeah? bite me.

2006-11-28T21:30:00.000+03:00

my ex ex reads this blog.
she stumbled upon it courtesy of a rather convuluted trail that involved the sister of Kyalya from primary school, better known as Angela, and one Ernest Sempebwa Bazanye - u owe me mate! one autographed book oughta take care of that rather nicely, wouldnt u say?

we did lunch, after she woke me at 7:30 to enquire if i was "otherwise engaged", LOL, indeed! shit has changed man, shit done changed. wen we were "going out", more like staying in really, i was - for want of a less truthful euphemism - a Steve Urkel, sans the suspenders n sotto voice. now i've morphed into Shaft himself, Blair Underwood aint gat shit on me.

nice guys really never win, ever. take it from me y'all. u too Josh, u wanna quit the abstinence club, go hang out with some yardies from Stepney. then again maybe i'm just venting because i was sorely disappointed by the complete n utter lack of bodily reaction to the spliff i just did. the one given to me post lunch by aforementioned ex ex.

maybe i oughta give maryjane another chance before i write her off, eeh? tobacco n beer got their uses but they can get oh so boring. so since u're now reading this Darling, how'd i get another stick - dats wat y'all call them right? - of this here maryjane?

Still Paying

2006-11-13T17:14:00.000+03:00

Wssup my peoples!

its been a long week but ....we are now married!
am still hungover, a weekful of pints and haree will do dat to you, but i will have the full story up just as soon as i can write it all down. or remember it for that matter.

Cheers.

& then there were 3

2006-11-02T13:31:00.000+03:00

After 7 years we're all together again.

Frog is still the acerbic analyst with d writing problem, Busta is still the rabid economist with a soft spot for politics and I’m still … well, I’m still me. Frog doesn’t like hypocrites, Busta don’t like potholes and I don’t like the provincial town we call a city.

we were last together on the hung over morning – after a drunken night of saying bye during which Busta fell over backwards in his chair and continued making a point with his finger raised for emphasis looking 4 all the world like it was the most normal thing to be speaking while lying on his back in his chair - when we dropped Busta off at Entebbe airport for his flight to the US of A where he was going to seek his fortune and fame. Frog was going to become the next V.S. Naipaul with a dash of Ernest Hemingway and I was going to become an accountant with PwC. Frog was skinny and scholarly, Busta a shortish/stoutish dude with a slight limp and I was the tallest and ever so gracefully slender. None of us had girlfriends, kids or cares but as far as I can remember, none of us were complaining, or virgins for that matter.

College came and went, yeah well, almost went. I took a gap year after 3rd year, Busta took one as well and Frog changed course from writing to business, underneath the official reasons I just knew we were all bored with tutorials from people who did not share our ideal view of the world as it should and could be, teachers who taught that which they had not practiced, we just wanted to get out and start living already. so we then threw our collective energies into other pursuits; Busta left Texas and moved to Cali to work and make benjamins, I did a stint with church ministry and when that started ministering to everyone else but me - private issues with God - I chucked it all in, grew my hair and left for a stint at Kyeyo in the UK. Frog, to his credit stayed close to God, and his eternal passion - writing - going on to write for every major newspaper in the land and wind up editing at two of them, a fact I let him know I was madly envious of at every turn. He also read pretty much every book there was to read except maybe for the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

meanwhile, I returned to Ug, weighed my options and decided to learn the PR game so I cut my hair, went to the foremost firm in the country and talked them into giving me a job, to the chagrin of my mother who eternally preaches the "go to school, get a good degree and the rest will be ok afterwards" gospel. I wasn’t buying that and neither was Busta who had gained quite a few pounds, grown an impressive set of corn rows and developed a proper Texan drawl. Imagine that, he had to move to Cali to start speaking like a Texan.

In between leaving the country and returning, twice, I managed to lose the first serious-as-a-heart-attack girlfriend I ever had, going on to sow a few wild oats while mastering the art of corporate doublespeak and client ass smooching. I quit going to church and developed one of those “relationships” with God, y’know the kind; where when nice girls ask u if you’re saved, u respond, “I have a relationship with God”, one which in my case consisted mostly of me asking and him giving. Or not. As he saw fit. Mostly not. Frog, the sneaky bugger, had meanwhile met a rather lovely young lady and was - in his quiet methodically effective way – going about courting her. While I was pouring my heart out to him over the latest daughter of Jezebel – believe u me, those were not daughters of Eve – to smite my heart, he would sit there with a faraway look on his face and a half smile playing about his lips. He knew all along that he was the lucky one didn’t he?

Then 25 came round and I had a mid-mid life crisis. I was still unmarried, had no kids – or prospects – no house, no car and certainly no big shaggy dog. Busta also came clean, shit was bugging him, he was missing Ug; College, working and Cali were bagging the hell outta him. Simple, we answered, come and see us. Frog on the other hand was mum, little did we know.

A few months ago, he came clean. He’d gone down on one knee and she’d said yes. Damn. Double damn. He asked me to be bestman, with tears of joy – shed in the privacy of a Uganda Wa inspired funk – I accepted and we immediately SMSed Busta. His response, “WTF! Is she pregnant?” no dude, they’re in love, “whatever, I’m all about the booty!” yes, dude we know, we still remember the trip to Mombasa after S.6 finals, the one with everyone from Hannington – Busta and my dorm, Frog was in Nadiope - and … sorry, I’m sworn never to speak of that trip ever.

So enter a new phase.

I quit smoking, bingeing, started going to church again, made some new friends online – u guys – and to prepare for my new found responsibilities got involved in the wedding preparations for Charity & Myke during which I re-made the acquaintance of a beautiful young lady who I last remembered as the best friend of Charity’s younger sister. That beautiful young lady is now my girlfriend; yesterday was our 1 month anniversary. Then Busta announced he was coming down for the wedding so we shifted the date to accommodate him – that’s the official version of events.

Meanwhile Frog and I both quit the corporate rat race to sink or swim on our own. In his case he’d read my entire collection of Robert Kiyosaki books and found his inspiration therein. In my case – irrespective of whatever I told y’all before - I’d read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ “100 days of Solitude” and recognised a kindred spirit, a harkening back to the days when all I needed to be happy was – not the house, car, big screen TV and big hairy dog – but just a good book and my unfettered imagination. Busta had by now moved back to Texas and a new job in one of those fancy ass restaurants.

Wedding meetings were subsequently organised and held, tough business I tell you ela next time u get a text message inviting you to one, please go, u will soon be the one sending out those text messages and wishing peeps wont just hit “delete” and keep quiet. By the way, the last one is next week Tuesday at 5:30 pm, if any of y’all would like to come, holla and I’ll tell you where. Bring along like a ka polite 20k. or 30. or 80. as the Good Lord leads you.

Busta meanwhile set off on a round the continents trip to get here in time, spending a few days in London with his sisters and a bunch of guys we went to school with. From the pictures I’ve seen, only Frog and I have remained our skinny selves, everyone else – even the ones here – is heavier by a coupla pounds man! He called on Tuesday to say he’d be here in 35 hours so I figured, ok, Thursday morning then bright and early Wednesday my phone rings – 078 number - and I answer with my best PR firm answer, “Degstar speaking, how may I help you”- y’know, only for a drawl to hit me with, “wssup nigga, u still sleeping?” Busta was here.

I was happy. For a myriad number of reasons. So last night they all crashed at my crib. And after the endless conversation late into the night, I thought to myself how so much had changed and yet so little had changed. Busta is bigger than both Frog and I, he still limps – though you’d have to know it to see it – and straight off the plane he was talking mortgages, property values and shit. Then he started wading in on Kananathan and Tristar and the – what was it? 20Bn of our tax schillings that got flushed? – At which point we asked him if he’d brought a kanzu for the kuhingira this weekend. Frog will shortly, after the wedding, be starting a new job as editor at a business oriented paper and did I mention he’s getting married? Oh I did, ok. Me, I sit here in my cubby-hole office and post blogs about other people’s lives. And I’m going back to MuK to get my degree so my mother can hold her head up in polite society. Now Peter my office mate has lit up a fag and I so badly want one but I promised myself I wouldn’t … oh damn, I need a stiff drink.

Its easy to say 7 years and think “damn, so long”, but when you think in terms of days, months, lost loves, dashed dreams, lessons learnt, personal successes, family tragedies and family celebrations, number of nephews and nieces born, d time Jajja almost died, Mum’s operation, dead classmates, classmates with kids, number of mugs of late-working-night coffee drunk, number of times finger nails have been chewed to the quick, number of forwards deleted from yahoo inbox, deadlines met & not met, past sexual partners, books read, pairs of shoes bought, used and discarded, fashions come and gone, number of blue shirts worn, it really aint that long.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure,
It is our light not our darkness that frightens us …

… As we let our light shine, we unconsciously
Give others permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fears,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson as quoted by Nelson Mandela in his Inauguration Speech.

It has been 7 years.

Listening to; Oliver “Tuku” Mtukudzi: Ndakuvara, as well as the rest of the album.

Damn.

2006-10-26T13:30:00.000+03:00

Yesterday was the culmination of the last two weeks of hard work.

Client wanted a Symposium put together so I did everything, invited people from a list provided by the client, sent reminder Emails, booked the hotel, projecter, Refreshments, made handouts, did the banner, typed up all the briefs and put together all the meetings prior to and after the Symposium. Then went to the hotel bright and early yesterday morning to run the event.

And no one showed up. Not. One. Person.

I could point out that my client is unknown, two weeks was maybe not long enough, mybe sending Invites by email wasnt such a good idea afterall, there were two other UN related workshops going on at the same time in that hotel alone and most of our guests were from the NGO community, i could say we're achieving more from the one-on-one meetings we've been holding with different stakeholders and maybe - with the benefit of hindsight - we shoulda done that instead. i could also point out, and rightly, that the yearly Consultative Reviews of the Education & Health sectors are going on and so the NGO people are too busy making sure we spend their dollars and euros bulungi and the govt/project people are also ensuring their livelihoods are still intact, to come for a ka half day Symposium hosted by an unknown company, however brlliant it's solutions.

i could say all of that, yes, but the fact remains.

Not one person showed up.

"Nigga, it's hard out here for a pimp!"
Terence Howard from the movie "Hustle & Flow"

I am way too old 4 this shit.

2006-10-20T15:33:00.000+03:00

This is a longish one, steel urself.

I swear I had outgrown these sort of things!
This stuff shouldn’t be happening to me, it is not supposed to happen to me, I am a grown man now, grown men are not to be seen chasing a car tyre down the middle of Sir Apollo kaggwa Road at midnight in the rain! Really! What if The Red pepper had come by?

WUUUUUSSSAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Remember how I mentioned mbu Galfrend, GF, was rather taken by evil Cousin Paul’s not entirely untrue displays of proper upbringing? Not entirely untrue because while dearly departed Aunt Christine, PBUH, did her damndest by that boy, that boy was a yeti handful to raise and then some. Kati GF wanted to go see movies at Paul’s crib – due in part to reasons such as u can eat real food whilst u indulge as opposed to Cineplex and also because we would not be in the way of her roomies, anti one must be considerate of others’ feelings (read that to mean the other couple was tired of being binned – await with bated breath the post on benching etiquette) – so to Paul’s crib we went. In reply to the obvious qn, my crib is far. And I don’t wanna share my woman with my 1.5 yr old nephew. Negro can find his own squeeze.

So we buy food in Wandegs – why does Romalo run outta fries at 7pm? Isn’t that a bit silly? Like a rolex seller with no chapattis? – go get a movie from Doctor’s Lib somewhere on Biashara street – don’t ask me why they call him Doctor, I asked and was told nada – then we go wait for Romalo to finish slicing and dicing their potats so that we can have our fries. Paul was being morose n GF wanted to know wssup and he sez mbu the next day was/is his ex-GF’s birthday! Mbu he was thinking of calling her up and stuff cause he was tired of being lonely … blah blah … while I suppressed the urge to explode in paroxysms of laughter, to my discomfort, GF starts cooing about poor Paulo and his broken heart and she wants to know why he broke up with her.

In my head I’m like screaming, “they did not break up! It’s another one of their silly love games!” see these guys got drama like that Spanish chick from Desperate Housewives (yes. I watched it. So what?) They have a fight, she walks off, he goes begging to Mukono Uni, they kiss and make up and instead of talking thru their shit they have mind blowing sex, until the next time when the tables are turned and he’s the one walking off and she’s begging … which is what was going on here. Poor Paulo indeed!

Anyway, GF brought along “Shall we Dance”, gr8 movie by the way, then we ate den I took out a movie, nay, film, called “Submerged” that I found somewhere that has Coolio in it and crashing planes and I’m getting all excited and … that was the worst movie I have seen all year. And I have the wounds to prove it, from all the barbs that the others threw at me.

Timecheck: 11:30 pm.
We gotta take GF back to Box before midnight, because he wants to stay behind and call his ex(!) at midnight, Paul offers me his car and wisely I decline – that car is the Antichrist I swear! If ever you’re near the gas station at the western entrance of the Game/Shoprite complex and u happen to notice a gash in the tarmac that starts near Kati Kati and ends at the gas station, wonder no more, that gash was the result of Paul’s car blowing a tyre at 3am many nights ago and him, in what I suppose is his love language 4 his car, driving it down to the gas station where it would be “safe”. The sparks display was to die for! My sisters won’t ride alone with him again because of that.

So we get in the car, drive up to Sir Apollo Kaggwa and 10 metres up the road, in the driving rain of last night, we all voice out loud the incontestable fact that we have a flat tyre. Again. Back up off the road infront of some dude’s gate and plan phase 2. The absence of a spare tyre being swiftly confirmed, I reluctantly extricate myself from the love boat in the back seat and climb out in the rain to join P in getting the tyre off. In the driving rain. Nga the bod bods jam to stop 4 us! I’m thinking, “fuck this shit”, know what I did? I kicked the tyre into motion and started a full fledged sprint down Sir Apollo Kaggwa Rd – to the gas station at the junction to Bwaise - like one of those village kids who stick a pair of sticks into a tyre and call it a car.

Damn it felt good.
Especially when cars were honking and veering out of the way.
Paul had, when I started running, followed instinctively – leaving GF all by her lonesome in the car – now he’s behind me reminding me how the mothers jammed to buy us BMX bikes - yeah Mum, a Hero is not a BMX - and this was our way of compensating for it. At the gas station we discover the extent of d damage, there’s a gash in the tyre so its no good. A bod bod ride to Eden Service Park in Bwaise confirms our worst fears, there are no tire fixers to be found at midnight. Then the bod bod wants 4k for riding past 11pm – damn u IGP Kaihura!

So we do a good cop, bad cop on him;
P: Otuyita kii, olowoza ssente tuzilonda ku miti?
Me: Wama ssebo, labba wanno, tugudde ku kizibu, omupila ogulaba …
P: Emottoka tujaziise ku mzee kati yiyo efudde, tunamugamba kii?
Me: Gufudde, kati tusasile, tetubadde na’sente nyingi …
P: Nawe bela muntu mulamu totuba kubanga olabye tuli mu kizibu! … mzee, tunamugamba kii emottoka ye? Tuli ba studenti tetukola!
Me: Okiliza taata?
Him: Kale, anti gwe oyogedde bulungi ka’ngendele awo
Me: Tuka bulungi ssebo.

Den he rode off
N – to the apparent amazement of the night owl a few feet away,
We fell upon each other in hyena laughs and backslaps of complicity. Ah, the simple pleasures.

Obviously there was no future in those parts of town so we grabbed a cab, drove back to pick up GF who’d wisely locked herself in the car and delivered her to Campus at 12:20am, the first time in her 3 years at Uni that she’s been back that late. Pause 4 thought, I should be seeing something here, shouldn’t I?

After trying a few more gas stations that couldn’t help us, we ended up at the City Tyre place at Gapco on Ben Kiwanuka Street, y’know, after the Old Park before the Shoprite. Paul promptly went to sleep leaning against the compressor and despite the ear splitting whine of the compressed air or whatever that noise was. Leaving me to yap with the bad breathed cabbie and the mechanic about things car-ish – feel me mein Herren? Man, that tyre was messed up some. But that mechanic was better. Dude fixed it up. Being a tubeless 130 (know how rare those are? Very rare. If u drive a Corolla AE100, I feel 4 u) he found an old tube with 3 holes which he patched up – random Discovery Channel fact :- tyre glue only works when its dry, u wait 4 it to dry then apply the patch aka kilaka – stuck a piece of tubing in the tyre to cover the gash and then put the tube in. man, I was in high heaven being in that workshop! It was riveting, the kaboozi and earthy wisdom flying around. Like when this Fuso truck rolled in that needed a tire fixed and the turnboy was being testy because the mechanics were not jumping to attention – twas 1:30 am today - you know what they told him?

“Kale, wekalakase!” i.e. fine dude, go on strike already! He swallowed a chill pill then.

Then guess who shows up? The “comedian” Amooti from the Amarula family. Him who didn’t bother with growing cornrows, he just shaved them into his head. After popping his bonnet, the idiot then proceeds to use his Cellphone as a torch! Milimetre from his engine. We point out to him that should it ring, he would have more to worry about than a few missing radiator rings – his analysis. Then quips the cabbie, “mwana, akamotoka ke katono naye kalina engine ya lorre!”

Ok, I’m getting tired retelling this story, dude I went to bed at 4am, suffice to say that the mechanics had all assured us we wouldn’t find the rest of the car tyres still intact. Mbu some sharp thugs woulda taken tham. Well, they didn’t. and when the cabbie wouldn’t stay with us to fix the tyre, P said it musta been cause the hommies he’d alerted to come get the tyres off the car in our absence let him down and he was rushing away to tell them off. I hear he was even preparing us emotionally by telling us not to expect to find the tyres there.

P.S.
Paul called his “ex”. She was very happy to hear from him. As I speak they’re probably making up. If she didn’t bring along a whole bunch of her friends that is.

