The CHOGM one

I’d started typing this thing out with the intention of posting something sensational. Arousing ire or whatever emotions were aroused, when this went up. What you have instead is a first paragraph choke-full of innuendo and a very stupid next lot of paragraphs that introduces the meat of the matter.

I figured I’d go into some discussion I was having with a friend of mine not too long ago. It was a chat session and as you know, people seem to grab life by the …well people seemingly get all gutsy in chat rooms. And they ask questions too. As I type this out I have a window open whose primary fodder is pregnancy and what its like. I’m trying to get enlightened you see. So anyway, midway through my chat of not far back enough, she asks me, “so, what do you call your cock?”

It may have been a little more graphic, I really can’t recall. This hangover is not helping.

So anyway, there’s a lull in our chat for a bit and I figure I can smartly deflect this thing by, you know, like turning the line of questioning around. Unfortunately she had a name for “them”. So it appears I kind of got a raw deal there.

I figured I’d be original and all; I certainly couldn’t go with the traditional corny things you find on Porn Sites or in my junk mail folder. Stuff like, “wonderful” (ego involved there) Mister Happy (sounds like something a paedophile would call it) Godfather (Won’t get into that…)

I settled for, “CHOGM”. As in, “Uganda are you ready for CHOGM?” That CHOGM.

So now the brief CHOGM POST begins…

The opposition leader is well-pissed that people would insinuate that his party does not support CHOGM (the event). He is riled by the whole thing and I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t be amused if the press went around misquoting my sentiments. Without going all word for word like, I believe what he said was something to the effect that he has no problem with CHOGM but he doesn’t really see why it’s a big deal.

Apparently it doesn’t do shit for the host country. Apart from you know, boosting the tourism sector and giving prostitutes a new lot of clientele…and messing up the dollar’s strength. (Which, as an aside, I’d like to say some dude is going around taking credit for… by sending our people to Iraq)

I sorta agree with the dude on this, I mean. I don’t have a problem with being turned down or stood up, but I can’t really see what it does for a person’s self esteem.

Elsewhere, there’s billboards being erected (yes, I know) with our as-if celebrities going on about how they are ready for CHOGM…or the world at large. BULL! There’s one with Rio Ferdinand saying he too is ready for the world. He should be. Dude earns a gajillion trillion kabuutillion bucks! Of course he is READY. Question is, ARE WE? I mean. One of these billboards is next so some rubbish heap. How the heck is this being prepared? Hi world, please come over we’ve got beautiful women, madmen on motorcycles and a load of rubbish. We are certainly set to host you! Bring your own litter.

There’s a billboard that KCC (Kampala City Council) set up with the proclamation that they are getting ready for CHOGM. Unlike the jokers that put there’s up next to rubbish heaps and brothels, the KCC thing which thankfully doesn’t have the Mayor’s Face on it, is next to some road that’s being dug up and put back together again in some juvenile way. But seeing as they are just getting ready, we can’t fault them coz we know they will get tired of dishing this dirt in our faces eventually.

I predict that prices will soar. It’s a no brainer that prostitutes will charge a little higher and probably incorporate words such as “dolla” and “poundi” into their vocabulary. Come to think of it, because of the scale of this thing, we are going to see all sorts of currency flooding the market. Plus new expressions will come into their possession. On top of trying to lure men to them (and, oh I don’t know, the odd woman once in a while) with calls of “Arsene Wenger, jangu (come) and score” I see a situation coming into play where a lady of the night will say, ” ‘ello guv’nor, fancy a shag?! Go on then, don’t be a tosser! Nawe fala!” or worse yet, ” My milk shake brings all the boys to my yard and…”

Our speech pattern will change…and Lord knows we will be terribly helpful to any stranger around that time. It will be a good day for tourists. “Hurrllo, Carn I Herlp you? Whart? Certainly” and inevitably, that all too common question, ” How do you like our country?” That’s a retarded question in all honesty, it doesn’t make sense on any level. How the heck do you answer that? ” ah, I like your country between bread” ? Curiously, people do venture to answer this thing and its always, ” I LURV IT”

I suppose bumpy roads and dust go a long way in warping judgement….no…its this heat.


