The Reason We Like Dimly Lit and Seedy Places...

The last time I went downtown – to Nakivubo Stadium to be precise and before it was peddled off to pave way for a shopping mall, was probably seven years ago when Aga Sekalala and Co used to host Ekigunda Ky’Omwwaaka – a music festival that kicked off at 6:00am on Sunday and ended at 6:00am on Monday! The thing about Ekigunda Ky’Omwwaka is that, most fans came from deep rural Buganda - from kyalos whose names when read out, sounded more like some nasty terminal village disease than a name of a kyalo.

Simba FMs Ekigunda

Most of the day while the sun was still up, the crowd is the most pleasant one. They are relaxed and strolling through the countless food stalls or simply basking in the middle of the football pitch watching the various artistes do their thing on stage.

Then comes that hour when daylight takes a back seat and dusk sets in. It last all but five minutes – no tell a lie, it’s almost as instantaneous as flicking a light switch from ‘on’ to ‘off’ and that it. That split second transformation from light to darkness is what the crowd have been waiting for.

Ugandans have a love darkness. I don’t know where the craze came from – perhaps from the era of endless nights of load shedding towards in the 90s and into the millennium. But that’s beside the point. While we used to complain about load shedding, on the other hand, it was something we wholeheartedly embraced just like the crowd at Ekiggunda do once the skies darken.

The sedate day time crowd start shuffling about and breaking down from crowds an into pairs or rather couples, with each couple looking for the darkest spot in the stadium to call their own for the rest of the night.

Just Dark Enough

In the late 90s when I was still new in town after decades of a sojourn abroad, I was invited out to a kafunda in Wandegeya for a drink just before darkness set in. As I waited for Host to arrive, in walked a couple and after scanning the layout of the gardens, they took their place at a table in the corner that fairly lit. Five minutes later, Dude walks up to Waitress who after a brief discussion returns with a chap who was obviously the handyman. Handyman wasted no time in unscrewing the bulb where Couple had perched themselves and plunged the corner into a dark abyss.     

Just Enough Light

Andy The Greek used to own a restaurant called err, Andy The Greek. What used to amaze him, is how most of his Ugandan customers would literary beg for a table to be set in the far flung corners of the gardens especially behind shrubbery or the roses. He tells the tale of Regular Client who always requested for a table to be placed behind a thicket along with an umbrella – something that he found odd especially at night. But there was a reason. Once he and Female Companion were settled in the plastic chairs, Regular Client would lower the umbrella so low that they couldn’t be seen by others that it was almost like being in the darkest part of sin city.    

Dark Enough To Get Away With It

Nakulabye is umbrella city in that each kafunda in the area has more than a multitude of them – in fact more than they actually need. One night and on my first visit and at night when I returned from the not so pleasant toilets, with all the umbrellas and coupled with load shedding, I couldn’t remember where we were sitting. Straining my eyes I thought I saw a table and umbrella that looked familiar except that when I took my seat, out came this gruff voice wanting to know what I wanted with his woman. A hasty retreat was made.           

Too Much Light At Miki's Pub?

  

Was It My Tweet That Prompted Jennifer Musisi's Resignation?

Jennifer Musisi. Early this week, news filtered out that Jennifer Musisi, had decided to relinquish her position as the Executive Director of Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA) after a seven year stint in the post. I really don’t know much about our Jenny and I never got to meet her properly except on one occasion three years ago at Heathrow Airport and the tete-ta-tete lasted all but 20 minutes.

Our Jennifer's Letter of Resignation

Despite all the cat fighting with Mayor Erias Lukwago, our Jenny has come a long way. In the seven years, she must have made more enemies than friends from the boda boda riders, those whose houses or properties got demolished because they had been constructed in the road reserves, to those who had their billboards or sign posts for their businesses removed because they hadn’t gotten the proper authorization.

Adversaries? Musisi and Lord Mayor Erias Lukwago

One of the many things that Jenny was venerated for, is her endeavor to beautify the city and give it some green. In the road divides - along Kampala Road and Lugogo-by-Pass for example, she planted grass and flowers. But she didn’t stop at that. Anybody caught walking on the grass as they crossed the road was automatically arrested. And the same fate befell any who mounted the kerbs to park their cars.