My Girlfrend hates ...

2006-10-20T13:46:00.000+03:00

My girlfriend hates Yasmin and Charlotte. Next to her, they are the other females I spend every working hour with. She loathes the fact that they go everywhere with me and until she put her oh so petite foot down last week, things were probably going to keep happening that way, Yaz, Char and I would have kept on triumvirating in our trinity of conspiracies. Yaz is of course my Nike rucksack and Char, well; she’s the Compaq notebook by which I swear. Without both of them I would be lost.

Girlfriend does not think so and now, when I do go to see her which is every other day (according to her timetable of course) Yaz and Char stay in the office. Unless of course girlfriend would like to see a movie in which case I will invite the gals along, as long as they’re on their best behavior. She’s amazing, Girlfriend, she really is. For her I will stay out late till almost past midnight … speaking of Girlfriends, I just remembered something … Paul my cousin is officially lost to the male of the species. As a man he is neutered.

Why, you ask?
Paul used to be the Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll. In P.6 he was tattooing himself with a Compass and Fountain pen ink on a dare while I was running for deputy HP. The thing with the mirrors under the girls’ desks? He did that. Hotcombed and relaxed his hair in P.7, did that (ok, I also hotcombed a kasunsu). Infact that Christmas, ‘92, we were at Sunset Hotel with the families and this white geezer invited Paul upto his room for a drink. He asked me along and I said to him, “Negro, you’re wearing your mum’s earrings and a wet look, WTF do you think that Zungu wants with your black ass?” He still went, mbu the free alcohol, and got lost in the corridors.

As indeed he was one of the few fellas I knew to have entered the girls’ toilet, twice (I am proud to report that I pulled this off when I was in S.4 vac, yup, I went back to Victoria Nile purposefully to enter the girls’ toilet). At Christmas of ‘91 when twas my turn to get up and dance during the dancing competitions, Paul stealthily changed the L.P to a just released smoking hot Salt n Pepa track, So I’m getting ready to bust a move and “Let’s Talk about Sex” comes blasting out of the speakers! In front of my mum and Aunt Christine and like a dozen cousins, half of them girls incl. Brenda who we both had a crush on (how d times change!) he then announces mbu that was the track I had chosen. I forgot how to dance, until the bull dances in SMACK but that’s another story, suffice to say, that one Shadow was well known for – how to say this – sensual gyrations!

Those Lourdel guys!

The last time I spent a weekend hanging with Paul, he brought his ex to my house for a little Slap and Tickle then when we went out the next night, he brought his – current – girlfriend along and provoked a catfight which ended in ex telling current what was going on and Paul denying he’d seen ex in months, “I swear I haven’t seen this chick in months, ask Degstar, I’ve been with him all weekend!” damn straight, he was. Ex stormed off (despite having no money) to her boyfriend (who knew about Paul getting it on and still took her back, infact aggressively pursued her), current wouldn’t get in the car, I had to get home (twas 3am Monday and I had staff meeting at 8am) then calm was restored when he agreed – despite his protestations of innocence – to buy ex Morning After and do an HIV test the next day.

Another time … kyokka the things I have been through with Paul!

Then he invites Girlfriend, her roomie and I to his place for supper and I’m praying he at least made his bed and removed the disassembled PCs from his dining table that morning. Imagine my shell shocked reaction when we walk into a spotless, clean smelling house with nary a dust mite. I was so shocked to see;

1. the carpet was clean, no rolex buveera on the floor, the air just … smelt clean!
2. the bed was laid, with what looked like new sheets,
3. the laundry clean, pressed and folded, no strewn about jeans and t-shirts,
4. the kitchenette had more crockery than the obligatory 2 stained coffee mugs and pewter plates, that,

I went into a state of muteness. While the girls fixed the takeaway supper, I pulled him aside and sought, nay, demanded an explanation. Quoth he, “man, mukyala came and organized my shit! She made me throw away the PCs, buy a fridge, oba new sheets, ties, dress pants, formal shoes … what! And guess what, not only did she make a copy of the key but she also blocked the emergency exit from my bedroom so now I can’t import a kinanka! And yet, I’m not getting any! Man, life is hard”

Then Girlfriend asked what we were furiously whispering about before announcing supper.
Paul: “we were just discussing which movie to put on for you guys, “Emma” with Gwyneth Paltrow or “Beauty & the Beast?”
Girlfriend: “oh Paul, you’re so sweet!”

While he winked at me behind her back, I took comfort in knowing that we were both abstaining, me voluntarily.

U need to Know this

2006-10-07T16:17:00.000+03:00

In all fairness to Dr. Kinyatta, yesterday after the previous post I went in search of the salient facts and discovered this; He encouraged the bus peoples not to move to Nateete because after they left the Bus park to allow for its renovation many months ago, 5 of them ( bus companies not people) went to the Kisenyi slum and built their own terminal at Ushs 2 billion. Hence their reluctance to move to Nateete.

This then beggars the question; why did the city council allow the companies to construct their terminal only to turn around and instruct them to move out to Nateete? where's the centralised planning and execution of city growth? I use the term "city" very loosely. Over to you Seeya.

Shall we tell the President?

2006-10-06T13:42:00.000+03:00

Today morning I went to see my IT repair guy over a laptop he’s taking Ugandan time about fixing and returning to me. I should probably go on and denounce him for the scoundrel he is but, he is my friend, ish, and his wedding meetings start today so lemme give him a break till after we’ve all contributed to his wedding and when he’s been married a few months then we’ll deny him business so that he can style up his act.

I took a taxi into town and on the radio was Radio 2 which is the vernacular version of Radio 1. The DJ introduced the current-est topic in local Kampala politics, or one of them at any rate – that of relocating western Uganda bound buses from downtown Kampala to Nateete which is that suburb 2km out of Kla as you head to Masaka, those ends. The mayor, His Worship Al-Hajji Nasser Ntege Ssebaggala – street name “Seeya”, had in his wisdom issued an edict to the effect that the bus peoples should forthwith repair to the environs of Nateete and the bus peoples had in their infinite bullheadedness refused, insisting on continuing to clog Ben Kiwanuka Street and the New Taxi Park area with their buses. To put it in perspective for our Kenyan family and friends, I think that’s the equivalent of River Road chockfull with 30+ Kenya Buses (the old long ones by the way), at any given time. For the record the bus park is itself undergoing renovation so the buses have over the last few months been parking on the street, get that, where u would park if you were brave enough to drive down there.

Now, in his (what was he thinking!) wisdom, the Kampala Resident District Commissioner (RDC) Dr. Stanley Kinyatta, has pronounced himself on the subject. He will not see the buses relocated to Nateete, on the grounds that to do so would be to expose the incoming travellers to the risk of highway robbery and brigands on the stretch from the would be Nateete terminal into downtown Kampala, seeing as they are loaded with huge amounts of cash for the purpose of commerce in Kikuubo, Owino, Luwum Street, Mukwano arcade, et cetera. Once again, for the Kenyans - where are the Tanzanians btw? Shooting another bongo flavour vid for EATV? I digress – from Nateete to downtown Kla is like from Yaya Centre to River Road, give or take a few hundred metres. Now, for a recap of the facts;

1. The mayor was elected by the people of Kampala, even though all of us bloggers didn’t vote for him, so assumedly he speaks for us. The RDC was appointed by the Govt of M7 after being de-ministered (he was like Minister of State for Animal Husbandry or something) in what is generally regarded as a way of keeping Movement functionaries in employment. So then, who does he speak for? U and I? The Movement? The Government? M7?

2. Kla is growing. The Greater Kampala master plan, which I have seen, has the city extending peke Entebbe in the South, Mukono in the East, Busega -right after Nateete - in the West and Bombo in the North. It makes sense to me to have the buses parking on the outskirts and only commuter buses – the new EasyBus ones – operating in the city centre so we have no more kavuuyo the way things are now. The taxis would then feed the city centre buses with commuters from the suburbs. Everyone gets their slice of cake.

3. The bus fare from Kisoro to Kampala is still going to be Ushs. 15,000 whether the bus leaves me in Nateete or brings me into town? So why are the bus people complaining?

4. Mr. RDC, allow me to point out to you that if I was a highway man, it would be very foolhardy for me to ambush cash loaded travellers on the populated and policed 2km urban stretch between Nateete and downtown Kampala, when I have the entire mostly unpopulated definitely un-policed 400 or something km from Kisoro to do the same. So again I ask you, for whom do you speak?

5. Mr. Ssebaggala has in the 6 or so months he’s been Mayor, has done more to generate a sense of belongingness amongst us Kampalans than Christopher Iga ever did in the 10 or so years he was Mayor. Seeya is DP, Iga was Movt. Seeya is academically challenged, Dr. Kinyatta is a Doctor. Seeya is a proven successful businessman, what did Dr. Kinyatta do before he was thrust upon us by the President? Shouldn’t he lending his medical expertise to whatever field he gained it in, as opposed to placing announcements for Nigiina groups?

While the debate was going on, a female functionary from Kinyattas politburo called in to make her comments, “we in the administration … blah blah … will discuss with all stakeholders … blah blah … equitable solutions … yawn!” and prefaced her comments by;
1. inviting all women from Makindye division to a meeting this Sunday at which many things will be discussed and several resolutions passed and nothing implemented and a lot of soda drunk and some photos taken and if we’re lucky we’ll make the 9:00 o’clock news on UBC-TV
She then proceeded to state that;
1. Dr. Kinyatta was there with her listening to the talk show as they sipped on Milk chai with pancakes from Macarena. Didn’t he have more important things to be doing at 9:30 am? Doesn’t he have aides for this sort of thing? To listen to the radio I mean?

6. Aforementioned sense of belonging has its roots in the fact that after realising we “elites” had by our laziness at the polls let Boda-boda riders and women with flaming red hairdos and lime green skirts – the power base of Seeya – decide our leadership for us, inwardly resolved “Never Again” so we’re going to help Seeya finish his term as quickly as possible so that Pastor Peter Se…se…Sematimba can take his rightful place at the helm of the city. To do that I will personally litter less, express my gratitude to Seeya’s peeps who’re cleaning out the drains in Ntinda, even though they left the muck on the roadside so long that it sprouted Dodo, and generally be an all round good citizen.

7. That means I will give credit where it’s due. Moving the buses to Nateete is a good idea, Mr. RDC, its okay to want to score political points, however the elections are long over, ok, so get with the program already – the Queen is coming down, and I don’t think you want that particular headache adding to the one caused by all that traffic madness with the buses downtown.

First 250 days of Kisanja

2006-09-25T15:32:00.002+03:00

Things that have happened in the first 250 days of the Kisanja

1. Rolex has gone up to Ushs. 600 from Ushs. 5oo. The increase has been attributed to the increased cost of eggs brought on by the scarcity of chicken, itself a result of the H4N51 virus, better known as Bird Flu. Funny but no confirmed cases were found, were they?

2. Boda-boda to my crib on the hill overlooking the Kisaasi section of the Northern bypass has doubled to Ushs. 1000 from Ushs. 500 due to the banning of their operations after 11:00pm by IGP Maj. Gen. Kaihura. Afande, shit is still the same, those wanna-be Hells Angels still be cruising the streets after hours.

3. The president has lost it with his dress sense; not particularly known for being debonair – u ever see those green army socks he wears with suits? – M7 has sunk to a new low; did you see the getup he wore to meet with the delegation from the EAC Secretariat led by Hon. Juma Mwapachu the new Secretary General? Dude, if Janet has burst, organise one of your bu side squeezes to sort you out because you have lost the plot kabisa, and this is not ettima, just patriotism.

4. I have a girlfriend. She’s a campuser, beautiful, in her 3rd year, goes to St. Francis, resides in Box, is a worship leader, sings like an angel, and is mad as a hatter. We are praying together and such not and that is the extent of our physical relationship. I am now a bonafide bencher.

5. Hon. Ali Kirunda Kivejinja became Minister of State for Information. The last I checked no one seemed to remember him giving a press conference on current matters of import e.g. the Cessation of Hostilities Agreement with the LRA rebels, the request by MPs for Ushs. 60 mil each to buy new SUV trucks/luxury saloons or as revealed by The Monitor, the Ministry of Health keeping a fleet of 1000 plus SUVs, most of which have never seen any offroad duty. This in a country where the same Ministry last year bought double cabin pickup trucks and labelled them ambulances.

6. Cineplex Cinema Wilson Road closed down in preparation to move to Garden city, the only “mall” in Uganda. Then an as yet unexplained fire broke out on the ground floor of the mall. I see more than coincidence here, I smell a conspiracy. Who of the upmarket outlets down there did not want us Wilson Road cinema goers stomping all over their terrazzo floors and lounging on their burnished steel outdoor furniture?

7. Occasionally in the taxi from Wandegeya to Kisaasi at about 11pm after benching Girlfriend, I am charged an extra Ushs. 200, upon enquiring where the rest of my change is, I am met with the quip, “anti mwalonda bubi”. Ok, so because I exercised my inalienable right to decide my political leadership I must pay a penalty? And I voted wisely for the record, mwatuba bubi!

8. Oil has been discovered in Uganda. Really this did not take a rocket scientist to figure out; if there is oil in southern Sudan and Southern Sudan is at a lower elevation than most of Uganda – as evidenced by the northward flow of the Nile – then surely that oil must have flowed down there from somewhere, right? Yet still, prices of fuel and fuel products in Uganda are more expensive than those in even more landlocked Rwanda. In my village Kisoro, we cross the border to buy our fuel in the Congolese border town of Bunagana, even their fuel is cheaper and they do not have a government in Eastern Congo. Go figure.

9. One of us has decided to make an honest woman out of his paramour and is currently organising to mince and sashay down the aisle at KPC North with her… that’s all I’m saying. It just hit me the other day that she will be in our lives FOREVER! Hmph, no more all night 24, O.C, CSI, Band of Brothers sessions. Oh, Cry the Beloved Friendship!

10. Life in the real private sector has thus far been one long holiday. I landed an account the first day after quitting and will shortly be registering the Ltd liability company. Next week I will morph into a salesman of computers and assorted accessories. God has been good.

11. That’s all folks!

P.S. M7, Taata, we want our road from Kabale to Kisoro! For the last 10 years you have fed us on a diet of byoya bya nswa inspite of the fact that we, me excluded after 1996, have consistently given you 99.9% of our votes at the polls.

Rated 18.

2006-09-01T19:47:00.000+03:00

No more Mr. Employee

2006-08-30T14:55:00.000+03:00

Today is my second last day at this organization.
Presenting the thoughts on my mental to-do list;

1. Pay off Rita at the lunch place downstairs, oba I owe her Ushs. 6,000 now

2. Clear out my different desk drawers and take the statute of the Burundian woman off my desk. On second thoughts, I’ll leave that behind

3. should not forget my Certificate in P.R Training from 4 odd months ago, should get that framed

4. now I can officially date all the chicks from my office, correction, that would be Olivia

5. Note to self; Olly has put you on her “Nice Guy” list, hasn’t she? Cause you know that’s the Kiss of Death! Oh well, she has a suitor anyways

6. Clear out the garage of all those excess posters that you took home after the fashion show 2 years ago. Corporate responsibility has time limits

7. they’ll probably deactivate your biometric ID now so always call ahead when coming over in future, to avoid ignominy of knocking on the glass door

8. Which reminds me, I need a Gmail account! Would any of y’all care to mail me an invite? My address is of course degattitude@yahoo.com. Thank u ever so much

9. How to tell the nice chick at KIU that she will not have the pleasure of my company anymore at those “meet the client” events? How to indeed?

10. Need a second pair of trainers because I will not be wearing wingtips and oxfords for a while yet. Strictly old jeans and vintage Tshirts

11. Start writing an account of my first “100 days of un-Employment” loosely based upon Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Days of Solitude.

12. damn, I’m gonna miss Olly just walking upto me and hugging me and holding on for dear life. And the adorable way she stands behind me and pours cold water into my shirt down my back … sigh. Hang on, is here something there that I have missed out on kabisa? … Waah, you’re her Nice Guy remember? Ah well … bibaawo

A Rather Belated Post

2006-08-24T09:48:00.000+03:00

The Red Pepper, Uganda’s most widespread mass media conduit of smut and salacious gossip has come up with a coup! Starting last Wednesday, they’re doing a full disclosure on Ugandans who are doing things in the dark that they’d rather we did not find out about e.g. last week they outed like a bunch of men who are of alternative persuasion. A most telling list of people it was, some expected, some not expected. As if to be going out of his way to prove the guys at The Red Pepper right, one of the guys on the list then went ahead and raped a first year kid last Saturday at his crib - Pause for a minute there, you think this is a bit far fetched? You’re joking my friend; this shit is as real as the bald on M7’s head - After plying him with alcohol like a nonsense.

All y’all fresh campus kids, you want to steer wide of all those older guys who want to be buying you drinks like they got a duty to empty the bar of its stock. There are no free lunches in Kampala, baby. And if you think I’m making this up, go out tonight and put your finger to the ground, something nasty be going on in this town. Man, we were talking about this yesterday at lunch and some of the people on that there mentioned list, damn! I was in shock!

But the real meat of the discussion at lunch was the subject of The Red Pepper’s next expose, all y’all people who be cheating on your spouses and girlfriends. Your names and those of your partners in crime. The list comes out on Friday and you best believe that there’s going to be blood on the dance-floor come end of the week. Me, I know like a few dozen people who’ll be on the list no doubt, which is actually what we were doing at lunch; creating our own list of sinners. And what a list it was! Gundi’s wife and her toyboy, Uncle Jim and all his bu-campus chicks, the assistant of a top military man and chicks the age of his daughters, the wife of Moneybags who you’d think gets all she needs from her man but apparently there are things that not all of the money in Ug will buy.