This week in The News…

Published in That magazine that comes free with the Sunday paper, The caption read, ” This girl worked as a prostitute…she recently gave birth to this baby, but she doesn’t know who the father is. She and the baby are both very ill.”

Baz said it was schadenfreude-like for me to laugh, and I agree. I feel for the lady…

That said;

  • I’m guessing the father of the baby is one hairy white dude…
  • This is what happens when you oversleep with a teddybear
  • The baby doesn’t look THAT sick to me…
  • I’m almost certain that that is NOT that woman’s child!


Your head’s on the concrete.
There are passersby, but you don’t care.
Some of them stop and look.
Some point and snigger.
It doesn’t matter.

There’s a song playing in the background,
The words are not clear.
If they are, you can not make them out.
You can’t be bothered.
You shut your eyes to block out the stars.

To stop seeing the lights.

Flashes come through.
Flashes of what is happening.
Of what has become….
Without opening your eyes you know that when you do,
some time…some where you will be alone.

The bed will be empty.
You won’t see her face in front of yours.
You won’t see her smile.
You won’t smile back that goofy smile that betrays your weakness,
The chink in the armour.
You won’t enjoy the embrace that makes for some reassurance.
For some comfort.
For a modicum of relief.
You know you won’t have to reach for your phone to text because morning breath can be a bitch.
You know this.

Another flash and its daylight, you are out of bed.

Getting dressed up.
The ghost of a smile plays briefly on your lips.
You look at yourself in the mirror and realize
You are due for a hair cut, for a shave.
The realization brings with it the fact
That you will have to settle for a professional one
From a salon from someone experienced.
Someone for whom you have no feelings.
Someone that leaves you no clues,
No memories… No blues.
No razor bumps to look at and smile.


Darkness falls.
Life’s fun when the night strolls.
Obulamu bwensi…
It’s not the booze,
the vodka,
the waragi…
the fanta.
It’s more than that.
You sit at the bar knowing full well
It will not be the same.
You hold your hand out…
To the nothingness in front of you.

Your head’s on the concrete.
Gazing at the stars.
It comes to you.
You realise.
You know…

You just died a little inside.

Posted in This Life. Comments Off on 9pm

Tag…You’re It

I was going to give this thing a rest. I mean you can only blog for sooo long, But I’ve been tagged, and I need to get this thing off my back…so….

This is how it’s going down…

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Now That I’ve taken care of the first bit…

  1. I’m a phone person. I will likely know more about phone models than I will know about cars and their mileage. Terms like Hose/Horse Power, I don’t throw around with reckless abandon… And I DON’T CARE THAT THERE ARE LADIES THAT KNOW more about cars than I do!
  2. I hate suiting up! Jeans and Sneakers work well together, the sooner y’all figure that out the better. Heck, maybe when people figure this out I won’t boycott weddings as much… Maybe I will, Maybe I can’t stand seeing people Crazy In Love while I am jilted…maybe I made that up…maybe.
  3. I hate that things do not go the way I’d like them to and I can’t do shit about it… I like that prayer helps to make things work. I like that very much.
  4. (Why 8 random facts?) I like Rock Music. Not the kind that fuels the flames of dissent and encourages kids to move around with chainsaws and tomahawks, but the kind that seemingly makes sense, Shit like Hoobastank’s The Reason, TravisCloser, Kryptonite by that band…1000 years by Five for Fighting…..once in a while I will listen to stuff that doesn’t make sense, but just sounds good to shout along to, coz I need that, some sort of escape….stuff like Throw That Monkey Out The Window Then Step On Its Tail With My Timberlands or something…wait, that does speak to me!
  5. I have an endless capacity to store information that will NOT benefit me in an examinable situation. I retain memories more than I do material stuff. Only one material object has been retained with zeal and gusto, but that letter is a memory as well so…
  6. I love freebies
  7. I like words, playing with them, looking at them, but when it really counts I can’t seem to command them with the ease I should be able to and find myself limited to four letter words, yet I want to tell you more.
  8. I have a tendency to “giggle outside the booth when its no joke inside”

With this post I thee tag;
Tandra Carlo Ish Dee Cherie Iwaya Edmo (welcome to the fold) BS


Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He remembers the chat all too clearly. Perhaps that is one of his problems. The fact that he remembers. Now he remembers that, along with everything else. The other memories play back like some old movie in black and white, a classic. He takes those in.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He’d laughed it off. Muttered something about how he had taken ill on the day itself. They laughed that chat laugh. LOL.

