Dealing With The Ex On Social Media

It’s the case of the Ex. There’s always the test of how we deal with New Girlfie’s/Boyfie’s Ex, when we embark on a new relationship. While New Girlfie/Boyfie is there in the flesh, to talk to us and for us to talk back to them, there will always be Ex, at least for the first three months of the relationship, who we imagine New Boyfie/Girlfie is in contact with, whenever they pick up the phone.

In the pre-social media days, we knew very little about New Boyfie or Girlfie’s Ex. All we knew is their name and what they did. The little more that we knew about them, came in the form of snippets that New Girlfie or Boyfie told us. Occasionally we might be in a circle of friends and His or Her name cropped up, that we would crane our necks – wanting to hear everything possible about them and especially the reason as to why they broke up - because we only know the version of events as told by New Girlfie/Boyfie.

If Girlfie’s Ex lived in Naalya and I lived in Munyonyo, there is a good chance that our paths would never cross - unless I went out looking for him. It’s also possible that even if he were standing right in front of me, I would have no idea since I have not seen him in photographs, because as New Girlfie embarked on a new relationship

with me, photographs, cards, letters would have been tossed into a plastic bag and hidden away until such a time they get discarded and never to be seen again.

Today, it’s different. If we want, Ex is out there for us to look for ourselves. It can make everything plainer; we can judge for ourselves what Ex was really like and read his/her version of why they broke up. Because of social media, smart phones and search engines, we now have Ex’s everywhere – both our partners’ and our own. We can find New Girlfie’s/Boyfie’s Ex on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram along with everything we need to know about them. We convince ourselves by pretending we are not looking for them, but we really are and the last thing we want to see, are happy photographs of them from the days they dated.

(Chris Brown (Left) and Rihanna (Top Right) are examples of the Ex's who will always be in social media)

As TB, I don’t want to see them – especially Him, in Liquid Silk being the life and soul of the party; at Miss Uganda looking all smooth and dapper in black tie with his arm round her waist. I don’t want to see him looking all in love with her at Sipi Falls or white water rafting with him looking all macho and striking a pose that only Vladimir

Putin can pull off. I don’t want to Google him and find he’s far smarter than I am, and that he’s been out there and done it all.

I want the good old days – when there was no social media tempting me to ‘invite’ him home, into my living room, bedroom or have him ‘sitting’ next to me at work or in the taxi and double daring me to stalk him on Google, Facebook or Instagram.

Ultimately, we know that obsessing on New Girlfie/Boyfie’s Ex is a waste of life. However, if I feel the need to social media stalk Him, I can always log him out, smirk at him knowing his Ex, now my New Girlfie has moved on with me and that holiday photographs of New Girlfie with me will soon replace those of Her with Him – until such a

time that I too, get ditched and New Boyfie has to deal with me as immediate Ex and the other Ex.

Nude Selfie? Delete Your Face!

It’s been three days since we went to the polls and alas, some peeps won’t read this column because they are in Luzira or some outpost police station for not adhering to police kiboko’s, or they went abroad to err on the side of caution or tragically, lost their lives. That solitary sentence, marks my input into the elections for we have more interesting issues to talk about – selfies.

A good number of our celebs – Anita Fabiola, some MUK don, Desire Luzinda and more have fallen victim to nude selfies and sex videos being published in the papers and social media. People have it in their heads that because they own a smart phone, they are compelled to take selfies of themselves nude and share them with the wrong people. I too have taken selfies and posted them, but I am clothed and they tend to be of me having discovered a new watering hole.

Weeks ago, a Daily Mail article about nude selfies left me disturbed. When 15-year-old Beth White goes home from school, it’s straight to her bedroom to strip off her school uniform down to her underwear, snap pictures of herself with her smartphone in the wardrobe mirror which, she shares with a boy she is dating at school.

A Bristol study recently found ‘sexting’ has fast become the norm in teenage courtship, with almost half of 13 to 17-year-old girls saying they have been sent explicit pictures and videos. What ever happened to taking her for a scoop of ice cream at Speke Hotel that’s eaten so slowly, it would last the entire afternoon?    

Beth says it started when the boy sent her a close-up of his privates. Incredibly, she wasn’t surprised because she had been sent something similar by of all people, a stranger on Snapchat. The boy asked her to send one back a few times and she gave in because, “I didn’t want him to lose interest and ask someone else.”

These days if you don’t have the stereotypical big bouncy breasts, you are made to feel you are not good enough. Not only do you have to look good with your clothes on, you are also supposed to look good with them off too.

Jake Land, began sexting when he was 15 and received 100 pictures from five girls at school but only had a proper relationship with one. Thankfully she was bright and mature enough to learn the rules of the sexting game.

Nude selfies follow a set pattern - flirty messages exchanged, followed by ‘selfies’ while standing semi-clothed in front of a mirror, then to  lying down while showing more intimate views being the next stage. Girls know from music videos what they are supposed to do. A few years ago, a boy might have been happy to be sent a picture of a pair of breasts, but not any longer.

Andy Phippen, professor of social responsibility at Plymouth University, who has done research on sexting, says tales like all these are typical and doubts there is a school which has not been affected.

In my teen days, all that we boys wanted from girls was for them to be impressed when we drove up in dad’s stolen car and not sexy pictures before the relationship moved to the next level or because she wanted to BAE us (Before Anyone Else).

One word of advice was we end – regardless of a teen or adult status, if you send a nude selfie, it’s imperative you chop your head out of the picture so you can’t be identified lest, you end up being laid bare in social media as it happened to Fabiola and Luzinda.

We All Thrive On Power

I’ve spent the day trolling online dictionaries looking for the apt definition of ‘power’. Cambridge Dictionaries provided the best - “The ability to control people and events.”

