If you live in Uganda, particularly in the central part of the country, you have prolly gone through the pain of having to lick. I mean it the way you think I do. It’s a term I learnt from a great orator called Rodney Ruvuza referring to the act of allowing oneself to be a door rag but that’s a story for another day.
Adults in your life were always trying to make you feel like you were lower than the dirt off Smigle’s hideous feet. (Imagine that!). Who gave people the right to lord it over children? It would seem obvious that when I meet someone in the street, we both have not seen each other since last year or last night so we both prolly would want to know how the other slept, no?
In fact, the kid has better things to think about other than the pains in the back of some old crone who spends the day gossiping with the neighbouring hags. The last I checked, I had grown up. I am not a kid. When I meet you, please don’t expect me to greet you. Greet you? Why? Why don’t you greet me?
The stupidity of the whole thing is that when you stop doing the comic genuflections on meeting peeps with some weight about them that makes them think they have the right to lord it over you, they start plotting your death.
Because you did not greet them when you passed by them. I have better things to think about; like what shall I do with the 50 mil sitting in the bank? Or the 100 things i’d like to do to that Gashumba dude who’s riding on a poor child’s fate. Greet me first if you want me to greet you. Gasiya Ttu!