Saturday seems okay. He takes his medicine and sits down to watch the telly. It’s Charlie’s Angels 2. The part that killed the franchise. His mind keeps drifting in and out, picking up snippets of the movie at random intervals. Suddenly it feels like the temperature has dropped drastically. He has goose bumps. Then the mosquitoes came.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He goes to bed, plugs the headset into his phone an tries to listen to music. He fails. He’s started shivering. Terribly. He wraps himself up in a duvet and then a blanket for good measure. They don’t help. He turns off the music and prays. Hoping for a miracle. No. Believing for one.

Somehow he manages to drift into slumber, but only just, his is a restless night.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

Daylight streams through. It doesn’t wake him, as it should. He is up. Relieved somewhat that the shivering has stopped. He isn’t trembling anymore. The morning seems to have brought with it some relief. He’s never been so happy in the morning. Well, he has. Weeks ago. Focus. That’s what keeps him going. That and a bit of denial.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He takes his medicine and starts up the PC. He logs in to his messenger account, waiting, hoping. Then when that doesn’t work, he goes and watches Boston Legal. That takes a lot of stuff off his mind. Briefly. Then he feels cold again. He tries the computer again. Nothing. At all.

He begins to hack away at the keyboard, a wry smile playing on his lips. The stuff he is typing out will not be read. Not now anyway. Perhaps some other time in the future. He figures he will keep compiling these things, piece by piece until the time comes. He flinches at the use of the cliché. He posts it on his other blog. He can’t type as comfortably as he has been. His fingers have gone near-numb from the cold. He rubs his hands trying to generate heat. It doesn’t work.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He takes his meal and goes to lie down. He tries to watch a movie. I Think I Love My Wife. Chris Rock really is recycling old material. His mind is not on the movie though.

He tries to read a book. Starter for 10. The title doesn’t make sense to a degree. Then he figures it must refer to the first question in a quiz worth 10 marks.

He really is feeling cold now; he wraps himself up in his duvet-blanket combo. He can’t sleep right away, so he sends a couple of text messages. His brother tells him he should see the doctor. He says the doctor is not available till tomorrow.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He says his health is in the hands of “mummy”. He laughs at that. The use of the word “mummy”. Makes him feel sort of wimpy. He grimaces at the word “wimpy”.

Then he sleeps. He wakes feeling particularly hot. He has a fever and some trouble breathing. He reaches for his phone, goes to the message function, “may I please have a glass of juice”. The message is sent. He feels a little spent. There’s a delivery report stating that the message has been delivered. He wonders why, after five minutes there’s no response. Then it comes.

It’s a wave of panic. Temperature checked in the traditional hand on neck way. Then more panic. “You need to go to the doctor. Now! Call your brother up”. He dials the number and feels exhausted. He lets her take the call.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

With a great amount of difficulty he takes a bath. Lord knows what kind of tests they will subject him to. He gets out of the bathtub and proceeds to brush his teeth. He considers the irony of the situation. As it is, he seems trapped between two extremes. It’s either way too cold or too hot. It seems to be a reflection of various aspects of his life. He laughs it off. Makes a mental note to type out what has been happening since Friday.

Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?

He considers the possibility that this is the end. He laughs it off. It’s not easy though, since his chest hurts. He is one of the good guys, one of those destined for big things. It is a little narcissistic, he knows, but he also knows it is a mentality that has helped him keep a positive outlook on life. Yes, he may have fallen a couple of times off the wagon that is life, but he keeps on getting up and keeps on keeping on. He still has loads to do, write a book or at the very least read the one they keep talking about.

He dresses up and waits for his brother, he feels tempted to switch on the PC and start typing. Start telling his story. His brother arrives soon though and that’s a matter he will have to attend to later.

