The Female Spat

There is something about a public spat. It gives us fodder to feed on, to come up with theories and to give our predictions as to who the eventual winner might be.
In today’s Uganda, the Museveni-Besigye spat is still on-going and the most talked about. Then there was the spat over a Kololo house between former Kampala Mayor, Nasser Ssebbagala and the diminutive Jennifer Musisi who heads Kampala City Authority. It was a spat that we relished but in the end it did not amount to much because Ssebagala crumbled – no, tell a lie, he wilted even before the battle had started and was reduced to putty and mashed potatoes in her hands.

No sooner had she wiped Ssebagala’s tears off her shoulders, Musisi went looking for another spat in the formidable Gen. David Tinyefuza. Of course I placed a call to a trusted source in the corridors of her office to find out if she was of sane mind and Source was not too sure. “I can’t believe she is taking him on! Do you know what he can do to her?” so Source said.

For the lack of a better way of putting it, Musisi has firmly clenched her butt cheeks, taken off her make-up and doesn’t care if she breaks her finger nails. Then she picked up a G-string, pulled back the string and splat! She fired off a number of salvos at Tinyefuza.

But wait a minute. Something appears to be amiss in the script. Did Tinyefuza come out all huffing and puffing? Did he storm Musisi’ office with a battalion of battle hardened crack commandos just back from tackling Al Shabab in Somalia to take her on?
Bleak! Rather and in a move that reeks of defeatism, Tinye went into ‘hiding’ then sent a young boy who was so green behind the ears to a press conference to read out a statement on his behalf! Incredible, really incredible!

Has the once mighty Tinye been diffused? Shouldn’t President Museveni not see it fit to remove him from his current position as the coordinator of security intelligence services for it is a job which requires ‘balls’ and a ‘take-no-prisoners’ attitude and move him to a soft position like the ministry of culture?

What Musisi has demonstrated since her appointment is that she is the new breed of woman. She is not of the same mould as Lady Justice Julia Sebutinde, an Allen Kagina, Maria Kiwanuka or a Maggie Kigozi - women who have excelled and have risen to the top of the field in jobs which were once the sole domain for men. Rather, Musisi is a street fighter, a brawler who probably does not have the time to wear silky knickers from Woolworths but army issue combat boxers. If only Uganda had more women like her!

That said, seeing that I have a new editor in the form of Esther Namugoji, I have to tread carefully because she might turn out to be a Musisi clone who won’t give me the latitude that former editor, Sidney gave me over deadlines.

Anyway, there are a few street fighter/brawler women that I know of. I was out on the town – a Friday night at that, with a vivacious lady who is now an American marine.

We hit Wagadugu, the Bukoto Street pub and there we made merry. American Marine kept on getting stares from people because she was a famous media personality.
As we left Wagadugu, at the top of the landing, American Marine paused to wait for me. Then as we walked down the stairs, two things happened in quick sequence. There was a power failure which of course brought an end the loud thump of disco music. Worse for one hapless young lad, as the power went out, he was at the top of his voice in a bid to be heard over the thump of the music, telling his friends what he would do if he was left alone in a room with American Marine.

With the power cut, American Marine heard what was said and that was it. Off came the gloves, her neck jerked back like that of a King Cobra getting ready to strike while her brain went into overdrive as it collated the most venomous swear words.
Then she struck. She was in Hapless Young Lads face – like the face-to-face ‘square off’ boxers do at a press conference. The ‘square off’ cut him down to size then her mouth opened and out came a Tsunami of vile words that sent Hapless Young Lad into a tremble. “You can do what to me?” she barked. In his retort, Hapless Young Man only mustered a spittle driblets. She attacked him again. “If you think you are man enough, then let’s go! My place or yours? And can you really go the distance?”

Eh, American Marine was on a full rampage. The two boys Hapless Young Lad was with slithered away leaving him to face the music, while I too thought it best to wait for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Enter the petite and former WBS Showtime Magazine presenter, when the show was at its peak. Some people called her ‘motor mouth’ because once she got going and coupled with her English accent, it was hard to stop her.

By the time I joined WBS and started to work with her, I had heard of her spats and it was a while in coming before I saw her in action. We were out doing a live broadcast from the UMA trade show in Lugogo, when it all happened.
She had been live on air for the best part of the morning without a break – in her opinion. I had given her two bottles of mineral water and she still wanted a break yet it was a live feed? Hmm! I ignored her because the owner of the station wanted feed to go on. When she started getting rattled, she started by sending out SMSs to me whenever the cameras were not trained on her. When that didn’t work, she sent emissaries who couldn’t find me. Then she started calling me up. When that didn’t work, she tried a different approach.

It was a softly, softly approach at the start. Live on air, she started ranting: “I really don’t know what has gotten into the head of my producer Timothy Bukumunhe. He has had me in this hot sunshine without a break. If anybody sees him, please tell him to come and see me.” I was in the UBL stall quenching my thirst with cold Bell Lager’s, the brand I used to quaff before TML came onto the market.

And she went on and on, her temperament went up. While there was a television set in the stand, I couldn’t hear what she was saying above the loud thump of music until one of the technicians in the Outside Broadcast van came scurrying over with the most alarmed look on his face. Tripping over his words he said something along the lines of Petite Presenter having ‘lost it’ and was in revolt.

I didn’t take his concern seriously but did go over to the OB van to have a listen at what he was saying and oh my god, she had lost it. She was saying things that were not supposed to be said on television.

I ran to her and when the cameras were not trained on her, I stepped in and tried to sooth her. When the cameras swung back to her, Cameraman had the presence to know that something was going on so he went back to filming general UMA scenery.

Then her spat started. Seeing that she held the microphone, I had assumed she had turned it off. She hadn’t. So live on air and on Independence Day, those watching WBS heard an angry conversation along these lines.

Former Showtime Presenter: “What the f**K do you think you are up to? Do you expect to work all day without a break?”

TB: “We are short of staff. Who is going to stand in for you?”
Former Showtime Presenter: “Listen here, I don’t give a f**K! I am going to have a break whether you like it or not!”

TB: “Can I arrange a replacement before you have your break?”
Former Showtime Presenter: “F**k you, f**k you! By the way, I can smell booze on your breath! All along you were sitting in the shade and having a beer while I was toiling away?! You b**ch!”

When the spat ended, we both got a call from higher authority asking us not to come into work for a while. We had been suspended.