Trapped In Office

The year 2021 rolls in and the words No Change wake me Up
I’m stretchin’ and yawnin’In an office that don’t belong to me
And a voice yells, “Good morning, Afande”, from the next room
Then he comes out and briefs me
And to my surprise, I have no clue…

Now I’ve got this look in my eyes

Like, what have I done?
How could I be so ***** to be have laid here til the donors got mad?
Must have lost the track of time
Oh, what was on my mind?
From the bush, went to the podium
Didn’t plan to stay that long

Here I am, quickly tryin’ to put up a speech

Searching for a proverb
Tryin’ to get one the haven’t heard before
Then he streched his hands in front of it
Said, “You can’t go this way”
Looked at him, like he was crazy
Said, “You man move out my way”
Said, “I got a dictionary at home”
He said, “Please just use that one there”
“Corporal, I’ve got to get home”
He said, the opposition was comin’ up the stairs

“Shh, shh, quiet Hurry up and get in the Office”

He said, “Don’t you make a sound
Or some shit is going down”
I said, “Why don’t I just go out the window?”
“Yes, except for one thing, we on the 7th Term”
“Errr, Errrrr quick, put me back in Office”
And now I’m in this plush office, tryin’ to figure out
Just how I’m gonna get my crazy **** up out of statehouse

Then they walk in and yell, “We are Home”

he says, “The Money’s in the room”
They walk in there with smiles on their faces
Sayin’, “Money, we’ve been missin’ you”
he hops all over themAnd says,
“I’ve surfed and downloaded your speeches”
I’m tellin’ you now, this guy’s so screwed that he deserves a court martial

Throw him out of the way

And start to snatchin’ his medals off
I’m in the Office, like man, what the **** is going on?
You’re not gonna believe it
But things get deeper as the story goes on
Next thing you know, a beep comes through on my cell phone
I tried my best to quickly grab the ****er
But from the way they act,
I could tell it was too late
They hop up and said,
“There’s a mystery going on And we’re gonna solve it”
And I’m like, “God please, don’t let these guys assume this office”

One walks in the bathroom

And looks behind the door
One says, “The Tee Pee is under the Bed
He says, “Bitch, say no more”
He pulls back the shower curtain
While unclasping his belt
Then he walks back to the room
Right now, I’m sweating like hell
Checks under the bed
Then picks up a magazine
He looks at my manifesto
I pull out my Back up
He considers running for Office
He comes up to Campaign
Now he’s at the podium
Now he’s assuming Office…

The World’s A Stage: Miss University

The Players:Johnny M. , Abedi Nasser Obole
The Guest Stars: Mera,Solo,James

The Plot: Set up a pageant of Mega Proportions,receive acclaim and do it again next year Pageant is to showcase the beauties of all the Universities in Uganda.

The Story Unfolds
From the word go,it seems like a very feasible idea.It has lots going for it.The key factor being the fact that there is actually no Miss Uganda contest this year in which case this is infact ideal…idyllic,you get the picture.The Miss Uganda contest gives ladies the opportunity to come out of hiding and show off what they have.In recent times it has also availed them the opportunity to show what they lack as far as Sense and Sensibility are concerned. Its absence means there ought to be an avenue for the ladies to vent their…well to flaunt what they’ve got.

Realising that this thing is going to require some sort of skill,the key players bring in Mera. A law Student,she has successfully organised several fundraisers and this should be right up her alley…or at least that’s what the key players of this thing (what will later be referred to as a debacle) seem to think.It helps that Mera has a flair for getting things done and has previously shown an amazing ability to get things done.
That said,she is asked to come on board to dispense advice.

Somewhere along the line someone makes it known that there is infact another Inter-University pageant being planned.In their infinite wisdom,the players place Mera on the chopping block without her consent (as is usually the case in such cases) and make it known to the Red Pepper (Uganda’s Leading Tabloid,or so it proclaims) that she is organising a pageant.They conveniently leave their names out of this and the story runs.

Mera is understandably pissed and an apology is issued to her by the players in this tale.But its too late,the tabloid has picked up a fascination with Mera and a few days later claims that she is sinking Ugshs.70million into the function.

Mera decides this thing is not really going as it ought to and opts out of the whole thing. Ordinarily people would leap at the opportunity to be linked to so many zeros/commas as far as money is concerned,but the heroine of our tale wasn’t keen on this.

There’s a snag…
Things take a nasty turn and its beginning to look like the Pageant might not happen.The key reason being the curious absence of money.I use the word curious in the broadest sense and to better understand why it is infact a curious situation,we have to look at…The Background…

The Background we have to look at
In the beginning there was money,and in this money were numerous possibilities.Possibilities such as expensive lunches,loads of airtime and the ability to totally ignore sponsors of the event…

and The Snag goes on…
So there’s no money,well there is,but its not enough to actually pull off a beauty contest..or run adverts…or print posters..or buy a text book.Somewhere along the line a mysterious force emerges on the scene and says he will buy the outfit…price tag: $30,000.
Money is a wonderful thing and the players happen to think so too,so they hand over their cheque book and other important documents even before money has changed hands.Such is the faith of these people.

