Life, The Weekend and All That Jazz



I’ve been staying in Bugolobi since Tuesday last week. There are a couple of internet cafes and all, but for some reason I feel disinclined to the whole idea of paying for my internet. This is quite strange given that back-back then when the internet had been introduced to Ugandans through little rooms with computers and devices labeled air-conditioner, I believe these were called cafes, I’d give an arm and a leg to get online.

I suppose it’s a good thing I hadn’t discovered blogging by then.

Then again, maybe I had and I just didn’t know it. All things web were generalized in that vast expanse of the information super highway.

In retrospect, I think my affair with free internet may have started then. You see, we happened to have friends working at the cafes at the time.

During this time it was fashionable to work in one. You’d find cool happening chics behind the workstation handing over your slip with code with their fingers so dainty, so… I-don’t-know-what. It was cool. Its not that companies hadn’t already taken to employing young girls and dressing them up in skimpy skirts hoping to entice customers into buying phones and airtime. Lord knows, they’d done that and milked it for its worth…heck, they still do.

Something about these cyber-chics put them on a pedestal… For some I suppose it was the mentality that anyone using a computer was uber-cool. The whole idea of geek-dom hadn’t crossed our minds by then. Those were great times for Nerds, eh Dante?

So anyway, they would let me surf for free from time to time and thus I suppose nurtured my aversion to forking over money to surf. My affinity for other freebies cannot be explained with such ease.

I figured I’d wait until the internet was stable in my office before I could get back into chatting and blogging and all, but with the way things are going, I’d sooner see Joseph Kony launch a web-log in collaboration with the 27th Comrade calling it “The Hair Up There” before the channels of cyber communication were clog-free.

The thing about having all this time on my hands is that its given me enough time to think. To reflect if you will. It particularly helps that the screen that drew me to the house sitting gig has mood swings and will not just allow itself to be turned on at the click of the button. You’ve got to work it! The standard approach to such things is to hurl obscenities at the inanimate object that’s causing you grief and then, whilst hoping that you’ve driven the point home, attempt to switch it on. This 42″ contraption however, expects you to do more. After following the procedure described above, the screen will stare at you blankly as if to say, “is that all you’ve got?” and then seemingly hiss, “Bitch!” .

The owner of this screen informs me that when that happens, it is in Protect Mode. It does that when it was not turned off the right way. The remedy to this is to just let it be for a while and then when it feels like it, it will “sort itself out”. This screen has the personality of a twelve year old! I can picture it going like, ” ith like I thaid to bath on hith blog, tho what! Thith ith why I’m hot, thianara!” *poof!*

I had a talk with my immediate boss about religion or not, given that the basis of this chat was the fact that God doesn’t exist. The God-team was represented by me. He said everything that happens does so for a reason. Then we moved into a discussion on causality (Cause and Effect) that had me think of the Matrix. What scared me about the discussion is the fact that on many levels it made a lot of sense.

It answered a few questions and I realized with shock that its actually easier to deal with so many issues, World Peace and Tattoos inclusive, if you go ahead and live your life with nothing to believe in except perhaps that you alone are in charge of your destiny.

I am not saying I am going down that road, so Carlo and S.A.G.E you needn’t quote scripture or Tupac just yet. I’m fine for now, thank you.

For a brief fleeting moment (for that is the true nature of fleeting moments…) I considered the possibility that I didn’t really know where my life was heading. Sure I want to be successful and do a kick ass job doing whatever it is I will be doing, but there in lies the crux of the matter. I don’t know what IT is yet. I’ve made my peace with the fact that I am not going to write a Best Selling Novel that’s going to change lives or be turned into a motion picture that will go on to win the cast or some relevant person an Oscar. At best I will contribute to the effort by way of “kwe-tying my self on” a collabo with Queen Mubisi on the George-Sophia chronicles, but as an individual entitynuh, not really. Maybe it’s just for now. Time is a funny thing, so who knows, I may find a muse and then we’ll see. For the here and now though, I’m leaving that to Iwaya, Baz, and Inktus. If for some reason you lot don’t write at least a book each I will probably turn into some deranged serial killer going around putting an end to the lives of those that failed to deliver on what promise they had… hang on, that was way too dark.