The clinic they go to has no doctor’s, but the person at the reception, a lady with the sunny disposition of an undertaker, suggests that he sees a nurse. He leaves.

There’s some deliberation over where medical aid can be gotten on a Sunday. He finds a place. It’s about an hour and half before someone attends to him. It’s a young doctor. He seems bored.

He is subjected to a couple of tests. He actually hopes they find something in there. There’s some comfort in knowing what’s killing you. They don’t. The bored doctor recommends that he keeps on taking the medicine he has… and that he hydrates.

Its not particularly exciting news, but it could have been worse he supposes.

Home at last, he powers up his PC and begins to type…

“Do you believe in the curse of Friday 13th?…”

Blame it on the KABUUTI!

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In Sickness…Then Health

I have a cough. Not your ordinary run of the mill “cough cough sputter sputter sigh” variety. I’d like to think it’s the new breed of cough. It has me in bed for hours on end and feeling like the whole world is in some invisible cloak and sitting on me. And I do not mean that in a kinky way. It’s some painful stuff.

So I was chatting with Tandra, and she mentioned I should get something herbal. From previous experience, herbal usually means stuff some dude picked up from under his shoe, sniffed a bit and got so high he decided to bottle the stuff. Usually this concoction takes on the form of alcohol. However people have been really busy and they have since decided to include some roots and essence of plant leaf in the brew. They have also been very cautious and placed it in a brown bottle.

By default, anything in a brown casing is suspect. There are beers to use as an example, then a couple of dudes in parliament claiming to be representing our interests. I certainly don’t mean to offend anyone with that remark, and as such, I offer my hearty apology to beer drinkers.

So this stuff comes in a brown bottle and a red top. I don’t want to go on a tangent about how red tops and brown casings do not really work, so I’ll sum it up in one word; STRAKA. Ah hell, I’m generous, I’ll make it two words; STRAKA BABY!

I’m looking at the bottle and it seems to be perspiring, from the inside. That’s some scary shit. If the mixture is going to do this to a bottle, what the heck will it do once I take it in?

All of a sudden taking herbal stuff is not such a good idea, but I am in pain so I pay the lady at the pharmacy for it and head home… not before she cautions me, “When it gets here {its called the throat lady, but anyway, what would I know, you studied medicine, I’m not a perfect person} you gurgle a bit so you feel the effect”.

I’m thinking, huh? Feel THE EFFECT? Is this like the wine thing where you give it up to fifteen hundred hours before taking a sip lest you miss the desired effect ( yeah, I haven’t waited the full fifteen hundred hours either)?

I yank it out of the paper bag that was concealing it and wonder why I didn’t go with the old stuff that I’m used to. I cough and realise why. I take my first taste and its not that bad…up till the gurgle bit. That there is where the problem comes in. This liquid is terribly terribly viscous.

If I poured this stuff along the pavement and a snail was moving in the same direction, the snail would win…even if it too was burdened with the eerie feeling that the whole world has donned a cloak and is sitting on it.

Having gotten past the gag reflex, the stuff found its way down to wherever it is medicine goes when we send it on its way.

I’m not feeling better yet, but then again I’ve just taken the stuff…I’ve also just seen the label. Apparently its made by some Herbal Medicine Researchers…RESEARCHERS?! Isn’t that what we are before actually getting qualified? It’s a little unsettling.

I honestly feel that in the hierarchy of life, there’s the people that go out there and find out stuff, then they report back to the people that do stuff….then there’s people like me who reap from the fruit of their collective work. What I have just taken down seemingly cut out the middle man in the process.

In an attempt to downplay the whole situation, I am trying to imagine what the advert for this goop would sound like….

Got a cough? Got Measles? Got the Flu? Got Milk?


From ______ Herbal Medicine Researchers

Got a house that needs Painting? Use Kabuuti!

Are your shoes falling apart? Get them a fresh start with KABUUTI!

Kabuuti!! The Oh-So Awesome Stuff that will cure you before we are done with our research!

Alternatively, it may just go like most ads on local radio;