The night before last night, and I suspect last night as well, there were a number of spirited and vigorous objections to the stated intention of The Red One to publish said list. Noises were made about privacy and the right to pursuit of happiness and prosperity without undue influence from other people and the State – sounds like a line from the US constitution, oh dear me, I cannot convincingly quote from my own constitution! Well whatever – other noises were made about recourse to the law should certain upstanding and right thinking members of polite society be included on said list by mistake. I tell you, it was volatile up in there. Which brings me nicely to the subject of this post.

Men, why do we cheat on our women?

Esther asked me the very same question as we were winding up work today cause she sat through lunch with us and ventured nary an opinion. In fact I even missed class today cause she and I were just talking about this sin most vile. I ventured the following opinion; we cheat because;
1. we don’t love the woman we’re with enough to stay faithful to her.

She argued that we cheat because;
1. we are overgrown victims of peer pressure
2. we have like major ego issues so we cheat on our women to feel make us feel better cause we don’t like the fact that the guy at the urinal in the club had a bigger schlong than us.
3. we were not loved enough as children

Ok, caveat emptor;
Some of y’all been cheated on and some of y’all are cheating on somebody. I’ve done both so I know how shit sucks from both sides. Neither am I pointing fingers at any of y’all who got little step-brothers and sisters either. I just want some help understanding why we do this shit.

Kati tell me, why would you cheat on your woman or man?
And why would you be so dumb as to get caught doing it? Like the Good Bishop Misaeri Kauma said, “If you’re going to be foolish, don’t be stupid – use a condom!” and don’t get caught.!

P.S. according to Esther, when I said men cheat coz we don’t love our women enough to stay faithful to them, I was thinking like a woman.

P.P.S. Isn’t that the point? Think like your enemy so that you can beat them at their own game? Or like Dennis Matanda likes to say, “Stoop to Conquer!”

My Biggest Regret

2006-08-23T12:05:00.000+03:00

i had the opportunity to get Mr. Barlow's autograph in my copy of "An Anthrology of East African Poems" by David Rubadiri and David Cook. i never got the autograph because the young lady i asked to do the deed for me, Robinah, developed cold feet mbu because - even though they were neighbours and he's her sister's godfather or something - she had not been to vist him in a really long time. y'all know how he has been in and out of the hospital. so because i was waiting on Robbie to work up the nerve to go vist Mr. Barlow and apologise for having stayed away so long, he up and got worse and then died three days ago. i am gutted.

to her credit, as i post this, Robbie is at the funeral.

bugger. double bugger!

Adieu Mr. Barlow

2006-08-23T11:54:00.001+03:00

Fare Thee Well,

Henry Muwanga Barlow
Passed On August 20, 2006
Rest In Peace Sir

It has been real.

Kyokka Banange!

2006-08-16T17:37:00.000+03:00

Anyone noticed that Jimmy Katumba passed on yesterday but one?
Anyone cared?

What is the point of it all?

2006-08-14T18:20:00.000+03:00

1. So what your school and mine is 100 years old? How have your alumni and yourself contributed in a lasting way to the advancement of your family, community and nation?

2. So what if your alma mater has produced "prominent" docters, lawyers, economists and first sons/daughters? Who of them has made even one new medical discovery or postulated a new economic theory that will wipe out world hunger?

3. So what if your school had mass twice a week and prides itself in producing "ladies & gentlemen of integrity", do you not see the Karamojong women and children on the streets at Shoprite Ben Kiwanuka Street, StanChart Headquarters and at Steers Entebbe Road? where's your empathy then?

4. So what if your teachers came from Eton, Oxford, Cambridge, Rome, the US of A, Timbuktu, Never Never Land, how have you taken their teachings and used them to turn yourself into a leader? A Visionary Leader.

5. Think about this as your thump your smug self satisfied "I went to the best schools in Uganda" chest, the vital sectors of your economy - energy, retail, communications, transportation - are owned and run by people from an African country in which People of colour - u and me - were not generally allowed in University until the mid-eighties? they went to technical colleges, euphemistically called Technikons? Didnt y'all go to Makerere, T"he Harvard of Africa", "The Ivory Tower"?

Education is the process by which a fire is ignited in your mind, soul and body. A fire that ideally goes on to burn down immense tracts of ignorance, poverty, disease, hunger and backwardness. A fire that makes a difference by equipping you with the basic tools to go and change the world. Where are your blue chip companies? your medical discoveries when American high school kids are isolating, for the first time, the gene necessary for nitrogen fixation in freshwater blue-green algae (World Book Encyclopedia Science Year Book, 1991, Page 335 - Thanks Tim Kalyegira), where is the difference that you are making when you are content to be mis-ruled by leaders whose only claim to power is in successfully prosecuting a guerrilla war aganist AN ELECTED GOVERNMENT! WHERE IS THE CONCRETE RESULT OF YOUR PRICEY EDUCATION IN UGANDA'S "BEST" SCHOOLS?

Think about that.

Duc In Altum. 1906 - 2006

2006-08-14T14:36:00.000+03:00

Love it or Hate it (as i did for many years), it did shape me into the man i am today. Mwiri was merely finishing school. so all week i'll be thinking fond thoughts of Mbocha, Calif, Survival, Sosh, Kasinga, Hotstepper, Bukso, Tinka, German room - not really, Kakooza juniour room aka da Dungeon, cutting shower, being anti-sport, mass, Father Ssekimpi - R.I.P, Br. Martin - R.I.P, NN, PP, Sloping, milk truck, bweyinda buns, kibuga, slashing, Nabinonya, guava land, Mr. Okumu, Naluboobs, sickbay, rockets, enterte, mama Tewo ...

the eye moistens anew ...

Ich bin Fertig!

2006-08-08T16:44:00.000+03:00

In other news and there is no easy way to say this, I quit my high powered, high flying job last Friday. My last day of employment will be August 31. At this point I do not have a new job yet but even if I dont land one anytime soon, my brother and I are going into business together.

Thats All Folks.

U Studied Where?

2006-08-08T16:37:00.000+03:00

They say u should not judge people by their external appearance and I don’t. They also say you do not know people’s backgrounds so u should not make assumptions about their homes so I don’t. But when they say u should not judge people by their primary schools, I beg to differ.

J works with me as an intern. He is a driven, self motivated young man, the kind who’s going places and inspires you to want to be around to witness his journey. He is also a public litterer. A fact I was made privy to less than an hour ago when on our way back to the office we stopped off at Shell Select Bugolobi so he could pick up sumthin to eat; he bought milk and something in a khaki bag.

You know how I found out what sort of wrapping his edible stuff came in? We were driving back to the office through Nakawa when just as we drove past the Business School, I saw a kaveera flutter forth from the environs of the front seat - I was majestically reclined in the back seat of a very long van – d custom Toyota Hiace type. Seeing as it (d kaveera) bore an uncanny resemblance to the one J had walked out of Shell Bugos with, I immediately thought to myself, “no, it cant be J! he’s much too … refined … for that!”, apparently not, because with a flourish and as I looked in stupefied silence, he finished the last of the sacheted UHT milk he was sucking on through a straw and ever so casually flung it out the window onto the road. In slow motion I watched as the empty sachet fluttered onto the road and disappeared under the wheels of the truck right behind us, cringing as I thought to myself, “we’re in a branded vehicle u … dimwit?”

I almost told him off but something held me back. I don’t rightly know what that was but this I know, if someone can dispose of litter in so public a fashion, in broad daylight, from the confines of a corporately branded vehicle, there’s no telling what they will do in the comforts of pitch darkness. And there we were crying foul when Nasser Ssebagala (sic) was elected Mayor mbu how can that villager be OUR mayor? Well, u know what, I’d rather have that villager as my mayor – because he’s been employing layabouts to clean the drains in my ‘hood Kisaasi over the last month, much improving the appearance of things – than “enlightened” people like J who litter publicly with no remorse or compunction.

So, which primary school did u go to?

? or !

2006-08-07T19:06:00.000+03:00

In the next big debate to consume the fickle Ugandan public mind, i will firmly be on the side of those proposing the legalisation of the oldest profession known to man.

shall we draw lots?

Kawa!

2006-08-04T11:41:00.000+03:00

Ouch! this for me is the argument for separate bank accounts.

in the vicinity of a pub called the (i forget the name) Arms, near the Romford Road & Upton Lane crossroads in East London, London. let it be known for the record that that is a Ugandan neighbourhood.

The Toilet Savage Illustrated.

2006-08-04T11:26:00.000+03:00

How it all started; whilst perched on her throne, Olivia spied with her little eye ...

here's me, and Ms. Nancy Drew herself.

In other news, we have yet to uncover the identity of Ze Toilet Savage.
help is much needed.

All pix Courtesy of Danny Barongo at the gundi where Baz mbu works! if only they knew!

e = mc2

2006-07-20T11:58:00.000+03:00

On the way to work this morning, sitting in the Nakawa market area traffic jam, in this really crappy taxi, a random thought just wandered into my head, unfolded and reclined on a deck chair, put on some sunscreen and a pair of Raybans then right before unfolding a Langston Hughes book, it said, “I feel nothing for this country.” Then it read a few paragraphs and went to sleep in the mid morning sun.

I Spied with my litto eye

2006-07-19T15:13:00.000+03:00

Psst.

Sighted by Olivia and self, on the morning of July 19th, while engaged in the pursuit of activities of national import, in the environs of Uganda Golf Club and the roundabout at Fairway Hotel, behind the wheel of a really dodgy looking old dirty battered grey Toyota Carina from like 1970 , registration plate number 674 UAG, bearing the following slogan inscribed on an appendage on the roof –“Generation X Driving School” – one Ugandan blogger of questionable mental frame, and dishevelled physical state – witnessed by the heavily unkempt beard, red shot eyes and fingers gripping the steering wheel for what must have obviously been dear life - in polite society referred to as “Raymond”, better known as the one-millimetre-away-from-a-libel-suit author of www.raymondsbliss.blogspot.com.

Cuz looked like, if his last post was anything to go by, he was under pain of death to learn how to drive.

Another internet missive on race relations in the US of A

2006-07-17T15:08:00.000+03:00

after reading my last post, the graphics dude at work sent me this "diatribe/rant/objection/complaint/whatever" and very politely asked that i put it up so i'm doing so. allow me to state that in my next post i will reveal my personal diabolical reasons for posting this and the previous psuedo-interview with Serena. yes, it is a bonafide fake. what i am glad to see though is the amount of dust being kicked up over it.

...

Dear Jamie:
I'm sorry but I would like to challenge some of your Black male readers. I am a White female who is engaged to a Black male-good-looking, educated and loving. I just don't understand a lot of Black female's attitudes about our relationship. My man decided he wanted me because the pickings amongst Black women were slim to none. As he said they were either too fat, too loud, too mean, too argumentative, too needy, too materialistic or carrying too much excess baggage.

Before I became engaged, whenever I went out I was constantly approached by Black men, willing to wine and dine me and give me the world. If Black women are so up in arms about us being with their men, why don't they look at themselves and make some changes. I am tired of the dirty looks I get and snide remarks when we're out in public.. I would like to hear from some Black men about why we are so appealing and
coveted by them.

Bryant Gumbel just left his wife of 26 years for one of us. Charles Barkley, Scottie Pippen, the modelTyson Beckford, Montell Williams, Quincy Jones, James Earl Jones, Harry Belafonte, Sydney Poitier, Kofi Anan, Cuba Gooding Jr., Don Cornelius, Berry Gordy, Billy Blanks, Larry Fishburne, Wesley Snipes... I could go on and on. But, right now, I'm a little angry and that is why I wrote this so hurriedly. Don't be mad with us White women because so m any of your men want us. Get your acts together and learn from us and we may lead you to treat your men better. If I'm wrong, Black men, let me know.

Disgusted White Girl, Somewhere in VA

RESPONSE

Dear Jamie:
I would like to respond to the letter written by A Disgusted White Girl. Let me start by saying that I am a 28-year old black man. I graduated from one of the most prestigious universities in Atlantic Georgia, with a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Business Management. I have a good job at a major corporation and have recently purchased a house. So, I consider myself to be among the ranks of successful black men. I will not use my precious time to slander white people. I just want to set the record straight of why black men date white women.

Back in the day, one of the biggest reasons why black men dated white women was because they were considered easy. The black girls in my neighborhood were raised in the church. They were very strict about when they lost their virginity and who they lost it to. Because of our impatience to wait, brothers would look for someone who would give it up easy without too much hassle. So, they turned to the white girls.

Nowadays, in my opinion, a lot of brothers date white women because they are docile and easy to control. A lot of black men, because of insecurities, fears, and overall weaknesses, have become intimidated by the strength of our black women. We are afraid that our woman will be more successful than us, make more money than us, drive nicer cars and own bigger houses. Because of this fear, many black men look for a more docile woman. Someone we can control. I have talked to numerous black men and they continuously comment on how easy it is to control and walk over their white women. I just want to set the record straight. I want A Disgusted White Girl to know that not all successful black men date white women.

Brothers like Ahmad Rashad, Denzel Washington, Michael Jordan, Morris Chestnut, Will Smith, Blair Underwood, Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds, Samuel L. Jackson, and Chris Rock all married strong black women.

And, to flip the script, there are numerous white men, in and out of the spotlight, who openly or se cretly desire black women over white women. Ted Danson, Robert DeNiro, and David Bowie to name a few. I just don't want a disgusted white girl to be misinformed. Stop thinking that because you are white that you are some type of goddess. Remember, when black Egyptian Queens like Hatsepshut and Nitorcris were ruling Dynasties and armies of men in Egypt, you were over in the caves of Europe eating raw meat and beating each other over the head with clubs. Read your history!

It was the black woman that taught you how to cook and season your food. It was the black woma n that taught you how to raise your children. It was black women who were breast feeding and raising your babies during slavery. It is the black woman that had to endure watching their fathers, husbands, and children beaten, killed, and thrown in jail. Black women were born with two strikes against them: being black and being a woman. And, through all this, Still They Rise!

It is because of the black women's strength, elegance, power, love and beauty that I could never date anyone except my black Queen. It is not just the outer beauty that captivates and draws me to them. It is not the fact that they come in all shapes, sizes, colors and shades that I love them. Their inner beauty is what I find most appealing about black women. Their strong spirit, loving and nurturing souls, their integrity, their ability to overcome great obstacles, their willingness to stand for what they believe in, and their determination to succeed and reach their highest potential while enduring great pain and suffering is why I have fallen in love with black women.

I honestly believe that your anger is geared more toward jealousy and envy more so than snotty looks. If this were not so, then why do you continuously go to tanning salons to darken your skin? If you are so proud to be white, then why don't you just be happy with your pale skin? Why do you continue to inject your lips, hips, and breasts with unnatural and dangerous substances so you can look fuller and more voluptuous? I think that your anger is really a result of you wanting to have what the black woman has.

BOTTOM LINE: If I were looking for a docile woman, someone I can walk over and control, I would give you a call. But, unfortunately, I am looking for a Virtuous Woman. Someone that can be a good wife and mother to my children. Someone who can be my best friend and understands my struggles. I am looking for a soul mate. I am looking for a sister and; unfortunately, you do not and CANNOT fit the bill. No offense taken, none given.

Signed, Black Royalty

...

v. Serena Williams

2006-07-14T13:54:00.000+03:00

Phew!! This is searingly honest!!

SERENA WILLIAMS' INTERVIEW ON THE MONTELL SHOW.

COMMENTS RESERVED!!!

"Ms. Williams we are all interested in your new boyfriend".

"There is no new boyfriend. I stopped playing with boys when I stopped dating black guys. I have a new man in my life and yes, he's white".

"So you prefer to date white men instead of black guys?”

Let's be real. If you are a successful black female you only have two choices....date outside of your race or date other successful black females".

"Are you saying there are no successful black men to date?"

"Of course not but let's face it, if Oprah would date outside of her race she would be married with children now. The state of most black men is so low the only thing you can do is love them. Like a poor homeless dog. You can't expect it to protect you. You can only offer shelter and love and watch as our neighbor's pit bull protects his home and family. I, unlike Oprah, am not forced to stay within those boundaries. I was born into a new generation of black women".

"So Oprah is being forced to date Stedman?"

"All I can say is when you find a successful black women who is not married and does not have children it is because they refuse to accept the two choices. Some may go as far as marriage to a black guy but they realize divorce is inevitable so they do not have children. Or they have children with one and don't marry in order to preserve their wealth and good credit. Oprah is one of many who silently protests being stuck with such poor choices by refusing to marry and reproduce but you can see how much it hurts her. She's always giving away money to children's charities. I hope she makes the choice to marry a non-black soon so she can have a child of her own".

"But you have decided to accept the two choices?"

"Yes. I grew up in California around the two extremes of wealth. If I could only get myself to try the bisexual thing I would have been much happier in my relationships. Instead I dated black men. I loved many of them but they were just not suitable for marriage. Many of them were raised by women and had warped mentalities. So I finally had to date outside my race. When I moved to Miami, I accepted my status and dated men on my level".

"What do you mean by warped mentalities?"

"Well, where do I begin? Many of them were raised predominantly by Women and had this feminine/bisexual complex. Where they wanted to be treated like a female sometimes. For example, I would have the money & they would have the sex. I would teach them things. You know, all the things a woman likes a man to do, I would end up doing for them. Then if we would get into an argument, there would be a role reversal. All of a sudden, they would be the man wanting the respect of a king in his castle. Black men over the years have become less and less of value to black women both rich and poor. I predict in 10 years they will be obsolete. Now they serve little to no function and what little they can do, they don't want to do".

"Why 10 years?"

"That's when going to a fertility clinic to get impregnated by a sperm donor will become as common and accessible as the flu shot. Women who want sex will do it with whoever they want (girl, guy, rich, poor, white, black) and go to the bank (the sperm bank) when they are ready to have children. Even those who waited (like Oprah) will have fertilized eggs placed in-Vitro. That's the day the secret organization of women is waiting for. The day when men are 100% dis-empowered".

