Only White Folk Put Forks in Penis's!

I am not the resident New Vision expert on things to do with matters of the bedroom, love and all that romantic talk. That I leave up to Hilary Bainemigisha, Keturah Kamugasa’s Flair magazine and Cynthia Nankumba’s Bride and Groom.

I can stomach Bainemigisha’s love issue scribbles because it's not too deep. He scratches at the surface and leaves the rest up to your imagination.

However, in the back pages of Flair and Bride and Groom, they give it to you straight – and without mincing words. It's there for you in black and white.

Senga, just like Bainemigisha, Flair and Bride and Groom, will tell you that in a relationship, the two issues that are bound to upset the apple cart are sex and money. And when it comes to sex, there is the need to improvise (whatever that is supposed to mean) to spice things up in the bedroom.

Like Senga said at The Bride and Groom Wedding Expo a few weeks ago: “Women, if he is boring you, you should tell him. Don’t just lie there and pretend he's knocking on heavens door!” But we Ugandan’s are prudish when it comes to matters of the bedroom and are ‘conventional’ - wary of experimenting and wary of going against the traditional sexual norms.

However, white folk are different. They experiment, they try out new things and are very liberal but sometimes in their quest for sexual gratification, they go way beyond what I would call ‘acceptable sexual norms’ and that is assuming they do exist.

Last week in Australia, a chap presented himself to the Canberra Hospital emergency department with a bleeding in this ‘thingy’. The doctors had to remove a 10-centimetre fork from his thingy after he had inserted it into his uretha in an attempt to achieve sexual gratification.

Bookmark, bookmark and let’s pause there. He DID what? He put a fork in his thingy to achieve sexual bliss?! A fork if I recall, is an eating implement, a tool you use to pick up food to insert into your mouth. But then again, the man was white and not black and as I told you earlier on, black people and especially we Ugandans, we do not deviate that far off the sexually acceptable line.

Going on, Chap told Doctor he had inserted the fork into his urethra almost 12 hours earlier but the fork - perhaps and unsurprisingly - became stuck. Listen here Chap, it got stuck because it was NOT designed to go into thingy but, into your mouth – duh!

Doctor was able to feel the fork from outside and remarkable x-ray images showed the utensil wedged into the man's thingy.

Medics finally removed the item using forceps and copious lubrication while Chap was under a general anaesthetic.

That night after dinner and after reading the article, I thought of absconding from the dining table to the bedroom with the fork but House-ee kept on giving me a so ‘do-not-dare-do-it’ look so I duly put the fork back on the plate. Perhaps he too had seen the article?

But why did Chap have to use a fork, a cold stainless steel metal at that? Did he not want body warmth and the feel of a woman’s silky hands caressing his body?

According to the Canberra Times who broke the story, other objects that have been found in thingy’s include wire, Allen keys, toothbrushes, light bulbs, thermometers, plants, vegetables, leeches, snakes and glue. Jeez!

Well that’s white folk for you and I wonder how Senga would react if I told her the story. As a word of caution to Ugandan men, we are black men and black men DO NOT put forks in their thingy’s!

Kamoga, Kassim and Inzikuru, Please Return The Ugandan Flags - Thank You!

Some years ago, a colleague, James Odomel introduced me to a waif young thing called Dorcus. I can’t recall her surname this early into the article but I am sure that by the time I am done, I would have remembered.

What I remember about her, is that whenever she smiled, she showed all her teeth and her so-not-pink-gum and my conversation with her was limited to: “Hello Dorcus”.

A few years after that meeting, there was a commotion that went on when she and ah, I have just remembered her surname – Inzikuru, won the gold medal at the last Commonwealth Games.

When she came back to town she was the heroine and everything went to her head. She went on the cover of Keturah Kamugasa’s Flair magazine. She was an inspiration to women. She was also in Arua, her home town overseeing the construction of her crib which had been paid for by the government. She was also getting laid that she, popped a tot as well as having a few public brawls with Baby Daddy. She was doing everything she was supposed to do except one thing – to train.

Naturally when she next raced in Europe, she assumed she would just waltz into the gold medal position. Ha! She was nowhere to be seen.

Which leads us to believe that, Uganda is a nation of athletes who are ‘one run’ wonders because they are so consumed by the highlife instead of reinvesting whatever gold medal they have won into getting the next. Now Dorcus is a spent ‘has been’ waif who will never win a major race again.

