It was a football match. I don’t do Football, but my cousin does…my sister too. As it turns out, everyone else does football. Everyone, that is, except me and the Local TV stations. So to play catch up, my relatives opted to listen to the radio. I don’t know how it works, but if I were to
hazard a guess, the Presenter sits there, beer in one hand, groundnuts in the other and relays what’s happening on the screen in front of him.
From time to time he will also relay what he wishes was happening. It goes a little something like this..
Welcome to this match, we are very happy you are here. You are the reason we live. You and the wonderful sponsor that has brought you this Barclays Premier League Match: Sula’s Rolex Emporium! With Sula’s Rolex Emporium you can’t go wrong. We have Rolex’s in all sizes; Big, Small and Medium. We have the Titanic and The Millenium Remix Supercharge Dual band Crossfade Xbox Rolex. Come Over and see …oh shoot, we missed the part where the players came onto the pitch! ^#*% !! Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because you are an avid fan so you know who is playing. Henry is there, look at him looking smug. He makes so much money in a week.
It is so much he should visit Sula’s Rolex Emporium; Home to The Third Term Rolex; Even if you don’t want it, it will still be there!
Okay, the referee is there now. he is wearing clothes for referees. In fact you can get such clothes from Mama Milly’s Hollywood Boutique and Restaurant. Heh. It is located near Sula’s..eh, they have started playing, ______ has the ball, he moves with it, I have never seen a ball move so fast. My God, its like I am watching this match on fast forward, I swear! Have you ever seen, oh no, I forgot, you are listening in, but take my word for it. This guy has mad skills, eh eh, wait, sorry, I WAS watching it on Fast Forward.
The all New PVR Decoder from Multichoice allows you to pause, rewind and fast forward the stuff on TV! Yes, my dear listener, You can Pause a match halfway and head over to Sula’s Rolex Emporium; Producers of the famous Member of Parliament Rolex: It just sits there and does nothing!
Okay I have unpaused, it looks like it will be a tight match *sip* *crunch crunch*. They are closing in on him. He is running like madman. S***! He is a mad man, he actually ran away from them and left the ball behind. Stupid David Beckham! You are not even worth Half a rolex.that has mayonnaise and fries in it! (at this point I feel compelled to state that the Rolex in question is not a watch, and the only hands it has are yours,wrapped around its dough frame. Its a chapati dwelling omlette with back up! This thing takes prisoners!).
There, he got the ball back, it was his tragedy-er,oops, his strategy.Yeah, strategy, same thing. Now he is running to the goal, he dribbles, look at him dribble, he wipes his mouth, he is about to kick the ball, he is kicking the ball, the ball Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooes! It bounces off the post and hits a fan.
That was a furious kick! It was also fast!
The fan flips a bird, he mouths something unpleasant! he turns to his friends and they pat him on the back for dissing David Beckham, star of such catastrophies as; The World Cup Penalty Shot of that year.
The ref runs over to the ball and gives it a Yellow Card. The stadium boos him and he gives them a Red Card; it says Donate Blood and fight Racism in Soccer. They fall silent.
The match has resumed. Some other player gets the ball. Don’t ask me who it is, I don’t know. You should have seen it on TV if you wanted details!
The ball moves, it runs, it jumps! Its being kicked around like, like some sort of object. SOMEONE SAVE THAT POOR THING!
You are still tuned in to the Premier League on radio! SWEET! But not as Sweet as the Rolex at Sula’s Rolex Emporium in Wandegeya. Home to the Infamous Straka Rolex; This thing is Bigger than you and me!
The Ball has been taken away and, what’s this, Medi has just told me 24 Season 6 is on another channel, hang on…. *sound of static*…aha, Medi you idiot ! You tricked me!
Anyway, don’t worry my listeners, I had paused my PVR Decoder from Multichoice…Giving you many choices!
The ball has been taken away by a player that doesn’t look a day over 12, bah! What do I know, I live in a country where 24 year olds register to play in the Kampala Kids’ League..oh oh, gOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLL! This kid is good, he may not even be a kid, but a guy suffering from some age disorder that makes Old People look younger than they are…like Tom Welling. But if you really want to look young the easy way, visit Sula’s Rolex Emporium; Makers of the incredible NTV Rolex: Starts off quite well then just makes you lose gas…sorry. I mean hope…it makes you lose hope.
Its half time, but this match hasn’t been exciting, so I doubt I will comment on the next half. When we return, I will tell you what I think of animals that speak…
I got to the happy hour with an odd feeling of foreboding. I was freaked out by the possibility that we would be drawn into some sort of debate, worse yet some discourse wherein we shared our views on the state of the country, attempted to find a way of getting the President to listen to us and even worse; Buy Our Own Drinks…
I walked past the Blogger table, when first I got there. Its not that I enjoy walking past Blogger tables or anything. On the contrary, I love Blogger Tables. Especially the little wooden ones with free drinks on them…oh sweet sweet Blogger Tables! I walked past because, unlike your garden variety of table, Blogger Tables stay in one place and mimic the behaviour of those around them.
Come to think of it, they are not too different from some of our politicians.
Upon realising that I was in fact out of place, I figured I’d go into Mateos’ and glance around. I adopted a strategy I felt would conceal the fact that I was looking for people; I fiddled around with my phone.