The snag reloaded…
During the course of events (you may recall these events as money not changing hands) the price tag drops Mysteriously(?) to $12,000.It never materialises and its starting to look like this thing just won’t happen.

Announcing more special appearances
At this point Solo and James emerge on the scene.Its worth noting that loads of people were sure this thing had potential,these two being part of that generalisation. So they make a few suggestions,but many seem to keep hitting the proverbial wall which is manifested in the person of Johnny M.
Mera is back on board,still as advisor,not quite as person organising the thing.
For the record,advisors do exist in the world outside politics.

I’d like to propose a toast…
A cocktail is organised to help reinforce the public’s confidence and also try to convince companies to jump on board and sponsor this thing.Its a brilliant idea whose only setback (initially anyway) is the fact that…Mera’s back in the news
Rumour (the guardian of “it”) has it that the cocktail achieved its purpose,but the players managed to mess up the whole thing and numerous potential advertisers are lost…

The end is at hand
There is talk of postponing this thing,there isn’t enough money to make it happen.or buy a text book..but the players hold on to the belief that massive advertising will make a probably would if it was free!

This is it…
The show flops…Badly,rumour has it again that the organisers are going to go back to the drawing board and take this from the top.Those in the know,ie,the brilliant ones among us,know that’s not happening soon.

Casualties of War…
Mera is the press’ darling.the attention she’s getting is the kind that would probably inspire a song or Whitney Houston to invite her over to divert the public eye from her.She (Mera,not Whitney) has been portrayed in the press as the organiser of the function which is not just unfair but is a total lie.This owing to the fact that her role was not too different from that of..
Solo who has escaped the press mentions but is owed a reasonable amount of money.A figure that might be overshadowed by that owed to
James.A car of his has been used as collateral behind his back (this mode of operation was seen earlier,so the culprits need no introduction) and he is properly pissed.he won’t show it,but it is expected.

My heart goes out to those unfairly implicated in this saga..and whoever might have plans of organising a similar function anytime soon…

I gotta warn you,this is about a Kwanjula.

I figured Kwanjulas were a straightforward affair.You go to some place get fitted into this long dress and then wear the coat and for some reason you don’t feel less manly.Actually,on the contrary you feel like the alpha male and later during the course of this thing,you think nothing of the guy doing a little curtsy every five minutes.

As of Saturday,this impression changed.

I did the whole dress thing,”get in touch with your feminine side,whoa!!slow down,that’s way too feminine…here,wear this coat over it and no one will ever know” I wear the coat and no one ever knows.What someone does though,is ask me to remove the shirt I’m wearing underneath.Not in a kinky sort of way,more in,”Get that ****in’ shirt out of there,you look less cultural.What are you trying to do,get us fined?”

I remove the shirt and I think its as it goes over my eyes that I fail to notice the dark clouds gathering overhead.Its a sad day to be the guy removing your shirt in the name of culture…

We jump,actually that’s a lie,”I”,I jump into this truck thingy that was responsible for transporting among other things,a goat and a cow.Its a terrible combination that.It would probably sell BIG Time in Hollywood,but back here,its downright annoying.

We converge at Shell Bugolobi (look for a Ugandan,they’ll draw you a map) for what later becomes a full out briefing.Its also a perfect opportunity for me to switch cars.Please bear in mind that I am not a snob or anything,but there’s a way “Smell of Cattle” is not the fragrance I wish to be wearing when we arrive at the in-laws.I make a bee-line for one of the cozy carz and then get stopped.There’s a briefing in here and I gotta be a part of it.

In the past I’ve wanted to develop a deeper understanding of my language.Its incredibly embarassing.I should know this stuff.But lots of times I am angered by some stupid Taxi “conductor” and I can not find the words to actually tell him what I think of him and what suspicions I harbour of his upbringing.With any luck I should be able to find the Luganda equivalent for Baboon and sloth’s offspring in the next couple of weeks.Until then,I am stuck with this shrug and the following interpretation of Our Side’s negotiator’s speech.
***The Negotiator is,on top of being a title of Samuel L. Jackson’s flick,the guy that’s responsible for getting the girl’s parents to say.”Take her,make her happy…be in someone’s blog”****

This is what I heard our negotiator tell us.Made it seem like some sort of football strategy…
“blah blah do not tug your Kanzu,you will be fined,blah blah blah,and when I clap you clap blah blah blah Ladies,you have to kneel.I should have informed you before you got that expensive looking Busuti (keep that Ugandan nearby,(s)he knows these things,you don’t) blah blah blah.Stop tugging at your Kanzu for chrissakes.*punch* blah blah,now we are going to need some volunteers…

I sort of tuned out at this point…I was taken up by the dark clouds and the drizzle.I couldn’t understand how I had overlooked that.Well,no matter,our in-laws probably have some sort of shed erected in our honour that’s got a little solar something somewhere…

They didn’t.Well to be fair they had a tent,but no sun.Midway through the proceedings,it starts to rain. I only mention this because I happened to sit at the edge and I was collecting drops.This in turn had the effect of stretching the function.The negotiators were non-plussed and seemingly wanted to give everyone their money’s worth.NOW???of all times?We should have hired a taxi “conductor”.