I saw myself in someone over the weekend, and I don’t mean that in a perverse way. Yes, that’s how I be, it’s the way I’m are, but this time round I am not being lewd. So anyway, this chic is causing this dude untold grief by sending all these texts and stuff and bordering on being in Long Term Denial and I’m about to like throw stones, boulders and all, when suddenly it hits me, “Learn from the mistakes of others, you can’t be expected to make all of them by yourself.” Call it an epiphany.

Am I the only one feeling “Hey there Delilah” by Plain White T’s?

I was doing some shopping for the house and it pissed me off no end to see just how much I was trying to save. Has it really come to this? I am down to buying no name brands!! I don’t want to sound all materialistic like some blogger people, but cummon! Its okay when it comes to stuff like toilet paper I suppose, but toothpaste, cereal and shavers should carry a certain panache. Atti I’m buying Clean-Dent! What? Chewy-Corn- Crisp! Who? Ex-Follicle! Why?!! Come to think of it, even the toilet paper has taken to being a bit dodgy. Its got a certain stretchy-quality to it. I’m sure the jingle for it goes like, Use Elasti-Roll; Now That’s a Stretch!

I also came to the realization that you can tell a woman is successful not by the car she drives, but the way she carries herself in a supermarket and the phone she holds when you are asking for her number… or uses to beat you up.

My mum sent me a text to see how I was doing, asked me how the going was and hoped I was enjoying every bit of it…that brings to mind…


I had a drink up at this place in Bugolobi that started off with a simple 3 prong course of action.

  • Buy Booze
  • Get Wasted
  • Find Your Happy!

But the problem is, you can’t really rely on people to carry their own drinks so, that kinda throws a spanner in the works. And from time to time some have the audacity to bring stuff like 3rd Round Spirit: Dare You To Last! Or some such brew.

Then some people were too busy… or in bed.

It didn’t help that the way I pitched the thing was, “bring the drinks, I’ll bring the venue…”

What can I say; the presence of a 42′ screen makes you say some dumb stuff.

The other factor that was messing things up was the fact that I was broke.

My peeps however came through with one litre of Smirnoff…not the small cute bottles you take home to meet your parents, but rather the juggernaut that comes with tales of grandeur summarized in the proclamation; 40%!

Speaking of which there was some Amsterdam beer made in Dubai or some place that shares a similar writing style. This on its own should have been an indication of what we were getting into. I mean, everyone knows that there’s no booze in Dubai…right?

It would have helped if we’d looked at the side of the can where it declared that it had 0.0% alcohol. In case you are wondering, it tastes like Marabou Stork’s Sweat! (don’t ask!)

There were also eight cans of Heineken to get us by and a pack of playing cards.

Before you knew it, the number of people had grown, but the quantity of alcohol was at its stagnant best.

Nonetheless, it all came together, but the silly screen was going through its silly mood swings, so that didn’t help plenty. Which exsplains why I didn’t get back to you.

During the course of this thing someone, no doubt inspired by the alcohol in his system, suggested we change venues. It was muffled but I’m sure there was talk of picking up chics at some point. The words Cross Generation may have also featured somewhere in that mix.

We went clubbing and went back home for more drinks and played cards. I think we may have pioneered a card game called Put Your Cards On Top Of Mine, the gist of it is to simply well, put your cards one on top of the other until all of them go away.

The game has no clear winner. Its not quite like “SHOTS” a game that was invented then and there and basically involves laying the cards out face down and then having whoever picks the highest card take a “shot” of alcohol.

The flaws with this game are not very few, for one thing I suspect people begin to lose intentionally when they claim in their “Big Voices” that 3 represents 300 … The other problem is, after a while the loser tends to be the same guy over and over.

During the course of these events it was decided that it was too late to go back home or hostel or whatever so we had to play host to about 6 or so “campusers”.