Power is a bitter sweet asset. Junior Army Officer, who weeks ago, marched David Tinyefuza into arrest for “behaving inconsistently”, probably spent the rest of the day in the barracks telling all how he had a ‘power explosion’ in bringing the general to his knees.

When I worked with WBS television, one night, Gordon Wava made an impromptu visit. As duty manager, I received him and as we trawled the corridors, WBS Lady who had never met him – let alone have any reason

to talk to him, popped her head out of an office as we walked.

Upon seeing Wava, what did she do? She froze but I could see her brain working away and trying to figure out the ‘what next.’ Her brain told her to scamper. And she did. Wava shouted after her - calling her back and asked the simplest of questions – “what’s your name” to  which she went into a convulsing freaky meltdown that short of peeing in her G-string, gibbering, she threw out dozens of names – none of which were hers.

After he’d gone, I asked her what was up.  She said: “Eh mama nyabo, it was Wava! If I couldn’t even remember my own name, what kb would I give him?”

Along with my media colleagues - Evelyn Kiapi, Bruno Birakwate, John Kazoora amongst others, we were returning from an Air Tanzania sponsored trip to Tanzania and Zanzibar on a direct flight from Dar to

Entebbe.

When the drinks trolley clinked round, we were rather miffed that there were no alcoholic drinks. Enter Chief Purser who thought there might a ‘revolt and negative writing’ about the airline and informed Captain. Captain then radioed CEO’s office back in Dar. Our very own Alice Katiti, was the then CEO, went livid and ordered the flight

divert to Kilimanjaro to get stocked with enough beverages to ‘keep them happy’. In addition, we were upgraded from kayola class to First class.

We had spent the best part of the day making merry. It was a staff party after all. Chef who had never met Sudhir Ruparelia had had one too many just like the rest of us. As we larked about at the Lakeside Green, Sudhir suddenly appears out of nowhere. Alas for Chef, when he started ‘slapping’ who he thought was a colleague on the back but it was Sudhir, when the shilling of realization dropped, Chef broke into a sweat, freaked, turned on his heels and fled into the night.

It’s Sunday and we are in State House, Nakasero for a media meeting. James Buturo - then Information minister, sat up front with President Museveni. Tea and refreshments were served. The gap between the table where Buturo’s tea and cookies were placed was such that he had to get out of his seat and lean over to pick up the cup.

On his first attempt, he’s halfway there when Museveni swings a question that he stands to answer it. On the second attempt, hand makes contact with cup, but another question hits. Cup goes back. The third attempt was comical – like Museveni could read his mind. You could almost feel the hapless Buturo summoning his inner courage, his body tensing to lurch for the cup, at which Museveni would swing him a look that put him back in his seat. Suffice to say, Buturo merely licked malusu for the rest of evening.

Some peeps derive their power from the job they hold, but real power lies with M7, Wava and Sudhir who wield it through mere presence. 

The Precarious Cubicle Susu At 30,000ft

It’s a hard sell for airlines. They use every possible marketing gimmick to get us to put our butts into their seats. It could be pictures of Stewardess with teeth so white and so perfect or, with a smile that not even Smile School can teach you. If not, it will be a tale of how much extra leg room they offer, how wide the seats are or how much extra carry-on baggage they allow.

However, one thing they don’t sell us is the toilet cubicle which on average, measures a measly 3x3ft, that I’ve often wondered how Mama with Butt negotiates herself in that space. I think she waits until some ungodly hour – when Peeps are asleep because, if she is seen going, Society with its unjust hang-ups, will have these thoughts running through its mind. 

1. Oh dear, can’t she see it’s going to be a tight call getting that butt into the cubicle?

2. Jeez, she’s going to spend 20min fighting to get in and 20min trying to get out. 

3. I am certain Flight Attendant made a mental note of her – just in case she broke the toilet and the airline demands compensation.

But to Mama with Butt, there is no need to skulk around in the dead of the night trying to avoid being ridiculed for I have the solution. Walk into the cubicle backwards - that way, once inside and you’ve closed the door ‘in front’ of you so to speak, you don’t have to fight to turn round because your bottom is already facing the pan.

While Fat People tire of getting shamed, women are less than keen about going in after we men have been, because at 30,000+ft, men don’t abide by the: ‘Thou shall not stand and pee, but sit and pee’ edict.

The KQ flight out of JKIA to Bangkok, Thailand was a good flight. Alex Ndawula, DJ Ronnie Sempangi (RIP) and I sat together and were making merry. Apart from the odd bump here and there as we soared into the night sky, it was a smooth flight. Seat belts were unbuckled and seats reclined. When supper was finally out of the way, what to do over the next 10hrs but...er, to catch?

So we caught and the more we caught, the more the need to use the washroom. Once in there, of course it was for peeing while standing because that is how we men pee, but making sure I left the toilet seat wiped dry and clean for Lady who was next in line to use it. Those are proper toilets manners don’t you think?

After numerous and uneventful trips, on this occasion, as soon as I let rip, we hit turbulence big time for about 40 seconds. There is no need to go into the specifics of what it’s like being slightly blazed, locked away in a toilet cubicle measuring 3x3ft, ‘thingy’ all out, while trying to direct the pee into the pan and while being flung from wall-to-wall due to turbulence.

Once the plane settled and I steadied myself, to my horror, major susu damage had been done. It had hit the floor, the ledge behind the seat, the door – I think you get the drift.

Rather than being in and out of there in a flash, I had to stay in an extra 10min to give the place a good wipe down.

When I walked out, Lady waiting to go in, hesitated, then peeped in, then looked back at me. The best I could do was to swing her ‘a reassuring smile’.

Since that mishap, at 30,00ft and in a 3x3ft toilet cubicle I always invoke the: ‘Thou shall not stand and pee, but sit and pee’ rule.