We finally got to the bit where we hand over the gifts. The dude that had ushered us in was like,”relax,we are not selling the girl,we don’t fine or anything”…I couldn’t find him at that moment otherwise I would have demanded an explanation.The good thing about going and doing the gifts thing is that it gave me a chance to wringe my coat and collect water in a pail…for no reason.

If I’d known where the negotiator/speaker (he is getting monotonous!)was going with his tripe,I would have probably “forgotten” to bring in the beers.Heck we all would.We found out to late that this guy had actually figured that the letters in the names of Beers actually stand for something.No,I take that back,for a lot of things. So for the next Half hour he goes on to tell us that BELL is Beauty Ends Loathing and Lust or some such banter.If he’d gone into Tusker,I’d have quit drinking the damn thing.

We finally got round to the part where we eat and pretend we hold no grudges against the speakers.Particularly hard when you’re dripping,but…

After all this stuff we say our goodbyes,a feeling of accomplishment on our side and theirs; Great,Our speaker probably bored them to bits!
and we leave..but not for home,that would be way too convenient.We go to an Irish Pub dressed up in Kanzus.
The good thing about this,the guard can not frisk you.It just ain’t natural…


Yeah,I know the title is something of a big deal.I mean,you look at it and you think,”That’s a video game title,isn’t it?” or better still,”That’s the name of that Christian Slater flick that was incredibly boring and for some reason very few people saw through the facade and went to the cinema in droves and even when they got out they did not warn their pals…”
Its probably both,but it also happens to be where I am right now.
For the past couple of,what,days?weeks?Well for sometime now I have been under the impression that people I interact with at various levels know something I don’t.
Seriously,it has probably been happening for a while but I chose not to notice it,’coz that’s me.I’m a “choose not to notice it” kind of guy.
So I went for a Kwanjula a while back and suffered some massive food poisoning.You know what that entails so let me spare you the gory details.What I did not know is that I had a headache.
The doctor on the other hand knew this.How this stuff works I have no idea,but she did.Yes,she,we are getting somewhere,more female doctors in the field.So anyway,she asks me what I’ve got,this while I’m squirming in my seat,grabbing my stomach like someone said he will take it away if i don’t hold onto it…

So rather than being cocky,I tell her that “I have the stomach ache from hell and other things…”So she looks at me the way most doctors look at their patients when they are making an assesment…”How long have you had the headache?”

Hang on…Headache?
“No,that was stomach ache,you know,like this thing that I’m holding for dear life…I suspect it might have sumthin’ to do with the Kwanjula I attended last night…”
She gives me that look again…
“So you have a stomach ache…and a headache?”
I’m a bit confused by now.When did I get the headache?Why do I have a headache…and what is this headache she is bent on giving me?
“No,I have a stomach ache!I have not had any involvement of any kind with any headaches,lately anyway.”
There was some progress at this point because she whipped out her pen and crossed out the headache.I guess I should point out that at this point I was beginnning to doubt this lady’s credentials.It didn’t help that for a doctor,her handwriting was awfully neat.
“So,have you had anything to eat?It might be food poisoning…did you eat anything last night?”
She had to be kidding me.Who had I been telling about my experience with the whole Kwanjula thing?Okay,I’ll play along..
“Well I was at a Kwanjula so the question is,what didn’t I eat..”
I half expected her to answer this with,”I don’t know,what didn’t you eat?”She didn’t.
“Yeah,well I suspect you ate something that is now manifesting itself in a nasty case of food poisoning so bad you are forced to hold onto your stomach like someone said that if you didn’t they’d come and take it away from you.That and,ofcourse,a headache.”
*The phone rings as I’m trying to protest,she answers it and midway through the conversation she realises that she is not alone in the room anymore…Never was actually,so she says bye and gets back to me.*
So have you taken any medicine?Painkillers or something.
To which I reply that I have taken a couple,plus some antibiotics.
She is non-plussed and writes me a prescription comprising Painkillers and…yep,Antibiotics,because,”These ones are more in tune with what you’ve got..”
I didn’t argue.Life’s many lessons can be summed up perfectly thus;Never argue with your doctor!
So after writing it out she looks me in the face and asks if there’s anything else that’s bugging me.Its been an awfully long and stressful session so I tell her.
“Nothing really,but I do feel a headache coming up…”

Then the past couple of days I keep receiving double takes from the guy that I buy my breakfast from every morning. He always asks me if I am really buying what I told him.Always,”You want a HOTDOG?!” or “You want a MEATPIE?!”
I’m sure if I gave him the chance he’d go like…”Are you serious?You have got to be kidding me.Why woul you want that stuff?Dude!!!”

-and That’s a wrap-