My Beef With The Royal's

When Prince William married Kate Middleton last year, he didn’t invite me to the wedding. Of course he didn’t, because he does not know me.  So I have no grudges with them or the rest of the British Royal Household.

Closer to home, when Princess Komuntale married an unknown from America, I expected an invite – if not from her but from her mother, Queen Best simply because I am Timothy Bukumunhe. Apart from that connection, the Toro Royal Household did call me up and seek my advice on how to connect them to one of the Mullah’s for a possible wedding contribution. I would have thought it gave me stronger grounds for an invite but, the invite never came. Now, I am not too sure if I should hold a grudge with Princess Komuntale or with Queen Best.

The first time I attended a function at Twekobe, Kabaka Ronald Mutebi’s palace was on his wedding reception to Sylvia Nagginda more than 12 years ago. Since then, I have had no need to go back probably because I am not a Muganda. But I was back there recently for Prince Wasajja’s wedding reception to Marion Nankya last Saturday.  

There is something about Twekobe and being a royal at that including the particular customs that have to be observed when the Kabaka is around. But let’s start off with the wedding. I have to admit that is was well organized despite a 1,200 invited guest list and a probable 300 who crashed because they are Baganda’s and Kabaka is their Kabaka.

While there was more than enough to drink, it was the food that took the biscuit. Mrs. Katende of Spectrum and her team did an excellent job. The portions of food served were more than ample and the chicken masala a pure delight. That was for the invited guests. The rest had to make do with food provided by another service provider that so bland…. – I should stop it there in the best interests of the kingdom and I.

When Kabaka Mutebi and his wife strolled in, I was surprised that they did not notice me yet I was standing inches from their car. That, I took badly. I took it as a snub. I had been very careful about how I stood and did not point my butt in his direction because it is something you just never do to the Kabaka. I was also wore new shoes but he never noticed!

The wedding taught me something. Never invite somebody who has a bigger personality than you to your wedding reception. The Kabaka simply took over. The artistes too didn’t really sing songs for the bride and groom but for the Kabaka. They had to because Kabaka is absolute!

Vice President Edward Sekandi was also there and while he is a Muganda, he needs to pick a leaf or two from his Kabaka when it comes to dressing.

Sekandi wore the over sized suit that he wore when he met Barack Obama at The White House recently. He didn’t look crisp. The suit if anything, looked like it was picked without thought. Kabaka on the other hand, was sharp - in fact, too sleek.

When it comes to sitting, Kabaka does not sit like he is about to have his picture taken for a ‘Wanted by Police’ poster. That he left to Sekandi. Kabaka, sat with a poise, leaning to one side of his chair and pulling at his cuffs.

While Kabaka did not recognize me, I have no beef with him because I attended the reception. The  beef I have, is with Komuntale and Queen Best.

For Flag, God and Country

There is a strong need for me to apologize to the nation for I failed you last Sunday. I was in England for the London Marathon and I am afraid, I did not do as well as you all had expected.

Well, I wasn’t really in London for the marathon but, I was there in spirit. I watched it on television in The Viking Bar at Speke Resort Munyonyo along with three South African’s and two Englishmen over bottles of beer. They were drinking Nile Special and I was on Heineken of which, our home brewed Nile Special is the stronger brand.

By the time the lead runner had gone past the one kilometre mark, the South African’s, the English and I, were neck and neck via our beer intake. At the eight kilometre mark they had opened a slight lead – they were two bottles ahead and from then on, I was always on the back foot playing catch up.

Halfway through the race and with them showing no signs of slowing down, I got second wind but it didn’t help. As the runners came up to the finish line, they had a commanding lead of almost six bottles each.

I have to admit that I was embarrassed. They were drinking Nile Special which is a strong brand and I am sure the following day, they also woke up and went to work while I, who drank the moderate Heineken, had to take the day off because I had a hangover.

I know you all hate me and would probably spit at me if you saw me. I feel bad – terrible in fact, because I should have done better them because they had beer bellies and were seriously unfit.

But, I am not the only person who embarrassed Uganda on the international scene last week. According to Mumbai Mirror, an Indian newspaper and an article written by Mary Karugaba in last week’s Sunday Vision, Isaac Musumba, who was once a minister and MP for Igara West, was arrested in India over charges of alleged extortion.

But wait a minute. Musumba, was a former minister not so? As he was, he of all people should have known how the system works. What on earth was he doing in the time that he spent in government? You don’t get into politics to work for the nation. You go into politics to help yourself to donor money.

Musumba should have understood the system and how it works before he went to India. He should also have consulted The Manual which, is a politicians must read – because it gives the pitfalls, the in’s and out’s of how to put a case forward, how to get the money and more importantly, how not to get caught.

$20million is a lot of money. It would have set him up for life. And he also would have joined that famed list of politicians who managed to get away with it.

Had all gone according to plan, we would have held him in high esteem because he would have been one of the first Ugandan’s to go and get his dime from abroad and not through sending a note to the accounts office or to the PS as is currently the norm.

Like I said earlier, I failed to properly represent Uganda at the London marathon. Musumba too, failed to bring home the $20m when he represented Uganda in India and ended getting caught.

Musumba and I hold our heads in shame and we ask for your forgiveness. We should have done better for Flag, God and Country.   