"Are you a part of that organization?"

"No. They're a mostly white group. Plus that day for black men is Practically here already. Black women are already raising 75% of the black population without a man. When fertility clinics become more affordable. Black women will be standing in line. It will be just like plastic surgery. Everyone laughed at Michael Jackson but it's becoming so popular now, that even poor blacks are getting work done...mostly breast reductions and liposuction".

"So do you want men to be dis-empowered?"

"Heck, no! That's why I am with a white man now. I want a man to be a man and I am not going to settle for less just to stay within racial boundaries. A Black man in my position wouldn't do it so why should I. Don't get me wrong, love black men. My father is black, I have dated black men all my life, and if I have a male child he will be part black. But my husband and I will raise him together so hopefully he will be a worthy choice for a worthy black female. Not the only choice, or "there's nothing better out there so I'll settle for this" choice.

When you are successful you want the best. The best food, clothes, places to live etc. I want the best man also.

"And you think the best man is a non-black man?"

"I think if there's a better choice for me, God would have shown me. I am in the public so I get to meet lots of people from all over the world athletes, celebs, etc. I am wealthy so I am invited and have traveled to the most prestigious events all over the world. Out of all those people, places and events....I had to choose the right man for me. Like it or not with very few exceptions) a white man is the only real choice for a successful black female.

...

she does make some valid points about men IN GENERAL ok? e.g our desire to abdicate our manly responsibilties until such a time as it suits us to put the pants back on.fellas, would you judge yourselves to be as manly as your dads were/are?

Guest Blogger - D One & only Olivia

2006-07-14T12:26:00.000+03:00

The toilet roll savage

At my workplace in the private sector, we have the girls’ toilet- the only piece of real estate that is our territory while at work. So while on our turf, I was perched upon the toilet, all the world lay before me- I looked around and beheld the glory before me. It wasn’t that pleasing- in fact it was quite bland…but that’s another story.

A toilet roll hang sedately on its contraption- rather handy one especially if your bowels have been attacked by vengeful bacteria with an axe grind- just because you ate corrupted food- for example, yoghurt…yes, yoghurt is corrupted food.
But I digress, a toilet roll hanging sedately- a picture of peace- but for the rough cut smarting of injuries brought on by the previous user. The rough cut to me said many things. For starters, this is the girls’ toilet- sometimes we get to have pink fluffy rolls, we also have air freshener- lemon scented, more so, we have the hand washing gel that is soft on the nails and the hands- a girl’s toilet.

The rough cut was worrying- it spoke of brutal savage strength, of one who in urgent need while on the toilet seat could not afford to carefully tear the tissue off the roll so as to keep the roll looking pretty. Instead, before me, was a savage native tear- it communicated aggressiveness: aggressiveness that sent a chill down my spine.

Still atop my throne, I pondered these grave issues, I thought to myself, ‘Can a girl really rip the tissue off the toilet paper roll in such a brutal savage manner??’
I was ‘mildly’ petrified- the prospects did not look good at all- especially since I know the girls I work with, the girls that use this loo- they are all dainty little pretty things. Surely they can’t muster such brutal strength from their dainty palms?

Still atop my throne, it hit me as it hits the good looking detective in the movies when he realizes that he has just jailed the innocent fool- while the clever psycho- usually a ravishing beauty and the real guilty one roams free.
Alas, I came to the grim and logical conclusion, ‘one of the guys is using our loo’. They can be savage-like. And I tell no lies.

If one of the guys really is using his savage strength on our pink toilet paper, our airspace, our turf has been violated. I quickly wrapped up my business with my toilet throne- I walked back into the office with a feeling of betrayal as I surveyed the guys’ hands for tell-tale signs of pink toilet paper. Even with my carefully trained eye following many episodes of CSI, I still did not find traces of pink toilet paper anywhere around the guys.
I became even more alarmed. I have since reached the end of my investigation and the only logical answer is one of the dainty little girls I work with might be a savage- the toilet savage! This file has since gone missing- the case is as good as closed. Meanwhile, on our turf, the savagery continues unabated. The toilet roll still gets molested. One of the girls really is a savage. I know nothing.

...

i finally got Olivia to blog, even if i had to do it for her.

I could be in TROUBLE 4 this but ... what d hell, have a peek!

2006-07-14T11:20:00.000+03:00

Kyokka I have gone to school with some really interesting people. Here’s the proof;

Senior 2
Kakooza House in the Junior Common Room
Saturday afternoon, too much time on our hands, juvenile ideas about what’s cool … and the cameraman popped by.

Senior 4 B.
Class photo right after the Mass to bless us as we prepared for Cantab
My Class teacher Mrs. Asio (RIP) in the middle; she told my mum that she believed I was on drugs, me I just didn’t get SMACK, wished they’d all leave me alone

Senior 5 Arts, February 14, 1997
Hannington House Terrace,
All of us being single and newly acquainted, we thought, “fuck it, its Valentines Day, let’s take a picture. At least we’ll have that” so we did.

End of the Road, Circa December 1998
Senior 6 Hannington House
The guy in the “O” Level uniform fluking our picture, he was in Brewer, was the class prefect – Allan Sematimba. Wssup Cuz?

Senior 6 Arts class of ‘98
My Class teacher Mr. James Kubeketerya (now MP for Bunya East) is 6th from left in the 2nd row. We nicknamed him Kube 001 after his car licence plates UAE 001; he in turn christened us all “Bootlickers” for being Movement babies. Yo Kube, Aluta Continua! We luv you Sir! Lovely Amphibian is in there somewhere. If he won’t tell on me, I’ll hold my tongue.

Senior 6 Arts & Sciences excluding the PCB/M nerds
The very last photograph I took in Secondary School
All pix taken right after the Service to bless us as we prepared to use our Sasi in Cantab

Always to be the cool one in the photographs!

Kid Bro.

2006-07-14T11:05:00.000+03:00

Last night as we watched The Late Show my kid brother and I had a vibrant spirited disagreement. My kid bro amazes me. At his tender greenhorn age of like 22, he’s doing things I haven’t even thought of doing yet. He … I want to be just like him when I grow up. The only thing I can point out with any certainly that I did more than him at his current age was … lets see … I … umph … c’mon Deg think negro think … well I’d led a strike in school (their version of things, ask Savage & Lovely Amphibian, they was there, they knows the truth) and I believe … with everything I’ve got … that I got more action than he’s getting now.

By the way, even that is … open to discussion. I went on a date once with this hot chick I met at his last birthday party - a swashbuckling rip roaring affair AT HIS OFF CAMPUS CRIB! I wasn’t allowed to live outside campus, can you imagine? It was either Lumumba – which I wasn’t having, have u guys seen Block C? – Or home. I took home, you didn’t have to queue for the meals and hot water was freely available.

So I went on this date with this as if familiar chick from my bro’s birthday party and in the course of small talk, somewhere between the butter naan and those sweet seeds they give you at the end, we had Indian, it transpired that she was my bro’s ex. From ‘O’ level! Pumla dear, if you ever stumble upon this, now you know why I ain’t never called you back. You fine as hell but I am not being upstaged by my kid bro. It’s a guy thing so don’t bother trying to figure it out if you don’t get it.

On TV, Joanita kawalya is on with Moses Matovu, representing Afrigo. She’s in a gomesi, the full monty, at 1:05 am looking like she on her way to a kwanjula or sumthin. Moses is in Jeans and trainers, I think he just popped outta one of dem De Winton Road pubs.
So Straka asks him how long Afrigo has been around and looking down on her roly polyness, hands tucked into his jacket and rocking ever so slightly back and forth on his heels he answers, in English, “older than you.” Rolling On The Floor Laughing Out Loud – 4 u Carlo.

My brother and I. I think he’s selling himself short cause he is so damn talented and I just see him being so laissez-faire about his abilities and I wanna spur him on to be the man I see in him and he took umbrage at that. Like I was talking down to him or something. I just wanted to get him to see that he needs a paradigm shift in his mental attitude to life so he can achieve his dreams a lot faster but I came off sounding like I was nitpicking at him.

Kati he’s gone off to shower and then to bed. In my frustration I’m sitting here chillin with DMX videos typing this shit and feeling my frus dissipate. Sweat of my Sweat, Blood of my Blood IS THE BEST RAP ALBUM EVER! 4get Gin & Juice, DMX is the business.

Better go to bed hombre, its 2:25 am.

Straka Babyeeeee!!!

2006-07-14T10:58:00.000+03:00

People, what has Strake Mwezi, nee Pamela Otti, been eating?

?

WTF am I blogging Straka Mwezi?

Is my life that sad that I was up at half midnight looking out for the new Bebe Cool (nuff respect brutha!) or Steve Jean or Iryn or Lillian Mbabazi (my favourite Blu 3) or Joanita Kawalya? Yes, that’s why I was up late watching The Late Show. I wanted to be the first to spot the next musical prodigy to come out of our dust swept, electricity deprived, CHOGM hotel infested country. Plus I was kinda hoping Straka would play that "Omwana Wabandi" better known as "Bada" video by Bobi Wine (that vid is just too hard!) … kinda hoping ‘cause there was no way in hell I was gonna work up the guts to call her and request that song. Not when she’s going like, “alloooo, boss boss ogamba otya? Mu pepeya bikki eyo eZirobwe? ... ba guy muli steady?” WTF?

Baz, where’s Zirobwe?

Does that chick not own a single mirror in her house, car or dressing room at the TV station?

Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

2006-07-12T12:45:00.000+03:00

Days like this really get to me. Days when it seems like everything and everyone are operating at a speed slightly less than that at which I want to be flying. We publish a magazine. I know I delivered the softcopies yesterday but one to the colour separation people therefore they must have done the films and whatnot by the very latest yesterday morning which means I expect the printing to have commenced about this time yesterday. Instead I’m finding out that they did not infact start the printing yesterday, they “think “they’ll start doing so today. Oh for the love of Mike, how I huffed and puffed and wanted to blow the house down! Knowing all the while that I must not trust anything that this guy on the phone says therefore I must go down to Nkrumah road and personally supervise the said process if we are to achieve anything. That, mein hombres, gets my goat!

My second gripe is that the receptionist is off at school doing an exam or something so I’m doing with one of her tasks; answering the phone, because I’m the only staff member present who knows how to answer the phone, seriously, I kid you not, the graphics guy, L, is doing something with one of the American intern kids you see all over Kla these days – from the looks of things they’re really getting on like a hut on fire – the Tanzanian dude and the other guy here are both temporary so they really don’t know the phone etiquette and I do, (Thank you for calling The X Group, Degstar speaking, how may I help you? – in one long corporate sounding breath) so I answer the phone, everyone else is out somewhere i.e. management meeting, presentation for CHOGM 2007, off at the dentist, etc. so anyway there’s this person who calls and waits for the exact moment when I almost pick up the phone to hang up. After I’ve walked all the way over from my desk! How inconsiderate!

Gripe no. 3. I just discovered that I do not infact have The Scientist album by Coldplay – the seminal rock album of all recent time for me. Thus my choices are restricted to X&Y, by Coldplay, some Stain’d, Nickelback, Simple Plan, The Calling, The Corrs, The Beatles and Linkin Park when what I really want to listen to is The Artful Dodger. Or anything garage-ish. It is lunchtime now and I want to listen to something dark and brooding and … I know! I’ll listen to Green Day!
Now L, the graphics guy and I are sitting here going through a magazine printed by one of Wakiso’s secondary schools and thinking how we could both do so much better than this here. Oba why don’t we put a proposal together and start benching these schools to do their magazines ands publications and stuff? UG look out, L and I are coming to a school near you; watch this space for dates and venues.

La and I are laughing at the stuff in this school magazine so much I’m actually forgetting what I wanted to gripe about, aaaah, such is the healing power of laughter, and I feel much better thanks for asking y’all. Oh, hang on I remember my other gripe; my tattoo artist hiked his prices! Mbu “brotha man the price of fuel went up”,
After I had retrieved my lower jaw from the environs of my toes…

so effing what? U gon use petrol based inks or something? I mean really!!!!

And just for the sake of hating on another man, do you guys remember how fine Joe Kabila’s wife is? Well, here’s a reminder just in case y’all forgot, I ain’t sore that his wife is so fine– hey that’s cool – my beef is that after all the time dude spent growing up in Makindye at our government expense and doing Waragi shots with Rasta Rob MC, you’d think the brother would have found himself a nice Ugandan girl to help him sort out the DRC. And then there would been no need for all that fracas over the mineral wealth we looted under the guise of weeding out the ADF rebels. We could have just talked things over with the Zimbabweans, Eritrea (now these guys, what did they want in the DRC?), Namibians, Angolans, Rwandese and Burundians and whoever else was in on the party. Afterall our sister would have had the ear of the president himself. Instead he … ignored all attempts at regional integration and peaceful co-existence and chose to marry whatshername. I mean, what sort of value addition is that?

This is an Advert ... unpaid for of course.

2006-07-07T19:41:00.000+03:00

i dont know how she got my uber-private email address but this lady called Jane Nantongo wrote me asking me to check out http://www.gandaspace.com/beta. she spelt all her words properly and wasnt asking me for my bank details so we could share some ill gotten Nigerian loot, so i checked her out. her website i mean.

i'm thrilled that one of us Ugandans (whether u're one by birth, assimilation, descent, u rooted for Ghana in the World Cup or whatever) is doing something like this so i'm flagging her site for free here and she dont even know about it. if any of y'all got a minute, do drop by. it maybe Ganda-ish in outlook but hey, its a start!

today http://www.gandaspace.com/beta, tomorrow we'll have Uoggle!

Thank you Countryboyi, but ...!

2006-07-03T16:51:00.000+03:00

@savage.
Yes indeed, why can’t we all just get along?

@Darlkom
I think “Man and Boy” was a lot better than the sequel, for me the pleasure of reading Tony Parson’s work was in watching this guy’s world coming apart and his attempts at patching things up with his parents, Gina, Cyd, Pat and Cyd’s daughter. The sequel on the other hand was just about the troubles of domesticity – who wants to read about this guy freaking out that Cyd might be cheating on him with this hotshot catering guy who drives a Porsche? And that his son might be taking to Gina’s new boyfriend?

@Countryboyi
1. Like you, I abhor Homosexuality in all its forms as well as transvestitism, transsexuals, bisexualism et al.
2. Unlike you I have learnt, most probably through associating with people of those different persuasions, to put my hate aside and accept them for who they are.
3. Based of course on the entirely personal realization that I have a lot more important things to deal with.
4. You’re probably right about Dr. Tamale’s motivation for being in the pro-gay lobby; I don’t know the woman so I won’t deign to speak for her.
5. But I agree with her on the issue of lowering the age of consent, read the Straight Talk any day, kids as young as 10 are having sex! Usually for the wrong reasons of course and also probably because they want to experiment with their budding sexuality
6. Which leads me to think that maybe we should devote a lot more energy and money into the drive to teach teenagers about their sexuality. In a manner entirely appropriate for their tender and impressionable minds. You and I have had the privilege of an upbringing that affords us the opportunity to ask questions and learn from our elders/society/teachers etc. I know, from reading Straight Talk, of kids who still believe that if you don’t have sex; either one of two things will happen; you’ll become impotent/barren or your period pains will become really intense (for girls) and for boys, you’ll be regarded as less of a man.
7. I would not be disturbed if I caught my sister enjoying a blowjob from some guy, good for her! Every woman ought to get one. Frequently. But I would unleash the Congolese in me if I caught some guy giving my wife a blowjob! Mostly because I would be in a catch 22 situation. I kill him and I end up in prison, leaving my children fatherless. I arrest him and hand him in to the authorities so they can implement “the Adultery section of the Penal Code, which will fine a man, convicted of adultery a fine of Shs 600…!” I think not, there will be blood on the walls but he would live even though he’d have to feed through a straw for the rest of his natural life. Spare a thought for Mr. Ngaiza here, imagine how he feels!
8. So you see, I agree with you that wrong is wrong and must be condemned and corrected. When you find a “cure” for Homosexuality, let me know and I’ll help you implement it.
9. Just to be clear, blowjobs are great! Try one sometime, you’ll agree with me, almost as good as Sula’s Rolexes.
10. What will save our kids from the path that leads to destruction and the fires of hell? You and I raising them in the way that they should go so when they become adults they shall not stray from that path or you and I debating in Parliament, on KFM, in the blogosphere, in the kafunda, in the taxi and around the water fountain in the office issues like this and many others? I’d go with the former which emphasizes the family as the basic building block of society. Fucked up families give us fucked up children = fucked up adults.
11. We really are on the same page, you and I, you’re more like the Centre right and I’m the Centre left.

@Jay
Thank you mate. Sanity will prevail eventually.

@Baz
Quit picking on Yoni, he’s a good chap.

Comment 4 Dennis' thoughts on gay people.

2006-07-01T17:04:00.000+03:00

Ssebo,
This is a response to your most strongly worded piece on the issue of Homosexuality, @ http://dennozbug.blogspot.com/. Seeing as you have comment moderation enabled and you have made your feelings public, I do not believe from your tone that you would let my rather exhaustive comment show up on your blog so I’ve decided to just do it on my own blog.

Firstly, because Dr. Sylvia Tamale advocates for the rights of people who are gay does not make her gay, period. It does not mean she wants to fuck another woman, to borrow a phrase from you. It just means she’s standing up for what she believes to be a marginalised section of society. Something we all should do for people we personally believe to be marginalised. For example, I am a proponent of the – now stillborn - Domestic Relations Bill (DRB). Does that make me a woman?

May I ask for your views on the DRB? I personally believe women have had the short end of the stick for millennia and I put it to you that fighting for their rights, as proposed in the DRB will achieve a lot more for Uganda than fighting against the spread, real or imagined, of Homosexuality. Put another way, the number of gay people in this country is miniscule, negligible actually, compared to that of women, shouldn’t our priorities lie in making this country a better home for its female folk?