Sadly they were not the kind with weight issues. They were comfortable with their bodies and as such wiped out the fridge and select parts of the kitchen.

It doesn’t help that none of them had me thuithidal, thuithidal!

…and that was just Friday!

Yes, I know this thing is long, but you read Matanda’s stuff, right?


Tagged: The Sequel

Nga don’t I get Tagged again? I know I know, tagging is like so last year, I know, right! But anyway, given that I’ve got like, you know, nothing to write right now, lemme give in…in any case, this one was going to be a Random Drive-By Post… you know the rules, here’s me!

I can’t take a hint! I don’t know if it’s a me-thing or I fling myself so far into things, that my eyes though open are shut and life screws me over…Yeah, I know!

I am not really good with locating flats or apartments. Well sure, you’ll tell me where yours is, and I will find it with no problem, but the moment someone else tells me where theirs’ is, I’m screwed. I’m just as shocked as you are, I discovered this about me like three days back.

I can rarely tell a good thing when its in front of me… apart from movies, somehow I can tell.

I’m what the great psychologist Johannes Gutencrap called a “sponge”. Basically this means I tend to feel for others when they are going through shit…. PLEASE NOTE, I am not referring to the Blog Beef. I won’t sit here and lie to you through my fingers that I was saddened by that episode…you know me better than that.

When it comes down to it, I can be pretty vindictive… I just need a good enough reason, Family and friends being messed around with is as good as any.

I can’t stand Sean Kingston. I like the song Beautiful Girls, but I hate the dude. I feel bugged when I see him. I hate it when my kid sis. goes all sympathetic to some imagined plight he went through that made him like that. Shit! Nga the rest of us didn’t sing?

I have authority issues…that is, I had Authority issues, apparently I don’t know when I should brown nose and suck up. It almost cost me my job. I guess not too many people are keen on sarcasm, go figure!

I don’t know when to stop.


I’d like to attribute my absence to the fact that I got a job, but that hasn’t stopped loads of bloggers I know.

I’d like to claim that given the heat that was radiating off of the ‘sphere last week, I took a back seat to watch and enjoy it. What? Guilty pleasure. You and I know you enjoyed it as much as I did…the whole solidarity thing…

The whole idol worship thing amused me to say the least… as you can tell, given that I have finally gone out and put up a picture. Think of it as testing the waters while I contemplate starting some sort of ” group or sect bound together by veneration of” blogger pictures… what-about?

To make amends for the fact that I can’t come up with a satisfactory reason for not blogging, I will cave in to the last demand on this post.


I want to narrow it down to the fact that I got a job…but that was yesterday… when I had to endure decent clad, all black mind you, and got a few disses from people who for some reason can’t fathom the possibility that I own such clothes. I’d like to state that I keep such attire for emergencies such as (but not limited to…)

  • Job Interviews
  • Weddings
  • Funerals
  • Babies’ birthdays

Also, in the on-going CHOGM billboard debate, I honestly think that if you’re going to get a bunch of people to say they are ready for CHOGM, get real people. People like you and I, or the boda boda riders, get people that the public can relate with/to. Ofcourse the Kyabazinga is ready for the damn thing. Dude’s going to meet the queen of England, for ****’s sake!

I don’t know what Rio Ferdinand’s angle is… He is telling us we are ready for the world? I won’t hold it against him though…spend one night in the Serena and you will also get deluded enough to say things like that. Given that (and statistics are not my strong point) 99.97% of us do NOT in fact STAY at the Serena, that’s an unfair statement to make.

The Ugandan Blogumentary: A Walkthrough

I’m doing this in real time..I am writing this as I watch coz I have a spade’s ability to recall stuff.

Also, I have to keep darting back and forth so I can work on a Big Brother Africa recap.

Please note that I do NOT appear in this documentary. My stunt double does, sporting a rugged look…and a confused expression. Most. Of. The. Time.

This is what’s happening….

The Communist edition of Cribs.

What Kampala looks like through a communist’s eyes (with help from NOKIA) at 7am.

