Fools rush in: a witness account

Somewhere in the Bible, there’s a verse that says one of the most puzzling things in the world is how a man and a woman fall in love. How many times have you heard the incredulous question “what on earth did he see in her?”

 But I saw it this week on the ride I’d hitched to Entebbe. (Aside: More travellers are abandoning the park or, in the words of Moses Isegawa, the ‘bowl’ where most of the city’s taxis or minibuses converge before they extract blood and money from the hapless passengers. Lately, some rich men have realized that the buses cannot be held at bay any longer and they’ve started a war on the taxis. Right now, on Entebbe Road, there are five buses and there are others on other roads. More people are waiting for the buses where they pay just Shs1000. This is a big break from the headache of the taxis which charged Shs2500 to the last stage in Kitooro. Reportedly, the taxis have revised their fares and it’s now Shs2000 but that’s not good enough).

the madness. Photo by Stephen Wandera

So all these strangers meet at Conrad Plaza and wait for the bus. It’s the good old days all over again. Anything can happen; like falling in love with a complete stranger. I doubt these two knew each other before they met at the stage.

But I couldn’t mistake what was going on at 9 O’clock (because I was observing the proceedings on my right with slit eyes). “swiureuree, hee hee hee, swuiauw,” Loverboy said to Ihuoma. “Hee hee heee heeeee,” she replied.

I am paraphrasing here because love is best expressed in low tones and these two were sticking to the rule. Nothing wrong with all this. Only that I was genuinely surprised. It’s not every day that a youngish man in his late twenties finds love with a late-forties-looking madam on the trip back home. And she was surprised too. But she played along and even gave him her digits. Never walk out on a winning streak.

Maybe I am just hating.

In other reports, the President is really playing to the gallery, don’t you think?

This old man, he played knick-knack on my mind

Young and Upcoming Ugandans are wont to complain that the System is not pulling its weight. The guys ‘up there’ are just idiots who do not deserve to be there. That all they have is the guns they could easily use against the very people they are supposed to protect and of course, when the time is right, the half-century-old depreciating skulls that will be used in election campaigns to scare some votes out of the population.

Maybe the Yuppies are just spoilt and they’d probably not say a thing if their requirements are met. They want their Premier League and please don’t block the TV. And of course, as it has been said before, they must have access to their Cappuccinos and Lates.

The whole of 2008, we had power where I stay. Rarely did I have to dread going back home to a blackout. The kerosene lamps were dry but that didn’t bother me because there would always be power.

This was definitely different from 2005-2007 where every day, the letters’ pages of the press had people calling for the heads of officials because of the shortage. That’s the time we had ministers blaming it on everything from low water levels in Lake Victoria to scanty rains to witchcraft performed by opposition parties.

Last year, it was the fuel prices. A liter of petrol hit Shs3000 and was rising in some parts of the country and the din was uncontrollable. Then the prices started going down.

That’s when the cries also stopped. The people who control things around here know exactly what to do, it seems. Appear to give the people what they want, ‘appear’ being the operative word here, and all things will be cool.

And we have accepted. Fuel prices are still high, if you think of it. Ivan Kyayonka was quoted at the beginning of the global oil price slump saying that there’d come a time when Ugandans would be able to buy petrol at Shs1700. That has not happened but hey, if we are comfortable where the prices are at, maybe we can take the burden.

A fast retreat

When I am in town, I try not to use public toilets because…well, because one visit to most of those places will destroy your appetite for anything. You’ll be in such a state that even the mere thought of going to the bathroom will induce nausea.

When I say ‘public’ I am talking of those places where some sorry person has to take your Shs100 and avoid looking into your eyes because they heard what you just did in there. You know the drill.

The nausea will come because of what you’ll invariably find there. It’s really in the upbringing, I am told. Like that talking head on TV the other day on the 9 o’clock news who said the police recruits who destroyed Mandela National Stadium did it because “most of them had come to Kampala for the first time from far-flung places where there are no toilets.” Yeah. That’s why they found it convenient to pull apart our only national treasure when it comes to sports facilities.

But sometimes the urge to go is unbearable and one just has to or else, they’ll do it right there in the taxi. You don’t want to be the one sitting next to a guy who’s on the brink, fighting off green stuff that’sjust beating on the door.

I never ‘tie.’ I have been told it is very dangerous to refuse to relieve yourself when your body demands it. So I always go to a hotel. Not just any 1-Star affair passing off as a hotel – a real hotel.

My thinking is that if the high and mighty of society are eating there; if the politicians and their cousins and their wives are wining and dining at an establishment, chances are that they’ll have clean toilets.

I have gotten really familiar with the johns at Grand Imperial Hotel.

Last week, I had to beat a quick retreat. When I got there, someone had left a surprise for me. Or for whoever was supposed to come after them. It could have been that the toilet was broken or that all one needed was to flush but I couldn’t wait to find out. Whatever that person had eaten was pure evil.

So there I was, sitting on a boda-boda returning to office and pretending that it was all part of my schedule. I learnt that it’s not so easy to smile at a joke a colleague throws your way when it’s fire behind.

