Screwdrivers and Pliers Are Not Sex Toys

Along came New Zealander, Philip Lyle Hansen.

Matters of the bedroom were once considered a taboo subject that the mere mention of word the word sex, would have Vicar hauling you in for a session of ‘cleansing prayers’. You see, society then, never said: “Last night I had sex”. Rather, they said: “Last night, I lay with a woman.”

Today society and sex have changed. We are liberal and so is sex. Sex is in our faces – on billboards, magazines, television, radio and newspapers. It’s also in the bufunda’s as we talk about it over a TML and it’s also on WhatsApp – just ask Desire Luzinda.

Sex is also big business on the stock market. Ann Summers, the British high street shop that specializes in sex toys and lingerie, last year, posted sales in excess of £100 million.

Here, Senga has be forced to up her lectures that when she goes to kasiki’s, she now goes with a case filled with toys and gadgets - all designed to please in the bedroom.

The parameters of sex as our parents and grandparents knew it are a thing of the past. These days when we go to the bedroom for sawa ya malavu, apart from taking Wifey or Girlfie, we also take Luther Vandross, Barry White, handcuffs, lacy lingerie and chocolates – which I am cool with – each man and woman to their own so I believe.

Now this where the upper-cased BUT comes in and I guess you saw it coming. In our zeal for a more liberating sex life, we have walked to the end of the world and fallen into the abyss like the New Zealander, Philip Lyle Hansen has.

Hansen likes women – which, is a good thing.

However, he likes ‘gummy’ women and by that, I mean – wait for it, wait for it, he likes women without teeth! Lol, that’s a tight one, but like I said, each man and woman to their own.

When Hansen takes women to bed, his bedroom is not romantic. There are no scented candles, no chocolates on the bedside and no Luther or Barry serenading in the background.

Rather, he has a mechanics tool box – much like the one that Car Mechanic who works near campus has – you know, the one that contains dirty and oily rags, plus pliers and screwdrivers. Somewhere in the middle of sex and as his sexual pleasure takes his mojo to a new height, he whips out the screwdriver and pliers and starts doing some dentistry – as in yanking out the teeth of the women he is having sex with - without their consent. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

New Zealand Crown Prosecutor, Sally Carter, told court in Wellington last week, that he (Hansen) pulled out six of her client’s teeth during sex and then used an oily rag to stem the bleeding. Client who can’t be named for legal reasons told court that she was afraid of saying “no” when the yanking started. Jeez.

Pause.

That was so disturbing and if you don’t mind, could I have a ten minute recess while I go get a breath of fresh air before I continue?

Cool?

Thanks.

I am back. Until Hansen came onto the scene, I had no idea that some men lust after women with no teeth. I tried to picture myself torn between the sheets and romancing such a woman but the picture was too fuzzy and failed to materialize – thank God! As for Client, allowing six of her teeth to be pulled out…? I really don’t know what to say.

Do you?

With that, I can see our parents and grandparents stepping in and putting me in a corner to be berated along these lines: “Listen up TB, in our day when we took Woman home to bed, we would roll up her nightie and lay with her for five minutes with the lights turned off. Once done, we rolled off and slept.
That was enough for us. Now tell us why you and the rest of your generation want to take Woman to bed along with Barry White, Teddy Pendegrass, pliers, screwdrivers, WhatsApp or toys from Senga and Ann Summers?”

Hmm, they might just have a point. 

This article was deemed too risqué to appear my Sunday Vision column this Sunday by the censor board 

Sista, Ugandan Men Are Brilliant!

Ugandan men, we are brilliant. Seriously, we are. We are a  president, kings, mayors, captains of industry, nightclub owners, distance runners, while our brothers in the western world invented just about everything from philosophy, medicine, architecture, telephone, trains, and the internet.

And we’ve also shown our global insanity with Boko Haram, Joseph Kony, Bin Laden, Adolph Hitler, ISIS and SA Xenophobia.