I half expected some dude to jump in and take the phone at this point…

Lines of code on a communist’s monitor at work. (Man, it’s The Matrix all over again!) The big HAIR OF REV that was banned from cyberspace.

Statistics in Danish. You might grasp it, but from where I’m sitting its all Greek to me… well, more like white Greek text on a black screen…only it is not really Greek. Its Danish.

A part with my stunt double claiming to be anti-government.

A red carpet type thing where we all come in like celebrities.

Technically, it is a red carpet thing sans the red carpet….

Oh look its Sage, and Dee… and Rev returning the Nokia…and wronglooking candle holders. Bad Mateos, BAD!!

Ladies and Gentlemen: Happy Hour!!

Wow! Its Baz….and SUBTITLES!! And more exclamation points in this post than you can shake a blog at!!

Bloody stunt double has the attention span of a diskette!

I could do with a Danish to English translator right about now. My limited Danish knowledge extends to…well, it is limited.

SAGE blogs because he wants to make a difference. His jam is playing in the background and yes, it has made a difference.

Dee has her reasons…. ( you need to get the blogumentary to see)

Country Boy wants to headbutt the camera, but its all good. He has a hat! Actually all the guys seem to have hats… What? Product placement!

Scratch that, Dennis doesn’t have a hat… come to think of it he has quite possibly the shortest hair in this piece yet… if you overlook the beard.

We are now seeing Carlo‘s Kampala…Uganda… well, Carlo is the star of the show right now… ehnth time I find myself going shopping with a girl. This has to stop!

Wow! And that’s all I’m saying… wow you guys!

Cute scene involving kids that also want to headbutt the screen. I blame this on Zidane… or Tyson…or Country Boy… or MTV.

We are now in Gulu. Excellent, that’s a trip I’ve been spared. Anywho, you have to see this bit.

And now Rev. has dreads…I missed the transformation…

Sara, Maria, Kirstine and Annette have put together a piece worth watching. I certainly don’t regret giving the Blogumentary 15 minutes of my life…and now we wait.

Drink our tap water, its tha shit!


Delivered As Promised

Some time during the course of the week, (Monday, I believe it was). It was reported that Kampala tap water has got faeces (there’s a word I didn’t think would ever appear on my blog).

This is a little worrying for people that are keen on tap water. It also means that the dude that took one sip, spat it out and said, “This tastes like shit!” may have been spot on.

Also, the gentleman that looked at a picture of a bottle of water, and discerned from its green hue that it may be some sports’ drink, yes, it is. Our water is guaranteed to have you running.

The mayor’s office has been quiet about the whole episode, but we are certain something will come out of there.



Something has come outta there, and I have put up the image accompanying this line of text.

 “We are ready for CHOGM!”

We were also duly informed that taking this water will make pretty women dressed in white spread their hands out as a bird does wings whilst at the beach.

Guest Starring; Mr. Robin Thicke

Oprah: Today we have a very special guest ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got…. IVAN!

Ivan…. WE are glad… arehere! Isn’t that right audience?Aren’t we glad audience? So Ivan, how does…it…feel? But before you answer, that is the title of the number one book on….. MY BOOKCLUB!!!!! How-Does- I.T. F33L?

((((((audience screams.

Someone coughs.

There’s a “rocket”!

Oprah is dragged off the stage by some dudes from homeland security because she is suspected of harboring a terrorist.

Said terrorist is also taken in for questioning over releasing rockets without a license ))))))

Ivan: So what the heck happens to me?

Person we don’t know yet: I’ll interview you.

Ivan: Who the **** are you?

Person soon to identify himself: I am…. Robin Thicke. Do you want some coffee?


Ivan: Heck no! Baz told me to avoid it at all cost, said it tastes like builders’ feet.

Robin Thicke: Baz is a cruel person. I slave away to make him the best coffee…it’s made from babies’ tears you know?!

Ivan: Riiiight….

Robin Thicke: So, now that I’ve got you alone, what are you here to discuss…

Ivan: SPAM!