Secondly, while you the President and Pastor Martin Sempa are heaping fire and brimstone on gay people, what are you also doing, if anything about, the Adultery section of the Penal Code which will fine a man convicted of adultery a fine of Shs 600 (In 2006!!!) or a one-year jail term on conviction, plus a compensation of Shs 200 to the complainant.

Considering how many of our grandfathers, fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, friends and ourselves go round sticking little John into anything in a skirt – hence spreading Chlamydia trachomatis, Genital warts (from HPV), Genital Herpes, Hepatitis C, Gonorrhoea, Syphilis, and the ugliest of them all; HIV/AIDS – to mention but a few, Isn’t that more of an issue in terms of the actual crimes of an adulterous nature being committed than the crimes of a Homosexual nature?

Look, to debate the genesis of Homosexuality i.e. born with or lifestyle choice, African vs. Western is really beside the point. What are we doing about it is the question? In this country, it is a crime. So if you and I were gay and the law caught us at it, then the law should, and rightly would, take its course. But you see the pro-gay lobby is going to ask you what business it is of yours what two consenting adults do with themselves in the privacy of their bedroom as indeed most Africans like to do their shit – privately, in the bedroom, behind drawn curtains and locked doors – how would you respond to that?

I know people who get their kicks from being beaten by their husbands as a demonstration of love. I know other people who prefer to get a blowjob as their “thing”. Are they also deviants?
I know my language does not have a word for “fellatio, cunnilingus, and blowjob – whatever” so that probably makes it unAfrican, right? Is it ok, because it’s between a man and a woman, as God intended? So why is it a spectacle when someone in the public eye pecks/snogs/kisses his wife publicly e.g. Kabaka Mutebi and the Nabagereka at Entebbe Airport? Is it because such PDA should be restricted to the “private rooms” of the people in question? So again I ask you, is it your business what two consenting adults do with each other in private?

This “debate” is for lack of a better term; conjecture at best and at worst, a waste of our time. It does not change the price of electricity. But;

1. discussing the DRB will, because if you give women the right to own the means of production & materially benefit from said ownership, I can guarantee you there will be a lot more women making money for this country which will give Hon. Suruma a wider tax base and before you know it, we just might be able to afford Research into and implementation of alternative sources of energy e.g. Wind farms, Natural Gas, Geothermal plants, and maybe, just maybe Nuclear energy.

2. Finding a permanent solution to the Northern question will allow us to build a dam on the River Nile at Karuma and if that’s not an option, the money we’ll save that gets spent, rightly (bullets, army rations, salaries for UPDF, Amuka & Arrow Boys militias, fuel) and wrongly (“misappropriations”, payoffs to LRA returnee generals, undersize uniforms, junk equipment) will allow us to invest in the people of Northern Uganda through Education , Agriculture, Micro Finance and Health and when the North starts to pay back – did u know Gulu is more fertile than Wakiso and better suited to mechanised agriculture because of its flatness? – we’ll have the attendant benefits of even cheaper, more abundant food supply so we can spend more on paying Umeme’s exorbitant bills? Not to mention forex from exports of organic soybeans for soy oil, ground/pea nuts for peanut butter, tobacco and maize or corn if you prefer.

3. Ensuring that the Government of Uganda/the Kingdom of Bunyoro/the people of Kasese get some sort of stake in the oil that, Insha’Allah & God willing, will soon come gushing out of the Hardman Resources Ltd Waraga 1 oil well in Kaiso-Tonya, Hoima district will prevent the occurrence of a situation like that with Ken Saro-Wiwa & The Ogoni people of the Niger Delta in Nigeria - bit rusty on my Geog but you get the point. Cheap oil available in Uganda is such a godsend that I almost fear to even dream about the resultant benefits.

Aren’t those issues we should be bashing our heads together over? So again I ask you, where is the benefit to the country in us debating which hole I insert my weeny in? My friend, we are a developing nation, if you choose to hide your head in the sand, believe you me, the sands of time will march on and leave you buried. Some sand dune you’ll make. Where was Kimansulo 5 years ago? No where, that’s where. Along with sex tourism, Escort services, Sex trafficking, child pornography and www.hotugandans.com. But now, we have grown “accustomed” (more like given up – in that passive Ugandan way) to these things, for chrissakes even the President alluded to the presence of Asian expatriate sex workers in this country (most of them here against their will, some here to make money) during his latest inauguration speech on May 12 at Kololo airstrip. In as much as we’d like to take in only the good stuff, well sorry, even the bad one is coming in.

So, are you going to accuse me as well of being gay? Homosexuals do not have cloven feet/hooves, fiery breath and tails underneath their pants. I’ll wind up these few words with the eternal wisdom of my faith, “hate the sin and love the sinner” that’s how you’ll do your bit to “save them from going to hell”.

Shalom.

For us at our Home ...!

2006-07-01T12:48:00.000+03:00

In our company we welcome diversity in the workplace. Our workforce is drawn from as diverse a set of backgrounds as any you will find in Uganda. To illustrate we have Tourism, Commerce , Business Computing & IT, Social Science and Mass Communication undergraduates and graduates doing our Clent Relations, Event management and Public Relations, we’ve had trained chefs in charge of our Graphics and a self proclaimed “electrical engineer” in charge of making sure the office is clean, we have sugar, samosas, bread, doughnuts and the coffee machine is working. No, we are not off our rocker, we hire people for the talents they bring to the table; afterall we are a company that thrives on the above mentioned talents for their immeasurable wealth in creativity, innovation, drive and enthusiasm for the job. Lest you wonder, we have real accountants and IT personnel in the Finance & IT departments.

Therefore a company that hires people on those sort of strengths inevitably becomes a sort of mini United Nations, such is the breadth of the pool of talent that we fish in. if you’re good at what you do, we will find you and bring you in. You are not safe from us, wherever you are. Lets see, to date we have had, working for us, both in the past and currently; Ugandans, Kenyans, Tanzanians, Burundians, Americans, Swedes of Ugandan origin, Ugandans of Afghan origin – yes seriously, Ugandans of Asian origin, Ethiopians, Kenyans of Japanese origin; well actually that should be Japanese of Kenyan origin – she was born and raised in Japan by Kenyan parents, Ugandans who fancy themselves as Americans, and Canadians. To my dismay we have not yet had a Rwandese babe working for us but it is only a matter of time. Good things come to those who wait.

All these different kettles of fish of course bring their own foibles into the office and while we are by no means jaded seen-it-all cynics, we have become accustomed to;
1. The eating habits of North Americans – twice as fast as anyone else at the table, such ka-sigiri!
2. The general scruffiness of Kenyans, “… tie & jacket? Ati what? Aren’t my jeans clean enough? …”
3. The kajanja of Ugandans, “ … its lunchtime, I don’t make calls at lunchtime…” munange, this is the private sector, not Uganda Posts & Telecommunications Corporation, and you’re the receptionist, make the call!
4. The francophone sophistication of Burundians, I especially loved the 3 pecks greeting part but as for the insistence on bread and wine, croissants and Beaujolais, on the table before dinner … well, different folks, different strokes.
5. The laid back demeanor of Tanzanians, one time Olivia – she sez hi - walked up to this Tz dude seated at her PC and sort of coughed in this “bugger off my desk” sorta way. He turned round and ever so politely asked, “U … need to do some work?” I collapsed into my mug of coffee in helpless paroxysms of laughter
6. the bu-habits of Ugandans who’ve lived in the US too long, like instead of saying “conversation” they say “conversating” and then they’re like lactose intolerant, how can u be lactose intolerant when u’re a muHima from Kashaari? Thats like being an ugly Ethiopian! Anyone know one? Cause I do not.
7. now for the Swede, the ex-graphics guy, we once asked him where his village was; it was election time last year and we were sorta trying to see who’s village would be the nearest to go to for the weekend. When he hesitated to answer, we, the other graphics guy and I just sorta smiled and chorused, “Gothenburg!” what a laugh that was … sorry Peter. We know you’re really from somewhere in Maa – saka - the way u pronounce it.
8. The Canadian walked in with a ring through his nostril, one in his ear, a Kabbalah-ish looking string on his wrist and a tattoo of a Zambian river god on his back; my first thought was, “this is the dude we’re sending to the Government ministries to discuss statutory requirements for the establishment of a tourism consultancy! I’m going with him” I never tired of the look every time we walked into some Commissioner’s office; their eyes would widen ever so slightly and then, mouth slightly agape, they’d turn to me, in shirt and tie, for reassurance upon which I’d introduce Gerrit and let him do his thing, my desire for pleasurable amusement having been sated.
9. Then there are the ones (Ugandans of course) who’ve been to the UK, always going on about the exorbitant cost of quality stuff at Woolworths and Knights Polo in Garden City. Dude, we know you used to shop at TK Maxx, Next, Zara, Primark and Debenhams. Get over it and go on down to Owino, they have the same stuff for a fraction of the price.
10. But the highlight of this week for me has to be the American who’s sent out one of those “Employee Satisfaction Survey” forms. They’ve asked on page 4, and I reproduce here (with my immediate responses);

...

Sexual Harassment
Have you ever been sexually harassed (unwanted sexual comments, jokes, advances) in the workplace? I’m sorry, what?
Have you ever witnessed sexual harassment in the workplace? We’re all the same age, average 25, we’re all upwardly mobile, thinking about getting our first car, our own flat, how to earn an income on the side so we can buy the new Nokia N-series, why its Olivia’s turn to buy chilli crisps, why that Czech ref from the Brazil vs. Ghana match should be castrated;
at which point would u refer to our constant juvenile banter as sexual harassment? Besides the staff rules, Rule No. 11 expressly prohibit dating “Company X does not encourage dating and romantic relationships among staff members and also between staff members and clients. This causes conflict of interest and compromises the ability to be objective on the part of the part of the employees involved in such relationships.”
And also, taking into account how long and hard we work, who has the time to be sexually harassing someone when u’re pissed at them half the time cause they either want a report from you, yesterday – on top of your already overloaded plate, or haven’t finished writing that strategy you asked for 2 days ago?
Do you believe it is a significant problem that our office faces? No. we have serious issues to deal with, like the lack of training opportunities, the need 4 a clear cut leadership structure, flagging business, reduced staff morale, the weekend deadline on the Sports Program proposal, my long overdue pay raise … shall I go on?
What suggestions, if any, do you recommend to eradicate this behavior at Company X? Sigh … I respect what you’re trying to achieve here. Right now it is not a priority for me. Shall we move on?

...

For the record, I asked Olivia if she has been sexually harassed and she know how she responded? She threw her head back and burst out laughing like a demented hyena!

Brazil 3 - Ghana 0

2006-06-27T20:39:00.000+03:00

For the love of Pele; the Czech referee and his linesman, the one who allowed the offside goal from Brazil, by Adriano, should be tarred, feathered and then have their nails filed upto their cuticles … using a blunt bread knife. The thieving bastards!

We lost the match, no doubt about that, but I’ll tell you this. Tonight on that pitch in Dortmund, those Brazilians were little more than a bunch of fat (Ronaldo), toothy, long haired lumbering overpriced players! I love Brazil man, I just do - cross my heart and hope to die, but tonight, I felt nothing for them. No doubt we were absolutely useless in font of the goal, squandering many an opportunity to prove to the world and its cousins that those Amazonians do piss standing up, just like we do, BUT … BUT … it seemed to me, like the referee was so awed at being in the physical presence of those aforementioned dudes that he went a little overboard in his distribution of points, yellow cards, allowing of obviously offside goals e.g. the second by Adriano and the third by Ze Roberto, really you could see that even the crowd was rooting for US baby!!

Dortmund y’all so totally rock! Yes, even the Germans amongst you. I could swear I actually saw some Germans SMILING! Real smiles, not the fake ones they give you in the GTZ office. Sorry Aunt Wald, but it is true. Your people need to lighten up! Maybe some ‘erb will help? And a tot or two of this here?

First they rigged us out of hosting this World Cup now they’re rigging us out of the World Cup itself! Bloody billions of blue blistering barnacles!!

Well actually there’s a bit of irony there. Where better in the world is rigging practised than in good ol’ sunny Africa, except of course for Florida, Mmph?

check this out!

2006-06-23T15:04:00.000+03:00

Psst!
its cracking like a pig on a hot girdle over at www.dennismatanda.blogspot.com, dude found some major mojo and its just gushing outta de bway like a broken sewer in a Ugandan police barracks!

This is for all my Female people

2006-06-22T22:39:00.000+03:00

My friend Grace, who lives in “crime infested” South Africa, sent me this Email with the express request for me to share it with all my women people. I don’t do forwards and I’m feeling pretty lethargic about blogging anyways – story for another post – so I’m reproducing an edited version of her email here, albeit with my thoughts, comments and silliness thrown in for good measure. In colour too.

Because of recent abductions in daylight hours, refresh yourself of these things to do in an emergency situation. This is for you, and for you to share with your wife, your children, everyone you know. After reading these 9 crucial tips, forward them to someone you care about. It never hurts to be careful in this crazy world we live in.

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do:
The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do!

The groin is the weakest point on the guy attacking you, who is usually male. Do not hesitate to go for gold in the free kicks section. And for goodness sake, scream bloody murder!!! Asking if his mum knows what he does for a living will not have any effect on him whatsoever. If anything it will only earn you a few slaps upside the head.

2. Learned this from a tourist guide in New Orleans. If a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you … chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you, and he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

A real Ugandan mugger would never so be so kind as to stop and request the pleasure of your purse, Negro will grab that bag and split like Carl Lewis! You best be able to scream “Omubbi wuuyo!! Banange munyambe!!!” like your life depends on it. Forget wakina those things of “stop, thief!”

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car, kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver won't see you, but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

I would actually like to try this out. But I would like to pose a question. If you saw a hand sticking out of a missing tail light and waving frantically, would you call the police on your mobile? In Uganda it’s illegal to talk on your mobile while driving, even in start-stop traffic – trust me, I found out the hard way! So, would you risk imprisonment to alert the police or would you pull over and make the call – risking the assailant’s car getting away. Obviously they would be using stolen plates which they’d probably dump round the next corner! So you wouldn’t be able to rely on a description of the car & its plates, sindio?

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping, eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their check book, or making a list, etc. DON'T DO THIS!) The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side, put a gun to your head, and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU GET INTO YOUR CAR, LOCK THE DOORS AND LEAVE.

So true this! Ever seen a Ugandan chick getting into a taxi? Flag down taxi, stroll leisurely to taxi, open front passenger door with left hand, place handbag on middle front seat, raise right hand to pull handle on door frame, use said hand to heave self up onto seat, position one’s rump securely in front passenger side seat, turn round and look for seat belt, find seat belt and strap oneself in, then turn round and reach out for front passenger side door with left hand, gently but steadily pull door in and close, but just to be sure, have conductor pull said door open and slam it shut, wriggle round in front seat some more, once satisfied that one is sorted, inform the driver he may now proceed with the rest of the journey. But I digress…

a. If someone is in the car with a gun to your head DO NOT DRIVE OFF, repeat: DO NOT DRIVE OFF! Instead gun the engine and speed into anything, wrecking the car. Your Air Bag will save you. If the person is in the back seat they will get the worst of it. As soon as the car crashes bail out and run. It is better than having them find your body in a remote location.

Dude, the only cars in Uganda with airbags are those driven by the government, the donor community and people who can afford to buy new cars. Kati you you go crashing your reconditioned kikuumi/kabina/my car into something mbu your airbag will save you! Hooo!!!

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:
A) Be aware: look around you; look into your car, at the passenger side floor, and in the back seat
B) If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars.

Only in the movies and 24 season 2 & 3. Not in Uganda. Firstly, there are very few vans around with blacked out windows or none at all. Secondly, why bother with the drama when with the help of a waiter you can slip a pill in her drink and have her “willingly” walk off the premises with you? It happened to a guy at the Rock Bar, a chick got a waiter to drug his beer and then she and her buddies put him in his car and drove him to his home in the Bukoto brown flats where they left him, minus all his money of course. This is what you do, don’t drink from a bottle that;
1. Hasn’t been opened in front of you
2. Is frothing a bit too much
3. You left unattended so you could go paka chini or powder your nose or whatever

C) Look at the car parked on the driver's side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

In my mind I’m thinking of the plethora of security guards we have available in Kampala, especially those comically dressed characters at Avemar shopping mall. Show up with one of those and the would-be assailant would probably double over in laughter! I know I would.

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot. This is especially true at NIGHT!)

Again, not in Uganda! What if, at night, working late, you get into the lift and the lights go out? Load shedding! Then what, huh? Take the stairs, Sista!

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; and even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN, Preferably! In a zig -zag pattern!

If I am serious about shooting you, I will get you. All I have to do is wait for you to pull up at your gate and hoot for the maid/askari/house boy/kids who’ll invariably take at least 5 minutes to show up. More than enough time to make lead filled mince meat out of you. “… and even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ.” Ok, you live in a country that has organ donors, I do not. Go figure.

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP. It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked “for help” into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

Just like that Walusimbi dude who’s currently on trial for the longest known running spate of serial rapes/robberies and murders in Kampala. And Richard Arinaitwe, currently on death row; btw he was my House captain in Smack when I was in S.3. We called him Mad Cow behind his back, never could to his face, Negro is built like Billy Blanks. To think that in his spare time he staged highway robberies on the Mbarara highway! (Allegedly). And there we were giving him grief about sweeping and mopping our dormitory!

And finally

9. Another Safety Point; someone just told me that her friend heard a crying baby on her porch the night before last, and she called the police because it was late and she thought it was weird. The police told her “Whatever you do, DO NOT open the door." The lady then said that it sounded like the baby had crawled near a window, and she was worried that it would crawl to the street and get run over. The policeman said, "We already have a unit on the way, whatever you do, DO NOT open the door." He told her that they think a serial killer has a baby's cry recorded and uses it to coax women out of their homes thinking that someone dropped off a baby. He said they have not verified it, but have had several calls by women saying that they hear baby's cries outside their doors when they're home alone at night.