The Uganda we live in today would be nothing without John Akii-Bua, Milton Obote, James Mulwana and William Kalema or Bendicto Kiwanuka, YK Museveni, William Nadiope and others who have all contributed immeasurably to our modern lives.

So why, is it that today, we men are being put down by Sister? Dissing men and everything we stand for is a not only a Ugandan woman thing, but fashionable to millions of women round the world. +

If we do something well, we are told it’s because as men, everything was handed to us on a plate — at the expense of the females in the family who, were forced to drop out of school so their fees could be used to send the boys on to have a good education — and not because we’re skilled and work hard.

If a young Kivumbi is seduced by his female teacher, it’s brushed away. But if a young Jacinta has an affair with her male teacher, off to Luzira he goes and faster than Miria Matembe, can whip her feminists into frenzy by shouting: “Let’s go riot and burn our bras”.

Women’s issues are at the forefront with government funding. They have, voices who will stand in their defence while we, have nobody. We are of no interest to MPs, charities, UN or AU panels. If we want somebody to fight our corner, we have to have to do it ourselves.

Mothers like to nurture the baby they’ve been carrying for nine months, while we work – which is ok. Women carry life so we provide for that life. That’s our identity as fathers and what we bring to the table. It’s been like that way before John Speke ‘discovered’ the source of the Nile. When we get home and spend time with our children, we give it our all, but still get put down.

Today, women are in high paying URA, Price Waterhouse and KCCA jobs. So why are we men still expected to pay for nights out to Silk Lounge, Ange or Ntinda for pork – or for those things that don’t concern us like tampons or visits to the salon? Men have lost count of the number of times they have sat in KFC, Panamera or Sheraton observing fellow man financing dinner while, Sista looks away and points her nose in the air when the bill is presented — even though, she is on talk time and not pay-as-you-go, has a company ride and earns in excess of sh8m take home.

That’s why we don’t show our chivalrous side. We want to hold doors open for our women, but if we do, it goes to her head in an absurd way and she gets mputu, so we’ve chilled that line though, it would have been a respectful gesture to do.

Men – from Mawokota to Paidha, Kaabong to Kabwohe and beyond, are not bemoaning the successes of the Jennifer Musisi’s or Allen Kagina’s, but asking that a dude be given some respect, because at the moment, we’re being ‘de-toothed’ on a grand scale — like when we invite Sista out (alone) but she turns up with three bitchy friends who we are supposed to cater for, then drop home in the depths of Naalya yet we live on the other side of town – with not even a thank you in the offering from them.

Dudes, are you with me on this?

King Oyo Was Right To Put His Mayinja's on Display

Rukirabasaija Oyo Nyimba Kabamba Iguru Rukidi IV and I have little in common. He has more names than I have, he is the IVth in a long line of Rukirabasaija Oyo Nyimba Kabamba Iguru Rukidi’s and he is a king, which, I am not. And if were to shorten his name like many people are frond of shortening mine from Timothy to Timo, I would have shortened his from Oyo to Yo, but seeing he is a king, I guess that would be highly improper.

Though I have been to a number of functions thrown by his kingdom and which he attended, I have only had the pleasure of actually talking to him once. In that brief conversation, I thought him to be an intelligent and reserved young man who was acutely aware that everybody in the ballroom was looking at him and that as a king, there are something’s he can and can’t do – especially in public.

Unlike other Ugandan kings who have hit the headlines for the wrong reasons, it’s hard to recall a time that King Oyo has been dragged through the mud.

However, last week, social media especially Facebook, went into overdrive over a picture of him at Kabaka Mutebi’s 60^th birthday bash. He was shown sitting with one leg crossed over his knee while holding Buganda Kingdom Katikkiro Peter Mayiga hand and seemingly uninterested in what he (Mayiga) had to say and not making eye contact with him.