Robin Thicke: Whoa! That’s a complicated topic. Can we talk about puppies and kittens instead?

Ivan: No, I’d rather not. Enough is enough, I have had it, with this mutha****in spam in my mailbox!

Robin Thicke: Are you going to continue typing out my full name? It does get monotonous somewhat.

Ivan: Everytime I open my mailbox there’s some offer on a product that will boost my performance in bed…Its annoying, who says I need this shit?

RT: I thought you wouldn’t ask, Ladies and Gentlemen, Spam Expert; A Blonde Porn Star!!


A-B-P-S : Hi everyone, OHMYGAWD! I am like so totally glad to be here to discuss *censored*.

Ivan: I actually meant S-P-A-M

RT & A-B-P-S : Oh…

RT: Why don’t you just go on a monologue then?

Ivan: I was planning to; I was getting tired of writing for more than one person.

Members of the jury (that’s you!), I am here today to express my ire at the spam that finds its way into my mailbox. I am constantly receiving a bevy of offers from some pharmacy that recently discovered it can make “her” love me more than any other guy. What gives? Who the heck have they been talking to? Is there someone out there actually being interviewed and saying things like, “yeah he is cool and everything, but I gotta say, if you guys offered him, like you know, your product and stuff, it would be like so awesome.” Give me a friggin’ (‘sup Comrade) break! I hate to throw stereotypes around, but I’m a young African male. I DON’T NEED recreational drugs. Surely they know this. It’s a fact that has been exploited in EVERY porn flick imaginable.

Did someone actually go through their database and chance upon my second name and think, “Ugh, Herr Schnikkel Koff, I haf found ze perfekt spezimen! From iz nem, I deduce he is Russian! I vill send email now, ja?”

RT: hehe, Schnikkel Koff…WORST IDEA is in stores now! BUY IT or I’ll come to your place when you have visitors and prepare coffee!

Ivan: What the ????
RT: I was allowed to come here provided I endorsed the book… Can you believe it? No? Go on.

And who ever looks into the content of said email? Mbu she will love me more than any other guy. Yeah, that’s rich. I can use this as a pick up line, “Hi there, my name is Ivan and I got that email that guarantees you will love me more than that gorilla in a suit that you’re talking to…”

And when they aren’t advertising some “weight-gain” product, its down to some lonely single sex starved vixen that will be available tonight…willing to fulfill my every desire. If I can hook up with her…in ANTARCTICA. How is that going to help me? Am I going to go hangin’ out and every so often when someone checks out some fine lass I whip out a copy of that email and drool?

Because clearly SEX is not enough to grab a person’s attention, {no shit? Seems to have worked back there…} I’m being offered shares in some imaginary company that will go BIG in Japan the next couple of years. They don’t quite tell me what the company does, they just tell me this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. For all I care some genius may actually be trying to sell me shares in a company that sells palm trees in the North Pole.

At least with Nigerian Spammers there’s some story to whet your appetite.

” dear Broda, I know dis seem like Nigerian email trying to take yo’ money-oh. Oga! I tell you dis broda (sic), this is de real thing, Miss Nigeria has name (sic) you her man and fada of her unburned (sic) child “Iffe”. We want you to give us money for this child so we can make celebrity endorsement (sic sic sic), but first send us your love gift so we know you’re serious about taking dis Nigerian kid out of your life.”

Some spam doesn’t even try to make sense. It’s like some sick joke from some demented chap with a missing ear lobe and a pet goat. On a good day, it reads like this;

” Rainbows leap over her leg, In the twilight of her success the caterpillar makes arrangements to swing the cat under the bush of noon. Sony Mobile blue tooth with prism seeing through your heart and into the next, with milk and cookies, enjoy wine with the one you are down for, rain will stop and sun will shine forever…you can stand under my umbrella, ella ella, eh eh…EH EH!”
RT: STOP!! I don’t need this; I’m putting in for a transfer to someone else’s blog…anyone out there?

A-B-P-S: What’s a blog?