Man, I would fall for this. I just would.

Please pass this on and DO NOT open the door for a crying baby - This e-mail should probably be taken seriously because the Crying Baby theory was mentioned on America’s Most Wanted this past Saturday when they profiled the serial killer in Louisiana. I'd like you to forward this to all the women you know. It may save a life. A candle is not dimmed by lighting another candle. I was going to send this to the ladies only, but guys, if you love your mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, etc., you may want to pass it onto them, as well. Send this to any woman you know that may need to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it and it's better to be safe than sorry.

That said, Kampala is still one of the safest cities to live in compared to say, Nairobi, Capetown, Bujumbura or Juba, e.g. I’m going to leave the office at 11:00pm, in 27 minutes, and merrily make my way home with nary a thought as to getting mugged/raped/kidnapped.

I Do...I Do!

2006-06-13T17:51:00.000+03:00

last saturday i went to a wedding celebration, the culmination of several months of planning, prayer, fasting, tears, fights, faith and sleepless nights. it was beautiful, the bride was radiant, the groom was dashing,

and i had two beautiful christian babes all to myself, one on each side, at the reception. and you know what the best part was? - no i did not teach them the pleasures of The Book of Solomon, really, even i have morals! - after the bagole had left the reception hall to repair to their suite, Myke the groom, somehow "stole" the bouquet away from Charity his wife, snuck out of their bridal suite, made his way down to the reception hall, stuck his head round the corner whilst i was busy fending off chicks, their mums and aunties...& THREW THE BOUQUET of lillies AT ME!!! so i caught it. so there, now you know, i am the first male in recorded history to catch the bouquet at the wedding reception. here's the proof of it - the poor thing lying on the carpet in my room.

bless you Myke, when you get back from the honeymoon, lets have a suckling pig in Wandegs. and i'll tell you about the good old days when you were still single and didnt need Charity's say-so to hang out all night, eating pork from Zanzi and watching 24. by the way Myke, i have Season 5. and the World Cup's on. but you wont know that will you? cause Charity made sure to book a resort with no TV! LOL, sucker!!

LOLx1000

Kissing Ass

2006-06-07T16:50:00.000+03:00

Olivia,

for the sake of our neighbourly relationship in the office, i apologise on behalf of all malehood that you went to College School. but you did, so deal with it. may i also remind you that you attended Gayaza for all of 4 years?
that redeems you somewhat.

Our father’s sons; the lot of us.

2006-06-05T12:02:00.000+03:00

This is going to be an opinionated piece; plain and simple so please go elsewhere if you are in search of an erudite, objective, well written, insightful, blah blah piece of writing. A little background might help put things in perspective. My peers are all getting married, engaged or otherwise committed to long-term relationships with fine upstanding young women. Women you want to take home to meet your mama. Next weekend alone, I have like two weddings that I must attend and a kwanjula that I will not attend.

So a few days ago, the guy whose kwanjula I will not attend, V, and I were discussing the modalities of finding a woman that you want to make a wife. There are women for flings, those for being kissing buddies and those for making wives out of. This discussion had arisen out of a series of questions that we, one of our interns and I, were asked by this Kenyan chick who works for us, with regard to Ugandan women. I remember not the specific questions but the general context was that Ugandan women of today do not look after their men properly.

Ok, that is probably confusing to y’all so let me break it down. Women, generally speaking, v. generally speaking, of today do not treat us men the same way our mothers pampered our fathers. Think the following scenario; daddy comes home, walks into the house, sits down and takes off his shoes. Mummy comes in from the kitchen or bedroom or wherever and brings him a glass of cold juice to welcome him home and ask him about his day and whatnot. Having already taken off his shoes, the last daddy will see of them is when he espies them being removed from his vicinity by mummy as he reaches for his glass of juice. Indeed the next time he sees them will be when he is looking for a pair of shoes to wear tomorrow morning when there they will be, polished to a shine, lined up neatly along with the rest of his shoes, wherever mummy keeps his shoes.

The rest of the evening will be a repeat of more or less the same scenario. Without knowing how it happens hot water will be delivered to the bathroom, if they do not have a water heater like the average Ugandan family, when daddy’s done bathing, supper, hot and tasty, will be on the dining table. When he is done dining along with the rest of the family, the dishes will be cleared and disposed with forthwith. Daddy will then spend the remainder of the evening in polite and intimate discourse with his wife or if they have kids, helping them with their homework before retiring for the night. When he awakes the next morning, not only will he find his bathwater, breakfast and shoes ready, he will not have to search for the blue shirt that he likes so much and just decided to wear, it will be hanging in his closet, pressed, along with the rest of his clean and pressed shirts and pants.

If for example he were to awake on a Saturday morning, he would also find, in addition to hot bathwater, hot breakfast and clean pressed shirts, the house spic and span and smelling like a clean fridge, you know how when you open a clean fridge there’s this fresh chilly breeze that just refreshes you? Yeah, that’s it.

Now let’s deal. Obviously people like JKB will not relate, I’m sure Hopes would have a fit in surprise if he returned home to have his shoes removed and his feet massaged, katunda offered, bathwater heated et cetera, those things be as if not happening in the fast paced lifestyle of the first world so lets confine ourselves to the practical realities of the Ugandan scene, shall we?

BK is a lawyer a couple of years older than me. He works for one of the best law firms in the country, ah what the heck, he works for Alan Shonubi and Associates. He is of course successful, eloquent, well mannered, thoroughly urbane and sophisticated, in that haughty way only former Budo students can be. When BK goes home in the evening and feels like say a glass of water, he will not get up and fetch it even though the fridge be only a few metres away from him. He will call out to his girlfriend/fiancée, S, and ask her to bring him a glass that he may parch his thirst. Which she will do with minimum delay and present to him on bended knees. Yes, you read right, she will kneel t0 serve him. Kati, the feminists and liberal minded men amongst you are thinking, “poor village wench”, my friend, au contraire, S is also a highly educated lawyer – Ugandan speak for she did her MA in the UK – she went to Gayaza and works for a firm just as reputable as his. She also cleans up real good, if I were a few years older and drove an E class like BK, I’d have asked her out eons ago. But I digress, to the heart of the matter we must proceed.

V, to whom I have apologised in advance for cutting his kwanjula, is in full agreement with BK. A woman must do these things without being told, if she expects to be made an honest one. His own fiancée, also S (Namagunga I think), takes care of him “properly”. Even though he is also highly educated, and lived alone for many years in the UK doing his own cooking, laundry and stuff, he expects a hot breakfast on his table every morning when he awakes at 5:30 am – she gets to work at 9:00 just so you know – he won’t ask whether the tomatoes and onions are about to run out but will complain when they do and sure as night follows day, they will appear in his kitchen. He is also apt to be messy but he expects to live in an impeccably neat house. I’m trying to paint a picture for you here, work with me.

Some of you will not see what the fuss is, some of you will. When first this issue was raised, I did not see the point either way, I was raised by my mum, my dad having gone to be with Jesus when I was like in P.2 therefore I did not see my mum oba removing his shoes and massaging his feet and stuff. But I have heard stories about my much older cousins walking in on my dad making gaga noises over my crib so I guess underneath the frosty exterior he was really a big old softie. Bless your heart old man; I’m looking forward to seeing you again. But not too soon, ok? When I was in secondary school, I’d make jokes about wanting to grow up and be a man like my mum. LOL, much respect to all single mums, that’s some hard shit and look what you end up with, sons like me who want to be waited upon hand and foot by their women. As indeed I do.

Yes, after due reflection I have decided that infact, I want my woman to be like that. Oh she can go and be the CEO, COO, CFO, whatever, of a Fortune 500 and I will support her to the hilt and then some in doing that, naye when we repair to our small country sized estate in rural Wakiso, I shall expect to be waited upon. I shall not expect to be pointed in the direction of the pantry when I express the desire for a ham and cheese sandwich and most certainly will not expect to be laundering my shirts, boxers and socks, whether or not we have a washer/dryer. In every bathroom.

For attention such as that, I will learn how to speak hint, i.e. “honey, my braid are itchy” meaning “honey, my braids are itching cause it rained on me as I walked to the tube station from our townhouse therefore I would like you to let me use your second car to get to work on rainy mornings.” Thanks Baz, for the above lesson in the semantics of hint.
I will rise to the occasion when you point out that Inktus jumped off a bridge and take you bungee jumping in Bujagali. Jay was in Mombasa for a week? We’ll do Mauritius then. You get the drift dontcha?

More’s the pity then, when in male bonding sessions, one hears tales of how Gundi’s wife got kicked to the curb because he asked for a plate of food after an evening with the boys only to be told, “Ssebo, even me I’ve been working. You go and cook for yourself if you want!” of course, there were plenty of other like scenarios so I trust you get the picture. I tell you, some women are for Kissing Buddies and others are for making wives out of. The two never ever intersect. That’s why girls from Gayaza/Namagunga get married and those from College School get screwed. Period.

On Tha Speakerboxx: Original Recordings; Frank Sinatra

Nimerudi

2006-05-30T13:20:00.000+03:00

Ati people,

Habari nyenu nyote. Nataraji nyote mko salama. Kwa upande wangu mambo ni shwari. Nilifika nyumbani kwetu Uganda salmini salama. Asanteni nyote kwa kunipokea na pia kwa kuhakikisha kwamba safari yangu Nairobi ilikuwa njema kabisa.
Mubarikiwe nyote!

Love of the Week X

2006-05-30T12:53:00.000+03:00

Love of the Week IX

2006-05-24T20:49:00.000+03:00

this used to belong to H.E. Field Marshall Idi Amin Dada (RIP).

Yippeeeee!!!

2006-05-24T19:31:00.000+03:00

By the time most of you read this I’ll be pulling on my oldest most stone washed jeans in preparation to board a bus to Nairobi for the weekend. I am so going by the way. Even though the evil Klingons I answer to begged and cajoled and threatened, I merely dismissed them with an airy wave of my dainty manicured hand and flounced out of here in my Jimmy Choo's. Yes, it’s true, about the manicure. I went and had one done a fortnight ago so I’d know what all the fuss was about and these are my very astute conclusions: presenting the twelve observations on male manicuring;

1. All manicurists are male and they wear fake Nikes

2. All manicurists speak Luganda and little else even though they dress like extras in a low budget hip-hop video i.e. YingYang twins. actually, that’s crunk - whatever, tekimatteringa - been getting to know my baby sister better hence the lingo...

3. All manicurists have a large roll of cotton wool which they use to wipe your nails with... stuff that goes on before the polish

4. What did the massage with olive oil have to do with getting a manicure?

5. There has to be something wrong with a guy massaging my hands with virgin olive oil in the presence of my kissing buddy

6. while she sits there nodding approvingly.... and I (secretly) enjoy it

7. My nails were scrubbed/buffed/sandpapered (search me) now they feel smooth to the touch

8. Colourless nail polish is not nail hardener which is what I thought I was getting

9. Colourless nail polish does in fact ...shine! Hence I was walking around with shiny nails for a week

10. The proper way to let your just manicured nails dry is to hold them out at arms length, fingers splayed out so you can let the air circulate properly as you gently blow on them

11. Weird is asking my kissing buddy to fish my wallet out of my back pocket because I do not want to smudge my polish as it dries, so i can pay the dude Ushs. 2000. Damn, women's grooming is cheap!

12. Chipped nail polish is bad, even more so on a guy. i mean, howd you start explaining mbu you're hiding your nails cause your polish is chipping?

When I got irked at the sight of my chipped polish i just chewed the rest of it all off. Now I can go to Nai and proudly lounge in the Village market without looking like I’m cruising for a boyfriend from those Asian dudes you find there. I have gay friends; I know how they hook up with …other gay people.

I am so chuffed! Carnivore, Village Market, Snake park, Nairobi Pentecostal Church and its bookshop, Java World, South B estate, Yaya Centre, Loice's flat, kitchen and cooking, Benoni's flat and ... well a place to crash, Karaoke at the Intercontinental, standing in line for matatus at the Hilton, getting lost on River Road - ok, happened just the one time, I AM GOING TO PIG OUT. And the whole Kenyan accent, "ati what" n all that... I deserve this.

Hey Amphibian, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but you didn’t tell me about that thing last Saturday on the island so like we're square now, sindio?

On Tha Speaherboxx: Green Day; The entire Album

Text Message 4rm Olivia

2006-05-24T19:14:00.000+03:00

time & ability plus double capacity has forced my fingers to dance automatically on this benedicted screen of sms. i love ypu spontaneously and as i stand horizontal 2 e wall and perpendicular 2 e ground i only think of you. each time i c u my metabolism stops & my peristalysis goes in reverse gear. crazy but true

sender:
Crazy Office Chick
+256772......

Sent:
17:23:25
May-24-2006

P.S. i know she only sits on the other side of the boundary but i am starting to feel stalked!

Reminiscing

2006-05-23T18:46:00.000+03:00

There’s no such thing as a no good man, every no good man was made that way by a no good woman. I am talking about my ex. The most recent of them. Our breakup, even though it was played out in slow motion, was particularly poignant because I believed in a way I had not believed for like 2 years that she was the One. The One I’d introduce to my mum so mummy dearest would stop asking me about J with whom she speaks on the phone probably more often than she does with me.

Well, she did turn out to be the One; the one who “made” me throw all caution to the wind and get rid of all pretensions at being a Christian goody 2 shoes. Opened my eyes so wide to the real ways of the world. Lost me my innocence. I thank her every time I see her. With a great big Cheshire cat grin on my face.

You know how when you make a life with someone you end up with pieces of them and keepsakes and whatnot lying around. Last October, we went to the launch of the Brand Uganda campaign together and got these gift bags that contained a sachet of Rugasira’s Arabica coffee – real good stuff by the way. We finished my pack a long time ago and hers had been sitting on a shelf in my bookcase gathering dust since October.

After the breakup….mmmph…sometime in I think January… she kept dropping by, ostensibly to pick up a sweater or jacket or shoes or the Andy Warhol I had done of her, y’know, like that. The last time she came by, I asked her to take the coffee and she asked if I was getting rid of all reason for her to drop by. I didn’t know it then but yes I was.

Last Sunday morning, I’d run out of coffee and didn’t feel like doing tea so I thought about it for all of 5 minutes and went to unwrap her pack of coffee. At the end of the day, it was only a pack of coffee albeit very good coffee and not the last tangible thread connecting her to me.

Anyone for a mug?

On the Speakerboxx: Ndihamba Nawe; Mafikizolo
Trapped in the Closet; Robert Kelly

4 Sharing

2006-05-23T18:30:00.000+03:00

y'all,

please check out www.dennismatanda.blogspot.com,
heady stuff i tell you, absolutely wicked.

Things i look at daily.

2006-05-15T17:16:00.000+03:00

simple. functional. beautiful

from the inside looking out. i will have a suite of offices in that building in 10 years. the blue tiled building, silly.

from the outside looking in

front desk floral arrangement

sometimes we have bad days as well. we take them out on the front desk floral arrangements.

feng shui. put a plant in your space and you will become a better lover!

more feng shui

i wear this bracelet on days when i feel like asserting my connection with the soul of my country. its a twisty strand of multicoloured beads and stones in red, green, brown, yellow, cream and black.

kati that would be my fone in all its fyn-ness

my desk bright and early in the morning, before i start my PC. Manangement had the snazzy idea to seat me and the rest of my dept in this open plan arrangement and thats the corner they stuck me into, where everyone in the rest of the office can see my business including me posting this.

my Burundian woman. thats how i like my women to look, all hips and curves. sadly, the reality is oft far from the dream.

Love of the Week VIII

2006-05-14T13:30:00.000+03:00

Quick One.

2006-05-08T13:49:00.000+03:00

So this morning there we were, attending the morning staff meeting and the chief Boer, that would be the CEO, who's seated next to me wants to share the proverb that he was so deeply touched by in church yesterday. or at morning devotionals with his wife today. whenever. The parable about the talents. Y'know, guy goes away on trip, leaves 3 servants with money, they go out and invest the dough... that one.

so anyway he's looking around for someone to read out loud from his Bible and he goes like;

"who'll read out loud for us? Olivia will you? you dont have an accent do you? not like Degstar here; when you speak with him on the phone, you would believe you're speaking with an Irishman!"

me: "eeh, but Gundi..."

now there's no end to Olivia going on about my "Irish" accent. as if, she was in Giza y'know and don't get me started on those babes!

Amphibian, onmanyi, do i floss accent?

Love of the Week VII

2006-05-06T13:11:00.000+03:00

Stop Press!

2006-05-06T12:48:00.000+03:00

I need to find this out real quick.
Y'all know what matooke plants look like, right?
Good. Now would you say a Kitooke is a Tree?
if it is or is not, what's your basis for saying so?

My Hero Dennis Part II

2006-05-05T13:02:00.000+03:00

When we got to the gas station, there was D’s ride chilling on the forecourt, gleaming from a quickie wash job. We rolled up to it and that’s when we saw it. The Kid had bashed the back left-hand lights; properly enough to leave a hole in the glass. And for good measure there was a huge dent in the fender just below the lights. Then we all got out of Phil’s car and started making collective estimations of damage n the way that only men can, “this isn’t so bad, a little ironing and it’ll be kawa” privately thinking, “u unlucky sod, better you than me!”. The kid on the other hand was alternately sidling up to D spewing profuse apologies while making sure he stayed just out of reach – the mood D was in, he’d have shredded that kid with one swipe of his retractable claws, just like Wolverine.