One afternoon and along Kampala Road where the Nandos used to be, I sought to cross the road. There was a footpath between the road divide – a mere six or seven steps further down but honestly, I couldn’t be perturbed. I was going to cross the road where I wanted to cross the road. And I did. I got onto the divide, trampled over the grass and then across to the other side by Orient Bank.

As I stepped onto the pavement by the bank, four men pounced on me – three of them in KCCA uniform and the other in plainclothes and had me detained. But why would KCCA detain me? As Plainclothes put it: “Eh TB, you of all people! You are educated and you should have been an example to the rest by sauntering a couple of steps further down the road and using the footpath but, you opted to walk across the grass?!?”

Obviously I profusely apologised and after a stern 20-min lecture, they let off. Assuming they hadn’t, I would have been hauled to a court - somewhere in the depths of the KCCA complex, found guilty and sent off to slash grass somewhere in Wandegeya perhaps or, to sweep the dust off the road in Ndeeba.

Getting back to Jenny, there is hearsay as to why she resigned. Did she jump before she was pushed? Did Lukwago’s shenanigans wear her down? Did the same 'Mafia' that forced former Vice-President, Gilbert Bukenya play a role in her ouster?  Is she going to the UN or to some grand job abroad that’s devoid of backbiting and internal bickering?

I don't think it has anything to do with that. I think the real reason she quit is because of a tweet I posted last week which read: “Woman selling tangerines on Kampala road had her entire basket confiscated this afternoon. Question, what happens to them when the truck gets back to headquarters? You give to homeless or do the chaps on the truck divide amongst themselves.” KCCA Official did respond – a terse one-liner saying: “Court decides on the course of action.”

Jenny Scoops An Award

My retort? “But they didn't even take down her details. They just loaded the tangerines and off they went. Where is she supposed to start from come Monday morning?” There was no response from Jenny or KCCA Official.

As I type, I feel more than a tad guilt-ridden.  It was me, I am to blame. Did my tweet break her? Did she feel she had no better recourse of action than to resign for what her law enforcement team did to the old lady? Does she feel very bitter with me? Will she come looking for revenge?

For the time being, I am keeping a low profile, a very low profile in a far flung district in northern Uganda, But perhaps one day I’ll meet up with her for a drink and she’ll let me know if it was I who pushed her over the edge…

Pictures: URN, Eagleonline

You're Fired!

And just like that, it all comes to an end - your job that is. Some are fortunate enough to work to retirement age when, the office throws them a party with a cake, card signed by all staff, drinks are quaffed and after about three hours of partying, off they go into the twilight. And despite promises to keep in touch, in reality, once you’ve gone, you’ve gone. A week later, nobody from your office will remember you. Instead, you will be: “Anybody remember the name of that person who retired a few days ago…?”

Of course not all people retire. Some get fired. Others dragged out of their offices, while some turn up the next day to find the locks to their offices changed overnight. When it’s time to go, we all react in different ways.

Back in the day in the US, it was a tricky affair if you were the Human Resource Manager for the US postal service. When rank-and-file employees got fired, they took it in their stride, packed their belongings into a box and went home. After two beers, they would change into military fatigues, head to the basement and a pack the odd AK-47, a couple of pistols, some grenades and return to their former workplace and mow down the entire department especially Human Resource who had fired them.

Sara, is what I would call a friend of a friend of a friend. I met her once and my assessment of her is that she is the type who is a polite introvert, went to Gayaza, then on to Makerere University though didn’t stay in halls but commuted from her parents’ house and currently, she probably holds down some insignificant job with one of the corporate companies.

I was right. She did go to Gayaza, she was a polite introvert and she used to have an insignificant in one of the corporate companies. However, there is a BUT in that she went out of her way to mask her dark side. When Human Resource called Sara to her office with the bad news that she was being let go, of course she had nothing to worry about because Sara was the polite office introvert.

With papers served and termination cheque in hand, Sara stood up to leave but didn’t make a move towards the door. Instead, she flung herself over the desk administered a few hot slaps at Human Resource, bit her three times in the neck and tore her blouse to what witnesses described as ‘strips of pasta’. By the time help arrived, all the possible living the daylights had been flogged out of Human Resource.