It's A Man's Right To Lust After Chicks In Mini Skirts - Period!

If, I was asked to go live and work in Iran, I would have come up with a better option. I would ask to be given 1,000 strokes of the cane.

There is no way I could live in a country where the ‘morality police’ run riot. I read somewhere that they have road blocks to deal with ‘offenders of morality’. For example, if you are on a bus and look at a woman in a lustful manner, she has the right to stop the bus at the next road block where you are removed, tried, found guilty and promptly given the stroke of the cane.

I wouldn’t live in Afghanistan or Pakistan either because the Islamic zealots are so messed up that they might just chop my arm off for the simplest of mistakes. And I also wouldn’t live in North Korea because, I am not sure what Kim and who looks like a living version of the Michelin man would do next.

But I would live in Malawi seeing that, Kamuzu Banda, the nation’s first president died years ago. If I recall, during his reign, men were not allowed to wear shorts. I don’t know why and when I asked Google, he too didn’t know.

When I was still living in England, I got a summer job at the Henley Royal Regatta. The old buffoons who run it still live in the 18^th Century that getting into the royal enclosure is no easy affair. Women are not allowed to wear trousers or callouts. But get this, if they wore a dress or a skirt, the hem must be at least an inch below the knee. If the people manning the entrance were not sure, they would call for the head prefect who would duly whip out his tape measure, take the necessary measurements and either allow you in or throw you out.

Closer to home, somebody has decided it is so not cool for women to be walking about town in miniskirts and is there any need for me to tell you what they want to do? They want it to be made illegal.

I really don’t give a hoot if women’s rights are being infringed upon. That is their issue. What I care about, are my rights. My right to ogle. My right to enjoy an afternoon of ‘optical nutrition’. My right to drool string-lets of saliva at the sight of a woman in a miniskirt.

The MP’s wants to infringe on my human rights. On many occasion, I have had no need to go into town or to a Bebe Cool or a Ragga Dee concert. But, I do go to assert my rights. I do go, because it is man’s god-given right to drool at women in miniskirts.

Female flesh is there to be admired by us men except the lunatic men in Afghanistan, Iran and Saudi Arabia who order their women to cover up perhaps because female flesh scares the hell out of them.

But, I am not going to be intimidated by some chap just because he has the words ‘MP’ after his name.

Women of Uganda, I am with you but for my own reasons which, is my right to lust at you in a miniskirt.

And to the MP’s who can’t deal with having our Ugandan women in miniskirts, the solution is a simple. Get the hell out of Uganda and go live with the zealots in Saudi Arabia, Iran or Afghanistan. Do you now see which miniskirt I have just slithered out of? Oh, you do? Thanks!        

The Sniffing Billy Goat, Mr. Vegas and Charles

David Attenborough is a renowned zoologist who has a number of award winning documentaries to his name. I don’t know why I have had to mention him but seeing that he knows more about animals than I do, I thought I might just throw him into the article.


I spent the best part of Saturday morning in a goat and sheep market. In one of the pens, there was Billy Goat who specialized in acts that many of my peers would find gross and disgusting.

Billy Goat spent his time sniffing at the She Goats genitalia. He sniffed until he could sniff no more. At one point he even sniffed at a she goat who, was in the process of having a poop. I would have thought he would have waited till she was done and cleaned herself up, but bleak. He carried on sniffing!

And while he was doing his sniffing, he was not shy about it. He didn’t take She Goat somewhere private. He did it right there in front of a Catholic Sister who was buying chicken, in front of younger goats who could have been his kids, and in front of a group of school kids who were walking home.

And you know what, in the animal kingdom, nobody complains – not even the police goats, assuming that they exist.

From the goat and sheep market, it was off to Club Silk’s Street Jam. The top billing was an artiste from Jamaica who called himself Mr. Vegas and who I of course had never heard of.

However, going by the crowd that turned up, it did not matter at all that I had never heard of him. They had. And at some point I took refuge in the VIP tent and whilst I was there, I made small talk with the person sitting next to me.

He had a West Indian accent so I was right to presume that he was one of the baleebesis’ that Mr. Vegas came with. Having not met Mr. Vegas I asked muleebesi if he could point him out to me.

Muleebesi merely shot me a quizzical look followed by a scorned look. And this is what he had to say for himself: “I am Mr. Vegas!” It seems I have a habit of shooting myself in the foot. I simply got up, poured myself another drink and melted away into the crowd.

Talking of artistes, there is an up-coming artiste called Charles Sendi. I know him but rather embarrassingly I don’t know any of his songs. Charles was shooting a video for his song – Noono and he wanted me to star in it as a bishop who is marrying a couple.

I agreed and the technicalities of shooting a video are rather complex. The same shot had to be taken over and over again from different angles. There is a lot of sitting about and having to deal with the video’s director – Godfrey Kivumbi.

He had the concept in his head and only he knew what he was looking for. I have seen some of the rough edited cuts and so far, Godfrey has done an impressive job in making me look good.

That being the case, come Monday I will have to pop down to one of the malls to buy some swag or rude bowy clothing for I am sure at the MTV Base Awards later on this year, I will have to be there to represent. Have I missed anything out? Oh, can anybody give me a crash course on how to twang – to speak like a rude bowy? I would much appreciate it.