Control yourself now, Ms Shontelle

There’s a young girl up in the speakers in the office singing longingly; I don’t quite get the words, probably because of the L1 effect (and the accent is like Greek to me). I, however, hear what is undoubtedly her wish to be in someone’s T-Shirt and nothing else.

I also heard something about Jimmy Choo shoes. She at least has style.

This is one of those songs that make me admit with horror that I’m truly an old fuddy-duddy. I don’t understand the reasoning behind it and I know I will never even in a million years, not that I have a million years. More and more, I realize that I am growing more comfortable with Bob FM (in the evening) and hard rock.

But it gets really cold at times in outside countries. Won’t she catch her death?

Atrophy coming on

After a gruelling period of reflection and inner debate, I have come to the realisation that I know nothing. I do not read the newspapers anymore and even the radio news has started sounding like a broken record.

Try as I may want to, the interest in the things that should be important, the things that are reported in the big news in the papers, are not cutting it for me anymore. I am tired of reading about the president’s benevolence in Owino or his exhortation to teachers to instill patriotism in their charges.

I am getting tired of the competiotion between Kizza Besigye and Yoweri Museveni to rule the front pages. I used to think it wasn’t intentional but that ignorant bliss was shattered when the president, mbu jokingly, told the press at a conference he called, that he wanted to be on the front page the next day or else he wouldn’t call them again. That was when the FDC, the biggest opposition group was holding their delegates meeting.

Twenty years of reading about Museveni does things to you. You either believe whatever is written about him or…or you believe what’s said about him. By force. You are eaither with us or with them.

But I am tired. I start reading the newspapers and find that after the top story, which is usually only there because its a scoop and so details are still scanty or the self censorship just forced out the real news, there’s not much else. And Observer comes out Thursday. That’s too far.

Now I think I have only one source left; a guy who knows his stuff. Mohinder Suresh.

In the middle of the credit crunch

I want to have the best job in the world when I grow up. Wait…I’m already growed up.

But can you imagine that! To just lounge on some resort and blog about your experiences, £50,000 is up for grabs. Is that a dream deal or is that a dream deal.

It is a six month contract to become caretaker of Hamilton Island in the Whitsundays, in Australia’s north, where the winner will live rent-free and act as a spokesperson for the region.

According to news reports, “the winner will be expected to have as much fun as possible — soaking up the sun, swimming, snorkeling, sailing — and report to a global audience via weekly blogs, photo diaries and video updates.”

Kenyan Kiran Jethwa is in the running. The Australian government is really intent on selling their country to the world. It’s a lesson in how to lure tourists, one our UTB should be studying intently.

Our friend is an interesting soul; he is a deejay, a former tour guide, has played for the national rugby team and he is a professional chef. And you thought Uncle Mitch was an all-rounder with his forays into the treating of little dogs.

I am thinking, this guy deserves to win. Not only because he is African (East African, at that) and he is our only representative.

If you think the same, you could vote for him here. It took me a lot of time to open all the links related to it. Means the world’s voting, silly.

Come to think of it, I know  a couple of Ugandan bloggers who’d really do a good job taking care of the damn place. I mean, how often does one throw at you your best passtime as a job?

A nation of losers

It’s always amazed me that the USA where almost everyone is taken to be literate is still home to some of the most ignorant people. The other day when a few people were asked to identify British Prime Minister Gordon Brown, no one could pass the test. They were all shown pictures of the man and asked who they thought it was. All of them laughed apologetically, guessing that he was probably a criminal, an alderman and even a musician.

It was explained away as the effects of growing up in a strong country that has the rest of the country looking up to it. This meant that they did not really have to stress their brains with facts about the wider world.

I don’t buy it.

And also, Maj. James Kinobe has at last been given a job. Remember how he was posted to Moscow yet there is already an envoy? Well, it seems the man who dishes out jobs for politicians has heard his cries and decided to save him from the humiliation of having to answer to that annoying question, “So, Major, what are you doing these days exactly ?”

Naija blues

Wistful story out of Nigeria.  After years of bearing the jokes (Gaetano on Bayo), Nigerians are finally getting their hands dirty in the herculean job of clearing their name. Chick in the sound bite on the Beeb actually sounded hurt thinking of all the drama. It is time to do away with the image that Nigerians are crooks and fraudsters.

So what happens if they pull that off? From what I know, Ugandans are not too far behind Nigerians in the West in terms of sheer numbers. Yeah, you don’t know about that because they are all underground. When you look around your neighbourhood and someone’s missing, you could be right on the money if you guessed they are someplace on Upton Lane.

Getting on the plane to escape the projects (Katanga, Kisenyi, Kanungu) is what’s on most of the young Ugandans’ mind. It’s like everyone’s Career Guidance teacher told them to look on the outside for success.

So if the Nigerian image changes, trust me, it’s your brother on kyeeyo next who’s going to be called a tief.

What kind of name is Cimarro?

If you know what’s good for you, you won’t be calling my home at eight on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Unlike those bagaiga of Kyaliwajjala who’ve got DStv, I still have Just TV, or rather, the people at my home do.

On said days, even I am banished to the sidelines with my books because this guy takes over.

This is not a complaint but maybe I have to really watch him.