Before her, there was the boxer John ‘the beast’ Mugabe who in the 80s, got a hefty pay cheque when he took on Thomas Hearns. When he came back to Uganda what did he do? Wait for it, wait for it…he didn’t go to the gym to prepare for his next fight but rather, he lived the highlife in Ange Noir and the rest as they say, is history.

Remember Kassim Ouma? He too had a glittering career ahead of him but nah, he couldn’t be bothered to train because romping in the sack with Juliana Kanyomozi was a better option and now he is a – what do they call it? A ‘has been’ as is that athlete who won silver in the Barcelona games – what was his name? Davis, oba Davis who? You see my bran can’t recall one race wonders.

Oh, there is Steven Kiprotich who did us proud when he won Uganda the gold at the last Olympics in London. But what did he do for us last weekend at the World Championships in Moscow? What the brief required of him for the won the marathon gold.

He sniffed the gold because he did not let his prison promotion, being on the cover of Flair magazine or the sh300m or so that was raised for him go to his head because he was busy training.

Uganda does not need people like Davis or Dorcus or Kassim who come and go in seconds. Uganda needs people who can last, who can stand the test of time and who can go on to achieve more than just one gold medal or boxing belt.

You see, there is plenty of time once they have achieved and retired to have kids, to romp with Juliana and to count sh300m in the bank.

In the meantime, Davis, Dorcus and, Kassim, the Ugandan flag you were given to do your victory lap, please return them a.s.a.p so we can give them to Kiprotich who is more deserving. By the way I have just been told that Davis, his other name is Kamoga. Do any of you remember him? I didn’t think so.

Kinckers With The Zip In Them

A couple of weeks ago I attended New Vision’s Wedding Expo at UMA Exhibition Centre. Quite why I was there, I don’t know because I am already married to the lovely Patricia.

But I think I took myself there because Susan Nsibirwa, their head of marketing had posted on Facebook that it was the place to be that weekend and also I thought I would show some support to Keturah Kamugasa, Editor of Flair who, is a good friend.

They got the numbers and as you can guess, they were mostly women. And these women did not come alone. Behind them they dragged sullen men – their boyfriends and fiancées like they drag cattle to the slaughter at Kampala Meat Packers.

The men were disgruntled about having to look at wedding dresses or being told that they would look good in this or that suit. I bumped into a young man and his woman and had a brief conversation with him.

TB: “Things look tight for you?”

Young Man: “I don’t know what is wrong with these New Vision people. They have just dug my grave!” TB: “What do you mean?”

Young Man: “Since Expo started, all she has been talking about is getting married, yet I don’t want to marry her and I need to lay more girls before I get married.”

TB: “Fancy a beer?”

Young Man: “Would love to TB, but I am afraid I am handcuffed to her for the rest of the Expo.”

The poor bleeding sod. He was dragged about the Expo, given flyers, told to write down quotes for cakes and I suspect he was also given the date for their wedding.

As I walked round the stalls, I came across the lingerie stall. Hmm, very interesting! They had a pair of skimpy red knickers that had a zip running down the middle. I was intrigued so I asked the young lady to explain how they work.

TB: “What is it with the zip down the front?”

Young Lady: “The young girls love them because it gives them freedom.”

TB: “Freedom to do what?” Young Lady: “They may be caught up in having to go to the loo and rather than take off the knickers to have a pee as they currently do, all they do is pull the zip down, squat and do their stuff.”

TB: “Really?”

Young Lady: (now pulling me closer to her) “But between you and I, I think they use them more for sex in the car because they don’t have to take them right off. Simply lift up your skirt, pull the zip down and he has got access to ‘IT’.”

I hadn’t thought about that so I hung about to see if anybody bought them. And sure enough, an hour later, a petite girl paid 40k for them. Her face is so imprinted in my brain that whenever I saw her I didn’t think of her as Petite Girl, but Girl Who Has Sex In The Car!

There was also a fashion show and Nsibirwa called me to join her on the front row. I’d never sat on the front row at a fashion show but this time I was so close to the action, I could see the driblets of sweat running down the models thighs especially during the lingerie show.

I knew models do sweat during fashion shows but I had always thought it was under their armpits. But down their thighs? I excused myself and went to the nearest bar to contemplate if I would ever attend another fashion show.

Why We Like Eating Filthy Pork

The holy month of Ramadan has ended so I guess I won’t be offending anybody – or am. What the hell, I am still going to go ahead and write.