Comments ranged from: “Omwana alina empisa embi. Period. King or no king, he is not the first we have seen. Where is his eye contact? Why is he sitting cross legged? Fr. Grimes would have been so disappointed.” Another post read: “Oyo needs character lessons” to “his posture reeks of arrogance, not refinement or the buoyancy of a king.”

How else should he have sat? Did they want him to be subservient and have his legs hidden under his chair? Did they want him to sit like a passenger in a matatu with feet straight down and unable to stretch them out or cross them?

With the Baganda, a young boy sitting with his legs crossed and in full view of the elders and worse, right next to Kabaka, that’s not on, it’s insulting!

However, Oyo didn’t cross his legs to disrespect the Baganda, Kabaka Mutebi or Katikkiro Mayiga - far from it. He was simply trying to hold his own. Like the six other Emirs who form the UAE, when those Emirs meet with their richer and more powerful Emir from Dubai, they also try to hold their own. They walk tall and stand tall just like Downtown Shopping Mall Millionaire who suddenly finds himself in the same room as say Sudhir Ruparelia. He will try and stand tall and have a swag look about him that reads: “I too have a dime.”

Buganda Kingdom is bigger than Toro Kingdom and King Oyo pulled of a coup. He could not afford to cower or look intimidated in the House of Mutebi. He had to hold his ground. He had to show that his kingdom has a bite, has the ability to be bullish and is not one to be ruffled.

The way I read his posture and with a lack of a better way of putting it - with his ‘mayinja’s’ on display and seemingly uninterested in what Mayiga had to say, was as follows: “Yes I am a young king from a small kingdom, but don’t be thinking you can step on me or my subjects. I am a king and it is my preserve to show you and the rest that I, Rukirabasaija Oyo Nyimba Kabamba Iguru Rukidi IV can hold my own." 

So deal with it. 

Like Jeremy Clarkson, M7, Kabaka, House-ee Also Make Job Demands

In the new job, there are people who have the clout to make demands before they sign on the dotted line. Those demands can be anything from setting salary, the kind of company car, entertainment allowance to first class travel. They have the clout to make those demands because most likely they have been headhunted and Headhunter needs them more they need him (Headhunter).

When most of us land a job, making demands is something we don’t do and quickly sign on the dotted line in case, HR decides “we are being difficult” and offers it to somebody else.

But that doesn’t mean we won’t make demands down the road once we’ve built up a power base and have the clout to hold the company to ransom.

When Jeremy Clarkson joined BBC’s Top Gear, he was a two bit presenter with zero demand clout, as did his co-hosts, Richard Hammond and James May. However, once the show took off and it became a huge earner for the BBC coffers, Clarkson, May and Hammond took hold of their clout and started demanding. And the BBC gave them everything lest they quit the show.

Such was their clout that while relaxing during breaks from hosting the Top Gear events, their demands bordered on the ridiculous. Ridiculous or not, the BBC obliged.

Requests included over 20 bottles of Veuve Clicquot Champagne, Cloudy Bay Pinot Noir, Sauvignon Blanc wine and a Chateau Leoube rosé which at Clarkson’s insistence, must be ‘pale dry and preferably southern France.’

If that runs out, they must have two dozen bottles of Peroni beer, Bombay Sapphire gin plus tonic, ice and lemon, all chilled in a fridge or cooler cabinet with at least four shelves.

Drinks must be served on linen covered tables, while a sofa must be provided with ‘enough room to seat six people, one of whom is 6ft 3in and likes to lie down’. They also insisted on Dove deodorant, hair wax, ‘nice rubbish bins’ and a coat stand – ‘NOT a rail!’

The relaxing rooms must have a rug if there are no carpets, mood lighting, a TV with a good speaker system, Sky Sports, movies, an array of films on DVD and green plants - ideally bamboo plus cartons of Marlboro Lights, Camel and Marlboro Menthol Lights for smoker Clarkson.