But no, D would never take up physical violence against another man; he much prefers to use the power of his tongue. And what a tongue. That boy could talk the fat out of a sheep’s tail if he was pissed enough. All he asked of the kid was to stay away from him………………………………far far away. The other car, the one the Kid has backed into, a Toyota Kabina, was not as badly damaged as D’s. Only a broken taillight. Something you can get fixed in Kisekka market. Funny that, the Mitts was more damaged than the Kabina; here I was thinking that Mitsu’s are “harder” than Toyotas. I guess not. Naturally D did the right thing and asked for the other guy’s phone number from the attendant at the requisite convenience store. She gave it over, we called and the dude’s phone was off, just like that. Bloody inconsiderate of him I think.

Kale, solutions, solutions – either be a part of the solution or bugger off to Siberia.
No. 1; give business card to convenience store attendant, explicitly instruct her to have the other guy call D as soon as he gets here, we will pay for him to get his ride fixed.
No. 2; attempt to start own car. Wont start. Naturally. Aaaaarrrrggghhhhhh!!! 19 year old kid, stop blithering and get lost before I have you arrested or something.
No. 3; get Phil to turn round, open boot, get jump cables and attempt to jumpstart own car. Fail at first attempt. Disconnect cables and try again, with cable leads on terminal heads. Engine roars into life, all 2500 cc of it, sigh, music to the ears that sound.
No. 4; replace jump cables in the boot, close the bonnet and lower oneself into the comfort of the drivers seat. At which point all hell broke loose.
The lone security guard from above described low budget security firm came alive. He grabbed the car door as D went to close it and proclaimed, in his most threatening voice, that the car was going no where. I was stunned at the impudence of the man! Going no where, who did he think he was, Interpol? D was in shock that the guy had touched his car! His first reaction was to instruct, explicitly, that the guy separate his hand from the paint of his car. Did he, you ask? Did he! Mmph. He jerked the door a few times and not so subtly swung his rather long rifle off his shoulder. We didn’t see that. Not until the replay 30 minutes later

What we did instead was D got out and in his face asked the guard, “How dare you touch my car? Get your mitts off my car you ignoramus crossbreed of an ass and a yak!” - My emphasis.
Obviously not used to people shorter than him (moreover wearing shorts, white socks & even whiter trainers – I told him, man you cant go out looking like that but would he listen?) getting up in his space and asking him to back off, the guard did about the dumbest thing he could have done then. He cocked his gun. Aha, yes he did.

Instantly I thought, “Great! He’s going to shoot D then we’ll beat him up after he’s overcome by the enormity of his f..kup” D, he actually chuckled and … wait for it… asked … “how dare you cock your gun at me? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” I don’t know who was more surprised, the guard, the kid (who’d mercifully gone silent) or myself. Yes D, who are you? I have never seen your ass this riled! Dude how long since you last got laid? He then proceeded to give the guard a verbal dressing down the likes of which I have not heard in a really long time, think back to…long long ago. Something like;

“Do you know who I am? What’s your name? What company do you work for? I am going to ensure that you never work with a gun again. You will never ever work in this town again! How dare you cock a gun at me? Do you have any idea how much you have messed up? What’s this guy’s name? I want his official number and the name of his company. I am going to get him arrested and have him spend a long time in jail. How old are you? 25? You silly boy! You will be sorry that you ever cocked a gun at me. Do you have nay idea how many guns I’ve seen? You think I’d be scared by an AK47? A miserable AK47? Dude, do you know what an Uzi is? Ok, D, you might want to slow your roll right there, you about to share something we all don’t need to be hearing.

By now the entire gas station forecourt is listening in rapt admiration/fear. Dude, they were so frozen I could have walked into the store and made off with a couple tins of Cheese & Onion Pringles. Wish I had. The manager actually came out of the store and attempted to explain to the guard the extent of his goof before he drove off in quite a hurry. They must thought, “who is this guy with the fancy car yelling at a guy with a cocked gun. And why are his friends totally unfazed? These must be some really stoned people (nah, unlikely conclusion) or some really bigass CMI/ISO/VCCU/ESO/Military Police/PGB etc people (my preferred version).

By now D had slowed down enough for me to laconically suggest to the guard, who had long uncocked his gun, that he might want to think about apologising before the cops showed up to haul his ass off to Kiira Road police station. To his credit he took my advice, even suggesting “munange I’m apologising but even you also talk for me. Ntaasa!” how the sands of time had shifted. At this point we were walking to the car, D having asked, again, the store attendant to ensure the other car’s owner called him and buggered off to his car. As I got into the front passenger side, I glance over at D’s side and you will never believe what I saw, the guard was on his knees, gun strapped over his shoulder, clasping D’s right hand in both of his, pleading with D to forgive him. The Kid was next to him, in the same position. Rather bemusedly, d replied, “its okay. I forgive you. Never ever repeat what you just did today, ok? Now (said very slowly) get your hands off of me. Thank you.” And we drove off.

Me: by the way, you’re my hero right now
D: by the way, that was an Amygdala attack. You know what I was going to do?
Me: pray, do tell
D: when he cocked the gun, my first impulse was to disarm him and then beat him with his own gun! Bitch slap him with that rifle till he cried like a little bitch
Me: so why didn’t you?
D: dude, he woulda splattered his goddamn blood all over my car!
Me: moot point.
D: this fucking imbecile, thinking he can scare me with a bloody AK47……!
Me: so about u n d Uzi…wssup wit dat?

At that point the intellectual level degenerated into other things

My Hero Dennis Part I

2006-05-03T21:54:00.000+03:00

Dennis, D to me, is my cousin. Elder. By maybe 5 or so years.
I look upto him in the way I would look upto a big brother.
D does not take shit from anyone. He will live his life exactly how he wants to, on his own queer set of terms, and still manage to come across smelling of daisies and gardenias. Hidden in there is a subtle reference to the fact that his "set of terms" rarely come into orbit with those of anyone else I know, however liberal they might be.

D teaches, real interesting stuff. You might have been in one of his classes. If you work for a firm that has no issue with spending $150 on you per day so you can learn about Emotional Intelligence. He is the new entrepreneur, harnessing the power and vision of his intellect to create and sell solutions that enable people to live more fulfilling lives. He just moved his office to Kanjokya Street in Kamwokya - the Silicon Valley of Uganda.

D likes his techhie toys. He’s got like the latest Nokia Communicator even though he already had the PDA/cell phone/ combo thing thingy that did everything short of microwave the beef stew. The last time I checked, even his business card holder was personalised real leather thingy that came with a combination lock. His business cards smell like leather, the expensive new Italian shoe smell. Who has a cad holder that uses a combination lock? D, that’s who. He got me hooked on Playstation, long after Super Mario (hhehehe how far we’ve come!) and thus far is the only cat, amongst my plethora of cousins, who has played the entire 007 Nightfire game using only the Walther PKK. very manly stuff if you know your games.

Naturally, he drives a real fancy car. A Mitsubishi. with big 18 inch chrome rims, 6 CD changer, ABS, airbags, 4 weather zones, massive sound system, tiptronic gearbox, rear spoiler, the works. That thing is a beaut. Even better than his first car which was a 190E Mercedes of no mean credentials. He likes to drive. Fast. Once, we did Jinja - Kampala in the Benz in like 30 minutes. On one spare tyre. On a Saturday at peak time when all the holidaying people are either driving out of or into town. He turned on the hazard lights and went looking for the floor of the car with his right foot. We stayed in the middle of the road all the way. Singing along to Cameo.
Another time he was driving to Mbale and met Linda, cousin, on her way back but he was going so fast that he couldn’t even think about stopping. To have attempted to brake would have been ... I shudder to think of the consequences.

Man loves his cars. So when he lets you drive this car, you do so with R.E.S.P.E.C.T! Last Saturday he returned from teaching some people in Nairobi. As we do every time he returns from Nairobi, I call him up and ask if he got any good books. Naturally he always does. So he invites me over to look at them. The other things he always gets, without fail, are candy - for his staff and cigars, for me (he musta been in a good mood this time coz he got Scotch as well). He likes to think he's teaching me how to be a real smoothie. I like the cigars so I humour him admonishing me not to smoke the thing like I would a cigarette. Usually we have a discussion about work and books and economics and women and life, like a life coach really.

This time he was in a bit of a foul mood. When he'd gotten home from the airport he'd asked this 19 year old kid from the gas station, D lives in Naalya, to come pick up his car and go wash it. That and buy some groceries as well. I walked in at 5pm and the kid had been gone 4 hours. That and he was on the phone giving D excuses about his whereabouts. The long and short of it is that he'd busted something on the car and was in a garage trying to get it fixed. At this stage I thought he'd hit a pothole and created a hole in the undercarriage so the oil or something was leaking out.

It was pretty obvious, even to me, sitting there leafing through a Calvin & Hobbes, that this kid was not about to return. D eventually got it, and since he didn’t have a car, he wasn’t about to go find the kid. So he hung up, we lit up and had a chat. I respect his opinion on matters corporate, afterall he's been with all the major communication firms except MTN, ran 2 Studios and a PR agency. Before he was 30. Which was last year. Eventually, night fell and proggie came up, drinks at Shell Club, courtesy of Phil who came over at 8pm. and from whom I got the CTU_24 ring tone. Real stand up guy that Phil. You can tell a lot about people by how they act when you’re introduced to them. Top of my list are the ones who stand up to shake your hand, unless they’re female in which case it’s ok to stay seated. Phil stood up.

We took Phil’s car to the gas station to find D’s car. One of those new stations that have sprouted all over the place. The kind that recruit one of those low budget security companies that dress their guards in a uniform that looks like the Home Economics class project of a 10 year old. Man, I can understand cutting costs on good security when you’re in business to make profits but if I needed a guard for my house and couldn’t afford Group 4, Saracen or Tight Security, I’d get a Rottweiler. Either that or the Uganda Police constables. You don’t want would-be burglars making fun of your askari’s uniform before they make you carry your household property out to their truck. That’s how the thieves in Entebbe used to do it. After gaining access into your compound, they’d, politely, request your wife for a pot of tea and then proceed to make small chat with her while you and your sons ferried your stuff onto their 2 tonne truck. I can just imagine the conversation going along these lines;

Thief: munange, business is so bad these days
Your Wife: mmpph…
Thief: yes, prices are so low, people are not buying!
Wife: (meekly) yes, naffe tetunda mu katale
Thief: kitalo! Ela binno ebintu byetubye tuyinza okwesanga nga tubitunze ku laisi nnyo
Wife: ... (What do you say to that?)
Thief: ye, ompayo meeka we’mba nkubitunziza? Let us discuss tutesse!

At which point your wife, appropriately, breaks down in utterly hopeless sobbing while you look on in complete helplessness. Look on the bright side; you’d be getting rid of all those extra sets of Luminarc glassware that y’all got from your mother-in-law at your wedding 6 years ago. If the thieves will take it.

Love of the Week VI

2006-05-02T18:23:00.000+03:00

Why Men Sleep With A Lotta Women.

2006-05-02T18:21:00.000+03:00

3:53 pm Labour Day

I’m sitting on my bed writing this and thinking about the role women play in my life. This line of thought was inspired by this chick, friend of my sister, walking past me in the corridor whilst I did my ironing for the week. Incidentally at the very same time I was just answering a call from my mum who’d called to wish me a Happy May Day – that’s what they call it where she lives. The inspiration I refer to is that at the very same instant that my thumb was hovering over the “yes” button on the cell phone, my mind was thinking, “what would it be like to sleep with … (lets call her) M?”

In itself, that I was pondering the eventuality of coitus with M is nothing surprising. I am male; the very first thing we do when we meet a new female, a process our subconscious goes through so fast that we’re not even consciously aware of it, is determine whether or not we want to sleep with her. If we decide not to, then we’ll be her friend or whatever.
So, while I lie on a bed that I currently share with another of my sister’s friends, S, and sip on brilliant Ugandan coffee – Rugasira’s brand – out of a mug that an ex, N, gave me, I’m thinking how soon I want to be with M. Speaking of being with, the ex referred to, N?, classic example of a chick mixing up her position in the food chain and failing to grasp the concept of “Kissing Buddies”.

A kissing buddy is exactly that. A friend you can call on when you get a biological itch. We all have them, if we aren’t virgins, and if we are then we should learn what they are. Because friends and foes, we all need them. Unlike my ex, a KB does not mistake a hard-on for anything other than exactly that; a need to get laid. She/she will not “put feelings in things” to put it in Kampala-speak. The minute N put feelings into plain old fashioned booty calls; she went south – setting her horde of friends on me in the process. How I laughed. But enough of that.

I set out to share my thoughts on why we like to sleep with many women. Notice that I do not say cheat or philander or commit adultery, as your neo-Christian outlook may have you put it, just “like to sleep with many women”. When I meet a person and they make enough of an impression upon me, I generally tend to want to get to know them better. If they’re male, that means pints and pork and discussions on how to make money together. Anything else and they’re wasting time because I already got a band of brothers. Hollaback Frog, Busta, Lolo and Toko, I got your back hommies!

Now when I meet a female I like, I want to sleep with her. Unless of course she’s family I didn’t know about. Even I got scruples. By the way friends of my other sis, the baby, are outta the question because they’re barely 21. So that’s how I do; none below 21 (used to be 23 until Y – story for another day) and no family – however distant. In my old book, I had girl friends I could talk to about everything and others I slept with, both being very distinct categories. Until I Ingia-ed one of my closest friends – and for all you cats that know me, NO, it was not HER, ok? Quit gaping. When a few weeks later, in a moment of remorse brought on by the act, cause now I couldn’t be her friend like before and she wanted to know why, I sought the advice of an older male well versed in these matters, he swiftly assuaged my fears with the simple question, “Does Sudhir have female best friends?”

Turns out the chick herself had been waiting months (12 exactly) for me to make a pass at her. When she got tired of hearing about N & Y & M & S etcetera, she took things into her own panties … and the rest is history. Now I go by a new, much edited book. In that book, I believe thus; to get to know a woman well, like really well, sleep with her.
If it’s passable, quit while you’re ahead. If it’s ok, she’ll be a loyal friend, if it’s spectacular, you aren’t the first and you will not be the last. Make your peace with it.
Wit and intelligence and personality are all very well but so what? I am not in the market for a baby mama, I simply want to make some money and blow it (pun intended) getting laid. Wait a minute, I’ll take intelligence; nothing is as galling as a mentally challenged chick post-coitus. Now do I really want to sleep with M or am I just responding to the Wonderbra and French perfume?

On Tha SpeakerBox: Testify; Kanye West

What's Your Story?

2006-05-02T17:57:00.000+03:00

The story maketh the man: 50 Cent

I like Curtis Jackson.
There I said it. I am not shamed to do so. Even though a snobbish purist like me should be. Nay, I say so because last Friday night, I watched the video version of what I would like to believe is his life; Get Rich or Die Trying. Thank God, the Syriana DVD froze. Well actually, thank Toby, my Playstation. They will occasionally do that to you. Toby is so attuned to the violent gun battle choked games I spend hours playing with him that he just jammed when I decided to play a disc in which there wasn’t an explosion or gunshot for all of the first 5 minutes. Thank you, mate.

I really hope the movie is based on Curtis’ life, even loosely.
Because I responded to his story. I felt his shit. However lame the movie is, afterall it is no John Singleton, Ang Lee, Peter Jackson, Lee Tamahori, John Woo, Quentin Tarantino project, it still is a compelling story. And it had Terence Howard in it. For a movie big on dominant male players, it derives its mojo from the heroines of Curtis’ life. His Grandma, his Ma and his Wife. Without any or all of these, his character as Young Caesar would never have made it onto stage at the end, sans the Kevlar vest. Dude spend s his life looking for a father figure only for him, to discover right before he goes onstage – looking into a mirror, conveniently after his manager smokes the dude who killed his Ma, that he’s been looking for himself.

My mum’s always worrying about the kids she sees who’re pissing their lives away on crack and gangbanging and shit. And I say to her, “Raise up a child in the way of the Light and though he/she shall grow up to be a wiseass nappy headed “entrepreneur” – Joe that’s you, they shall never depart from it”. So she knows she done a stellar job with the siblings. That’s what Curtis’ mum and Grandma did for him. Taught the boy what was important in life, the rest being only pit stops on the Road to Damascus. He learnt well, he did. And now 50 Cent has me for a fan.

On Tha SpeakerBox: Photograph; Nickelback

Love of the Week V

2006-04-24T13:02:00.000+03:00

Losing the Plot

2006-04-12T16:45:00.000+03:00

if you're running your own business and the people working for you put in a full 8 hour day, no coffee breaks, no newspaper reading, no buggering off to the Shell Select for chilli crisps...i dont but thats besides the point...consider yourself very unlucky because sooner rather than later, those (seriously) overworked employees are gonna realise that they do not need your shit and they're gonna leave, most likely leaving you in a lurch.

so the really daft people who run this company decided in all of their wisdom to, among other cost and time saving measures, restrict acess to the internet to a grand total of 150 staggered minutes during the working day. that's 30 in the morning, 60 during lunch and 30 before close of business. after 5pm we can surf to our heart's delight, good stuff that; if i just want to google South Africa's Branding Campaign, i can either do it on my lunch break (ha!!) or wait till after 5pm (like i dont have a life!). this is really taking the piss.

i put my soul into this company, as does everyone seating around me and looking over my shoulder while i'm typing this. i expect as compensation, in lieu of the pittance someone in finance regards a salary - more like a wage it is, to be allowed my indulgence of a few pleasant pastimes, such as unfettered access to the internet. now that that's gonna be cut off at the knees, i'm going to engage in some civil disobedience.

the next time someone calls me on a Sunday or a public holiday (easter cometh), i will demand overtime before i deign to uncoil myself from the couch onto which i will have become grafted. the next time i get asked to play social host to one of our innumerable bazungu guests (where muzungu generally refers to people from outside countries) i will request an allowance that i am even now making up. and the next time i get asked to clear my desk and cover for someone who has a monday deadline and has chosen to go upcountry on Friday, meaning i'll be behind on my own stuff coz i worked through the weekend for them....i'll say no. nicely. if i'm gonna be behind on my work, let it be because i was a lazy so-n-so not because i was holding the fort for someone else. do not mention the words "teamwork" to me because i am seating out this one.

as a matter of fact, today i will break with habit and go home early, soon as i finish posting this. chicks to bench, books to read, babies to play with. sunsets to watch, gin to throw back.

you know what really shook me though? the people i work with are a fairly outspoken lot, so outspoken sometimes i think they speak if only to be heard to say something...anything at all really. now while this news was being shared during the staff meeting, i wasnt present - didnt feel like it so i slept in, no one spoke up or asked a question or made a wiseass crack. everyone just listened and when whoever spoke was done, they all just got up and left the boardroom.

i find that worrying. very worrying indeed. i wont be surpsised if one fine morning i come in to work and find that half the staff has buggered off to Saatchi & Saatchi.