We were having a grand ol’ time my phone and I when a shout cut through the air like only a voice cutting through the air can. “Ivan” The air cutting shout said, muttered, whatever…At this point I’m thinking, “Shoot! There goes my anonymity!” Granted I could have just as easily looked around like I was thinking, “Ivan? Who the **** is Ivan?”… it seemed everyone around knew who the person in question was. Heck, at that point a “boda boda dude” could have easily crossed the road, walked up to me and said, “someone’s calling you mate.”
So I walked down the stairs, my watch ticked away, because that’s what watches do, and all around me people got to know who I was. I picked up a chair and glanced at Dee with an expression to imply that I was hurt that she’d gone and exposed me. When that failed to work, I walked the road oft travelled and said it…Oh and I was sitting next to ********** (see, now you are anonymous again like all communists should be.)
So there we were, bloggers all..and then some, talking like old friends sans the disses, that is, until Denis…Dennis…heck, till THIS GUY showed up.
At some point we remembered our absent bloggers, well, we didn’t come out and say it, but deep down I’m sure we thought about it.
It was a grand ol’ time, and y’all shoulda been there..Up next: The Blogger Awards…
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Is the mic on? No? I need the mic on. The world has to listen to what I’ve got to say? We have no mic? What’s that? The next mic is likely to come in after CHOGM? Very well then…
I’ve been doing some, nay, a lot…a lot of thinking. Its not so much that I actually sit down and resign myself to a state of contemplative repose with the customary pyramid of contemplation. I just happen to have friends that have taken to being deep. Their depth in turn tends to seemingly through actions capillary or otherwise be seeped into my being and concordantly, I too find myself thinking. For weeks prior it was all innocent banter seeing as most of their thoughts stemmed from a state of inebriation the likes of which would melt a breathalyzer. Then we had a chat spurred on by soft drinks of colors orange and tastes ginger…
From that conversation it occurred to me that I may actually be in denial. I may actually be the guy that doesn’t want to believe that age is nature’s way of getting you to…I lost my train of thought, but anywho. I’ve seen a guy who could easily be in his early 80’s (when you think of it, once you are well past 40 there’s nothing early about later decades), but carries on like he is one of us. And by us I mean jean clad sunglass wearing grills laced people. I shudder when I see him. It may be brought on by the sudden realization that this dude is what girls on campus like. An older guy that can not, not by a long shot anyway, be mistaken for their Father… After the conversation we had, it occurred to me that I could be looking at a reflection of who I am to become… Not the campus girl chasing pensioner, but rather the dude that at 80 will try to be like one of the cool kids…
The conversation also made me realize that people do actually contemplate weddings and getting married and what not. Back then people would flip through some magazine and look at the pictures and the chics in the bridal garb and drool..and that was just the dudes. Yeah. They looked on appreciatively. But now, it’s a whole new ball game. I’m freaked out. Its alarming to know that if I actually attempt to hit on a chic around my age (okay, or older) she’ll be looking at me and thinking, “is this really the guy I want to marry? Sure he looks nothing like the dude on page 3 of Him and Her magazine, but…”
What the heck? I am used to different standards entirely. Reject me coz I don’t drive…or don’t find Amarula family funny (scratch that, I think I would reject you for thinking those are the funniest Ugandans alive)..hell, I can deal with rejection because I can’t be detoothed, but don’t judge me on the basis of my matrimonial compatibility…
Be right back…got to get this mic fixed…
Independence is this cool thing where everything is all about you. The world seemingly revolves around you, the ground is pleased that it supports your weight and you don’t need to answer to anyone. Independence is also a myth. Two letters exist to squash the illusion of independence, two letters;One word is all it takes to screw everything up. WE!
From day one, the “we-factor” is present. You never quite do stuff by yourself. Yeah, you soiled your pants and all that, but the only reason you got away with it is because you are in fact expected to do that sort of thing. Yeah. Coz at that age all the cool kids (non-retards if you will) are doing it. Its not about you. If it was then they’d slap the baby right out of you. The fact is, our folks know that at that point WE have no control over this shit (pun not intended)(seriously!). Its a thing WE do. Its how WE roll.
When you move on to school there’s that ting your teachers love to do. They try to instill in you this false sense of hope that you have achieved the Independence you so desire by telling you “you came here alone, you will leave here alone”. Realistically speaking, yeah, you did come alone, but chances are if you climbed over the wall and went clubbing with your mates, y’all would leave together…and if it looked like that wouldn’t happen,you have the ability to make it happen. Go on, be a snitch!
Your peers know better so they try to break the news to you as best they can. They introduce you to a concept they call “solidarity”. Its in the spirit of “solidarity” that the WE tag makes its return. The teacher looks at you and asks you why you were sleeping during the lesson and then you “get your we on”. “we were bored”. If you so badly wanted that independence, you’d take it like a man,woman or thing and state, as bluntly as humanly possible,” I was bored…I don’t take shit!”
Heck, even if you did pull it off the class would laugh along with you and WE‘d be in trouble.
You move on to the university and its pretty much the same thing. You get stuck trying to figure out what the lecturer is asking you for so you consult. You ask around. If you were independent, you’d arrive at the decision by yourself, ages ago, “I am not going to let this lecturer take advantage of me, ought to be paid double for such requests”
There’s the relationship angle wherein you still can’t do your own thing. You’ll carry on like you are in fact calling the shots, but let’s be honest, at some point you’ll catch yourself saying stuff like, “we really ought to rethink this” or, if you are so keen on getting the independence you think you deserve, “we should see other people”. Why can’t you say “I need to start seeing other people”?
Then there’s the office angle, where we are expected to meet deadlines, we are a team and we aim to make the company look as good….Yeah,I got a job…