I used to work with Cliff aka ‘shifty eyes’. Shifty Eyes joined us on the backbone of a presentation he had made to the bosses of how he could turn the company round in a matter of months. But he didn’t deliver and perhaps sensing he might be rumbled, when we went home after work, it was the last time we ever heard of him.

In due course, his e-mail account was deactivated and the day his cellphone number was removed from the office WhatApp Group, I bumped into him that evening. The conversation that unraveled went along these lines.

Shifty Eyes: “TB, have I been fired because my name was removed from the WhatsApp Group?”

TB: “You’ve been AWOL for three weeks so what do you think?”               

Shifty Eyes: “Hmm, do you think I should come in tomorrow and speak to Jad (the boss)?”

TB: “Jeez, WTF you been smoking!?!

However, some people have no reaction at all like House-ee, Askari and Waitress because they ‘fire’ themselves. Whenever they let it be known that they want to go to kyalo to see their sister or to bury, just know they won’t be coming back.

Pictures: Internet

What's With All The Fuss About Soya...?

         

There is, something about Soya in Bunga – a ribbon of little shops, a gas station – Haas, Woodland Supermarket but more importantly, the cluster of insignificant bars that occupy Nadduli Trading Centre. To be candid, there isn’t much to scribble home about Nadduli’s, except of course, that the locals have re-named the main road that runs by it from Ggaba Road to ‘Siren Road’.

The Only Time Soya Has No Traffic Is Sunday At 7:30am 

Right by Haas petrol station, there is a crossroad that in the twilight, causes a traffic nightmare. Okay so Traffic-In Charge at Kabalagala Police Station makes it a point to deploy a traffic officer at the junction, but the officer, has a huge overweight belly that I doubt he would get past three squat-thrusts at the police training school in Masindi. All that Overweight Belly Officer does at that junction, is to absentmindedly flay his left arm as he calls traffic forward while in his right, he holds a walkie talkie or in Ugandan speak, a radio call.

The only time he attempts to move his overweight self, is when the sirens of the lead convoys the ferry those deemed to be important people who are hidden behind the tinted windows of their 4x4s as they drive past. Talking of siren convoys that exasperate - Top Judge in land probe, PM Rugunda’s convoy returning to town after dropping him home, anybody driving a police pick-up, police Subaru, army 4x4 – except that of affande Ivan Koreta. Suffice to say, Koreta’s driver always respects traffic regulations regardless of whether Koreta is in the ride or not. But that’s to be expected because Koreta is an officer and a gentleman too. However, there is Driver and Bodyguard of one of the members of the first family who just have no respect. Nuff said on them.

Maria. She Runs Nampeera Enterprises

One of the more popular bars is that of Nampeera’s - run by her daughter Maria. I am not sure why the crowd flocks to Nampeera’s – if it’s because of Maria’s appealing looks, the 3k beer or the pork. One of the regulars at Nampeera’s is Norman. I don’t know where Norman gets the kaboozi that he spiels out, but it’s very comical and sufficient to qualify him as an omwogezi at a kwanjula.

Norman In The Hat

As for Kalamba Man, he can’t sit still for more than three minutes and spends his time drifting between the mobile money shop, Mbabazi’s and Nampeera’s.  Olga on the other hand, we all wonder at how she never topples over in the skyscraper heels that she wears. There is also Leonard, who used to be MD at NSSF, and Musawo Benjamin who sit together with he (Leonard) harping on incessantly on something to do with farming. 

Kalamba 'Man'

Next to Nampeera’s is Mbabazi’s where the zungu’s – John and Don sit and watch the traffic go by as they drink Club beer. John never says much – perhaps because age has caught up with him and he has said everything that there is to say while, Marvin always sits alone uttering his: “Easy like a Sunday morning” catchphrase whenever he sees you.

Kizai is also a regular and whose conversations if you drop in on them, ‘seemingly’ knows just about every important person there is Kenya while Paddy, he has this tradition of buying a beer, heading back to his ride, sitting in the driver’s seat with one leg out of the window and talking endlessly on the phone.

Some Of The Soya Regulars

The Soya bars aside, one thing that draws people to the area is pork. There is Kityo who, I am sure has spent more than half of his life in the kitchen inhaling pork fumes and who is the master pork roaster while Birungi the server, walks about in some sort of daze that she most times forgets to put salt or pepper on the orders.

And folks, that’s usually how it rolls in Soya….