Love of the Week IV

2006-04-12T16:18:00.000+03:00

Ochre Houses

2006-04-06T20:40:00.000+03:00

This morning, we were driving into town for a meeting at the Ministry of Education. coming down Jinja road from the general direction of Nakawa, we espied a jam backing up all the way to the Ministry of Internal affairs so we turned round and drove through the Uganda Management Institute into the lower Kololo environs so we'd take the jam free Acacia avenue, eventually.

From UMI we drove down Golf Course Avenue, lower Kololo, past Paul's (RIP) house and up to the stretch right below the airstrip that leads down to acacia. as we were driving down Paul’s road, Brian pointed out the flats on the right hand side - opposite the Golf Course apartments - that he grew up in except that when we started in on him about being a city bred kid and eschewing all the boyish joys of growing up in the countryside e.g. swimming in rivers, hunting, grazing cows, shooting birds, drowning cats, borrowing the produce of other peoples fruit trees, etc, he swore to high heaven that he was raised in Ruharo, Kashaari, Mbarara and they only moved to Kampala in the late eighties. Whatever

it was his comment on the spaciousness of the old house that got me thinking about the house in which I grew up, after which this blog is named. Now that was the perfect house in which to raise a bunch of kids. It was a double storied house set in a compound the size of 2 football fields. That would be soccer to some of you. We were on the upper floor and Auntie Susan, Joel's mum, was on the lower floor. the house was dead smack in the middle of the compound with a fence running down the middle which we of course tore down, save for the section at the front. we each had a garage big enough to park an IFA in. I know because my Uncle in the army once came over late at night and my mum asked him to get his unsightly escort IFA out of her sight, his soldiers drove it towards the garage. Now whereas the garage was high and wide enough to accommodate the truck, the door wasn’t as accommodating. So the IFA truck stayed outside.

Attached to the garage was a self contained - the politically correct term would be - servants quarters where John, who'd been with us since before I was born, lived with his family. There was plenty of room at the back for a well sized garden in which we grew doodoo and occasionally maize to keep Jajja happy, in the days before she came to live with us fulltime and insisted on teaching us the basics of crop husbandry. At the front of course was the rest of the compound, which we used for football n bicycle races and water fights and water slides when it rained. the best thing about the compound for me were the trees, guava and jambula (what’s that in English?), and one big ol' grandfather thing right in front of the garage that housed a monitor lizard in the depths of its cavernous root system.

That lizard was like the Loch Ness monster, only seen on very quiet afternoons when you were most definitely alone so there was no one around to collaborate your story. Climbing the guava tree was banned in 1989 when Big Joseph, aunt Susan's cousin fell off it and sprained his ankle. The idiot, taking us 6, 7, 8 and 9 year olds up on a dare. The Jambula tree on the other hand was a no-go area after caterpillars invaded its mid section in about '88. If the fruit didn’t fall down fast enough, we roped in everyone and took turns at throwing whatever it took at the branches so they'd give up their loads.

The trees on our side of the compound were better for climbing, and we had all the fruit trees so Aunt Susan's compound was greener, coz we hardly ever played there. When she complained that we were not playing on her side we created a roster for alternating between her side and ours naye bambi, her side had thorns in the grass near the gate. The other attraction was the termite mound in the boundary line between our compound and the guys next door. My granny used to call them a most derogatory term that generally refers to people from Northern Uganda. Shez old school. Being of varied ethnic origins, we kids only caught on when we went to boarding school exactly what she was going on about. I think she just didn’t dig the fact that they brewed their own beer in their compound.

Come to think of it, Jinja was, still is, a pretty diverse place to live. Aunt Susan is western, her husband (RIP) was eastern - yo, Joel, didya ever get circumcised? Say you were facing the road in front of the house, the guys on the right were well, northern or eastern I dunno, those ends. The guys on the left were just as varied. Behind us was Bagarukayo who I believe was western, his sister definitely looked western (bust-waist-hip wise). Directly in front of us were Bryan who is half Rwandese and Michael who is half Russian - we never ate at their house. Right next to Michael’s house was a block of flats chock full of BaChottala and Arabs. At home we ourselves spoke, actually were spoken to - coz we barely learned the languages, in everything from Luganda, Lugwere, Lusoga, Kinyankore, Kifumbira, Kinyarwanda to Kiswahili - that would be aunt Rehema's husband Omar. And the same demographic was pretty true of all Jinja. My first crush was on an Arab chick called Kultham, I chull when her bro Rashid made it the butt of neighbourhood jokes.

But I digress - that was for your benefit Carlo. That termite mound was the source of some fine clay. we used it to mould our own toy pistols coz Mummy bless her heart wouldnt buy the kind that shot real pellets and water pistols were for the gals. At least with clay pistols, when you run outta "bullets" you could hurl your weapon at your enemy! Muhahahahahah!!! Sorry Sam but man, you were killing me that day!

The house itself was really old school. it had these red floors that you find in all the old houses countrywide and the walls were really thick so when my granddad spent the night he'd complain that it was too warm - for future reference, his house is on the lake shore - so Mummy would let him seat outside after dusk for a bit, to cool off and of course we would clamour to be allowed to keep him company which meant that we got to play outside! At night! Those floors, I think they're made outta a mixture of iron peroxide or something, were the kind that well, had to be waxed so they'd shine real good! Naturally it fell upon us of then nimble backs to do the deed. I believe I have written about this before. To our mums credit she gave us the choice of either waxing the floor first or settling in for the Saturday TV funnies, or vice versa. we usually did both at the same time so when Scooby Doo and Shaggy were doing that running in one spot thing before showing the bad guy a clean pair of heels we were sliding across the floor on our hands and knees.

Like any old house it had its eccentricities. like every time it rained, the house leaked in three places, 1.right outside the dining room - which weirdly had a window between it and the corridor, a real life window in the middle of the house, 2.right outside my mum's room and 3.in the left hand corner just inside the dining room. Even though we had the roof tarred, no Kajjansi tiles on that house, only a flat roof and iron sheets, the leaking never ever stopped. Another thing I loved was the winding ornamental staircase that led from the living room down to the ground floor. We only ever used that when we had like serious company in the house otherwise we'd all just use the back door up the staircase past the kitchen.

Watching TV late at night was a trick coz man, there were all kinda noises coming from that staircase. Course I know now it was just the house settling but back then, it was scary!!! Picture the irony, you're watching Monday night wrestling on UTV and rooting for Kamara the Ugandan Destroyer on WWE - World Wrestling Entertainment, but when the show's over your ass is scared stiff of walking past the glass panelled door to the staircase lest something jumped out and grabbed you.

My favourite of all the quirky things about the house, ok truthfully, one of my favourite things would have to be the windows. They were all over the place. And they came in all shapes, from big bay windows to the louvered things. What I especially liked about the ones in my mum's room was the opening mechanism. You just turned this little lever on the window sill that was part of a device whose job was to open and close the window. no need to stretch your hand out through the burglar proofing, a much detested but necessary addition in later years, you just turned the lever and the window swung out or inwards.

When we left Jinja, my sis promised that one day she'd return and buy the house - it belonged to Nytil where my mum used to work - I’d usually keep quiet when she said that because I was privately thinking, "Not if I get there first!"

?

2006-04-06T20:32:00.000+03:00

yo,
anyone know how to upload video onto this here thingy?

Belief in Substance Unseen

2006-04-05T12:13:00.000+03:00

this morning we had a breakfast meeting with these guys that we are creating an amazing new concept with. you will see and hear about it in the mass media in a month or so. and when push comes to shove, someone has to foot the bill. now we'd invited CEO to sit on on the meeting so he'd stop coming round to our desks at 4:30pm while we're chatting with our buddies and asking whats happening with the account.

so these guys rehash their concept for him and we pitch in at the appropriate moments with the appropriate noises. when they were done CEO turned to us all, dept by dept, one by one, asking for our thoughts. i went first.

i've done an event or two in the past where we were all systems go and no one was really asking how we were gonna pay for stuff. as is wont to happen, the best laid plans of mice and us - wouldnt come to naught - would more like run into a wrinkle or two. and when the wrinkles did turn up, inevitably all and sundry turned to me and asked what happened to, especially, the money. good point. we are a business, we make profits - when we dont it should be because of factors beyond our control not failings on our part. in this case, it was a failure on our part - we let the client throw their weight around when clearly they did not know their elbow from their generous hindpart.

since then i like to ask upfront, where's the money coming from? and i did so this morning. i promptly got accused of a lack of faith in the concept. see it works like this, if u got faith u dont let tiny things like cost deter you, sindio? well, yes that is true. but you need some entandikwa! when Mark Shuttleworth started out writing security software or whatever, he did it in his parents garage yeah? so the garage was like entandikwa coz dude didnt haveta pay no rent so whatever he was gonna spend on rent for a business musta gone into purchasing a computer or two or buying beef jerky for lunch or whatever...d apple guy, Steve Jobs i think, dropped outta college but hang around campus sleeping on the floors of his friends rooms and going to free calligraphy classes - thats why Apple has really dope graphics and fonts and shit, Kaguta Museveni sent his family to Sweden and went to live in the luweero bush... in short, they were enjoying the facilities at someones else's expense. Kaguta still is. taking the piss i mean

i do not want to be the one paying for someone else to "enjoy the facilities". i want to see the colour of their money or at least a solid financial proposal.C EO did not see it that way, so he gave me a pep talk on belief beyond obstacles or some such. and i'm sitting there thinkin, dude i'm asking these questions so you can get paid and go sleep in that house on the hill and buy another 4X4 for your wife! so chew my ear off all you like cause i know these are questions you will be asking Finanace at the end of the month when they tell you that they are in the red on this account.

then he pronounced his blessings upon the concept and asked for results. ASAP. LOL, he is so gonna get them alright. and seeing as he was kind enought to request that we seek his help as and when we need it, we will definately seek it. methinks we should send him to Uganda Breweries, hat in hand, to tap colour for us. you know he so totally does not feel their "Responsible Drinking" campaign. qouth he, "what is responsible drinking? if you drink 2 or 3 or 6 beers, at which point does it become irresponsible drinking?"

this from an ex-playboy. getting saved will do that to you.

Love of the Week III

2006-04-04T20:31:00.000+03:00

T1

2006-04-04T20:30:00.000+03:00

i'll be back!...

Love of the Week II

2006-03-27T12:43:00.000+03:00

I got d job!

2006-03-22T12:44:00.000+03:00

i just came out of the boardroom from a meeting with the CEO, d head of marketing,d head of events,d head of graphics - currently he's the assistant head coz the head is such an ass, and he's gonna be leaving at the end of the month, i know coz i'm writing his resignation letter - d chick from my department and myself.

basically we were discussing this new project that we've been kicking around for like the last 6 months and now its ready to be birthed. dats a christian term right there. i was in charge of the process in the sense that i made sure all the departments had whatever they needed so they would be able to give me what i required of them.

so last nite CEO went home with like the inception report and soon as he walked into the office today he had the above crew sit down for a powpow. he liked what he'd read and he wanted me to take this baby and make a home run with it; turn it into a separate business unit within the larger organisation. subject to said terms and conditions of course, all restrictions applied.

i am aso chuffed rite now all i can think about is pork ribs at Zanzi's to celebrate. that and delusions of company car, postpaid phone lines, pretty assistant to pander to my every need and at the end of the day give me finger massages with her ever so delicate hands, my own handpicked staff body (guys need not apply), sigh, i cannot wait to get started.

now i'll probably have even less time to work out - and my six pack was coming along so nicely, its like a distinct 2 pack rite now - play with my nephew, go to jazz nite on wedneday and Steak Out on Thursday (WILL NOT MISS DAT, only did it for the galfrend - really i so dont get why i should push and shove a hundred other people so i can buy a drink!), go to the movies, d swimming pool and just spend time doing nada. i am so lookin forward to the challenge. i should probably get my own key too, cause of all the late hours i'm gonna be putting in. hang on though, nuthin was said about an increase in pay! mmph, how to raise it now...?

Love of the week

2006-03-22T08:07:00.000+03:00

Passing the Buck

2006-03-11T13:06:00.000+03:00

Dude, one of our drivers, Mr. Lule, survived death in that church that collapsed last Wednesday in lower Nsooba zone, Lufula in Kalerwe, one of our innumerable suburbs. The Church, the City of the Lord Church, collapsed during a thunderstorm. There were like 1000 people in the church, 26 died immediately and 100 or so were injured and admitted to hospitals, mostly Mulago. U might want to look up the details here; http://www.newvision.co.ug/.

the pastor of the church has gone into hiding, mbu he's in shock and recuperating, the engineers in charge of the construction are also being cagey about their whereabouts, all the while telling the press how they were being pressurised to finish the construction in time for a major conference in April...wait, that’s next month! One engineer is even quoted as saying that maybe it was their time to go, the people who died. And from the pictures of the rubble I saw in yesterday's papers, the church walls were like so thin - is that the correct way to put it? Well anyway, they looked like they could use another layer or two of bricks.

When Mr. Lule didn’t show up for work on Thursday and his phone stayed off all day Thursday and Friday, we naturally assumed the worst. So I call one of the other drivers Friday evening and he promised to check with Mr. Lula’s neighbour, another driver - oba they live in a commune? - And bright and early today, Mr. Lule showed up with graphic tales of people dying in the rain; rain so heavy they could barely see past their noses.

Kati Mr. Lule hadn’t wanted to go; it isn’t his church, but they had a conference, revival meeting, something like that going on and his wife insisted on being there. So, being the world class nice guy that he is, he obliged and escorted her. Like that world, "escorted". Now there they were in the church during the rainstorm when Mr. Lule noticed that one of the walls was doing a Tower of Pisa lean-to. he was on the right side (the side it didn’t fall towards) of the said wall, so to speak, for before he even had time to warn a bunch of people sitting next to the wall, it came down on them with a God almighty crash. Of course they all died immediately. his wife only survived death because she chose the moment that the wall was coming down to make her way up toward him - she was on a lower level or something - so while the wall was coming down, she was going round it to get up to the higher ground. She got some cuts and bruises though from the bricks on the wall's periphery flying off in all directions, much like "stray" bullets.

So now, I’m grateful to God that Mr. Lule didn’t come to any harm and I’m comforted in the knowledge that the people who perished are floating on clouds, sipping on nectar and mead, trying out their new wings, strumming their harps and generally lounging up in heaven. We should all be so lucky.

And the Lion shall lie with the Lamb

2006-03-10T13:16:00.000+03:00

My Nan

2006-03-09T09:59:00.000+03:00

my grandmother can tell from the sound of me stirring a cup of coffee, that i did not add milk to it. i do not know how she does it, there i was absent mindedly stirring my cup of coffee (with no milk) when from across the room she pointed out that there was milk in the flask next to my hand. startled, i looked up wondering how she knew that, she must have snuck a look while i was pouring, but no..., she was sitting with her back to me feeding the baby. she really does have eyes in the back of her head, my sis was right all those years ago when we were kids.

Happy Women's Day Y'all

2006-03-08T14:49:00.000+03:00

for all of my women people
my mum, my sisters, aunties, grandma, cousins, nieces, god-daughters
girlfriends, friends, lovers, ex-girlfriends, ex-lovers, future lovers, @#$*-buddies
workmates, colleagues, competitors, conspirators
teachers, role models, pin-up models, fantasies
Happy Women's Day Y'all
i Love you

Rules To Live By

2006-03-08T14:14:00.000+03:00

1. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.

2. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.

3. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.

4. When you say, "I love you," mean it.

5. When you say, "I'm sorry," look the person in the eye.

6. Be engaged at least six months before you get married.

7. Believe in love at first sight.

8. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.

9. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely.

10. In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.

11. Don't judge people by their relatives.

12. Talk slowly but think quickly.

13. When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask, "Why do you want to know?"

14. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.

15. Say "bless you" when you hear someone sneeze.

16. When you lose, don't lose the lesson

17. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others; and responsibility for all your actions.

18. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.

19. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.

20. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.

21. Spend some time alone.

Just 4 Laughs

2006-03-03T12:54:00.000+03:00

Spied in the latest issue of Business Week;

A Man’s Perspective

I know I’m not going to understand women. I’ll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root and still be afraid of a spider.

Boys will be Boys

There was a middle aged guy who bought a brand new Mercedes convertible SLK. He took it out on the road, sped it up to 120 kph and enjoyed the wind blowing through what little hair he had left on his head.

“This is great,” he thought and accelerated it some more. Looking n his rear view mirror he noticed a Highway Patrol Officer behind him – blue lights flashing and siren blasting.
“I can get away from him with no problem,” thought the man, so he floored it and flew down the road at over 160 kph. Then he thought, “What am I doing? I’m too old for this kind of thing.”

So he pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the Patrol Officer to catch up to him.
The Policeman pulled in behind the Mercedes and walked up to the man. “Sir,” he said, looking at his watch, “my shift ends in 30 minutes. If you can give me a reason why you were speeding that I’ve never heard before, I’ll let you go with a warning.”

The man looked up at the policeman and said, “last week my wife ran off with a Highway Police Officer, and I thought you were bringing her back.”
The policeman said, “Have a nice day.”