I feel for vegetarians’. How can you not like meat? God or whoever heads the department in heaven should surely be given an award for life without meat would be intolerable. Top on my list is lamb followed by pork, beef, liver and chicken but only if it is Kentucky Fried Chicken which I am reliably informed will soon be opening up in the new mall behind Shell Bugolobi.

I am not keen on local chicken because a few years ago and at my local kafunda, I went for a pee and as you can well guess, the pit latrines were not the best in the world. They crawled with maggots, maggots which came out of the pit hole and were all over the floor and walls.

While I opted not to use the pit latrine, the local chickens meanwhile were having a blast picking at the maggots for supper like they were at a food festival. Of course when Waitress later on brought us the chicken that we had ordered, I casually asked here where she got if from and she as casually as I had asked her, told me from one of the chickens out at the back.

Eek, a chicken that was feasting on maggots from one of the dirtiest pit latrines I have ever seen and I am expected to eat it? Thank you but no thank you so I told her. But truth be told, we like eating animals that are filthy.

So the Muslims and Jews won’t eat pork because they thing it is a filthy beast but however, they would eat the chicken that has been feasting on maggots. The majority of the pork places that I have been too in Kampala are filthy. You know it, I know it and so do the owners of the establishments.

However, there is a certain passion in eating food especially pork, from establishments which, are filthy. It appears that the more filthy the place is, the better the pork tastes.

Kyadondo Rugby Club has some good pork especially the ribs but, the pork is prepared some men who are not too good when it comes to hygiene. They handle the ribs, use the same hand to handle dirty money and then go to the loos and don’t bother to wash their hands afterwards. But the pork tastes ballistic.

There is CHOGM in Bunga/Soya. The pork is good but the toilets are a mess and they are the same toilets that Pork Roaster uses. And have you seen the filth on his apron? Disgusting but the pork does taste too good.

There is another place on Entebbe Road – about ten minute’s drive from Kisubi school, it too has good pork but oh dear wait until you see the chaps who do the roasting! But we don’t care. I certainly don’t.

Frus Of House Hunting

DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, in their classic song, Summertime sing: “And if it ain’t broke then don’t try to fix it…” has a point because here in Uganda, I would sing: “Don’t hire somebody…just do it yourself…” I say that because I spent a good part of last week dealing with house brokers’.

House Broker was a unique brand. He seemingly knew everything including the house I was looking for well before I opened my mouth and spewed out the specifications that I was looking for. He was a man who knew it all. “Three bedrooms inside a wall fence” he quizzically asked. “Don’t worry mugaga (rich), there are plenty on the market in Luzira”. Ok but why, would I be in his Buziga hovel of an office looking for a house in Luzira? If I wanted to live in Luzira I would have taken myself to that part of town and spoken to the resident house broker. Secondly, if I was a mugaga as he put it, why would I rent instead of just buying the crib?

But he is House Broker and he ‘knew more than I did’. I had barely left him when my cell phone rang. He’d already found a house. I admired him for his speed and promised him an extra 20k if I liked the house. I have to say that when we got there, it was a house that was right down my street – three bedrooms, wall fence and plenty of garden for the kids to run about in. However, there was a BUT looming. The crib was not in Buziga but Ntinda and the asking price though within my range of 700 had issues and guess what they were? The 700 was in US dollars and not Uganda shillings.

I reminded me of OPP who once saw a nice house in Muyenga at 850. He turned up at the house with the required three months advance and only to find out as he signed the contract that they wanted dollars and not shillings. So I rebuked House Broker and told him to style up amongst other things.

The next house he showed me at the right price came with no compound space. There wasn’t even the space to turn the car round except open the gate and drive the car straight into the garage. To know it was that small, you wouldn’t be able to host a garden party for more than ten people.

He also took me to a flat near Namboole Stadium. It was a nice flat but there was something amiss about it. There was the servers hole – if indeed that is what they call it that links the kitchen to the dining room which, was fine with me but they appeared to be no door to link the kitchen and the dining room. Well to get to the kitchen, one had to walk out of the flat down a communal corridor and into the kitchen! Both House Broker and Landlord thought I was making a big meal out of it all.

Exasperated I sat him down and I told him – House Broker that is, to get a grip if not, I would employ somebody else. But still he did not get the gist. Now you see where Jazzy Jeff, Fresh Prince and I are coming from? It only leads me to believe that in Uganda rather than rely on people to do things for you and to your specifications, you are better off doing it yourself. It will save you a lot of time and hassle. Trust me.