But it’s not only Clarkson, Hammond and May who make job demands. Closer to home, President Museveni, Kabaka Ronald Mutebi and House-ee have also made ‘demands’ though they waited till they had the clout before they made a move.

When M7 became president in 1986, he didn’t demand for a new Gulfstream private jet straight away. He made do with the one he was given when he took the job. But some years down the line when he felt he had enough clout, he made enough noise that Treasury relented and bought him a new one.

So did Kabaka Mutebi who didn’t really make any demands before he took to the throne. What he did was to wait till he was very solid in the job then started demanding that Government give him land, back rent, a palace here and there. Seeing that he had the clout, what did Government do? They caved in to his demands and gave him what he asked for.

House-ee has also gotten wind of the clout move. She waits till she gets leave and goes to the village where she chills beyond her due-to-return date. When she does that, what do we do? We make desperate calls to her, to her parents and aunts begging her to return then cave in to her clout by offering her a pay rise as well as sending her dime to bring her back to town.

If the demand gambit can work for M7, Kabaka, House-ee, Clarkson, May and Hammond, why can’t it work for us too? With that in mind, tomorrow, I’m not going to work until I get a call from HR telling me to go to Spear Motors to pick my new company ride. You hear me Boss?

Breathalyzers At Silk, Ange, Panamera...? Howly!

All is not well for Beer Peddler because Beer Boss is messing up his turf. Back in the day, things were straight forward that when Beer Peddler sold us alcohol, his mandate was to the point and explicit: “Sell as much beer and spirits as possible”.

If we got drunk, it was not his problem. If we drove home while inebriated, again, not his issue. All he cared about was sitting in his office on Monday morning looking smug while telling Beer Boss: “I have hit my targets, now bring on the bonus.”

But then out of the blue, Beer Boss got a guilt trip, got all responsible and introduced the ‘responsible drinking’ campaign.

The responsible drinking campaign, quite rightfully saw the introduction of police breathalyzer roadblocks that today, at least those who have been caught and have done a stint in the cooler are now mindful enough not to drive home whilst drunk.

However, Beer Boss in Europe has pushed the responsible drinking campaign up a notch and there is a good chance that the notch will one day make its way down to Uganda and put us at logger heads with Desh Kananura, Charlie Lubega and Elvis Sekyanzi.

Get this. Before you walk into a club in Europe, Beer Boss has deployed a breathalyzer - to make sure we are not drunk because “new age clubber is sober”.

Should I pause while you kick away that flea ridden stray cat, take stock and compose yourself with another beer like I did when I heard about it before I continue?

You now composed? Beer Boss wants us to be sober when we walk into Panamera, Ange, Silk and other clubs and if need be, have us breathalysed to be certain.

Let me put it into context. A week ago, Billy Ocean was in town. As he did his thing and got us jammin’ and stompin’, we were drinking and the more we drank, the more we stomped that when the curtain came down, we were on an such an Oceanoholic high, there was no way it was going to be an abrupt, ‘The End’ like it happens in the movies. 

The night had to continue into a nightclub and with more drinks.

When we got to Silk, Ange or Panamera, Beer Boss need not have consulted Toxicologist at Mulago Hospital to tell him that in our inebriated state, our livers and kidneys were working overtime while the nostalgic oldies frenzy of the Ocean concert, not remembering walking through the metal detectors or Bouncer patting us down is how we are supposed to walk into a club if it’s going to end up being a night for World Cup.

So imagine getting to the door of Silk or Ange or Panamera in such a high to find a breathalyzer and worse, being turned away because we are over the limit. Will that go down? No, it so won’t!

But back in London, it does go down because Mark Fuller, who owns Embassy Club in Mayfair and whose clients are breathalysed before they are allowed in says “the number of fights in the club have reduced because people are sober”.

What Beer Boss and Fuller don’t comprehend is that when Ugandans go clubbing, we go there to dance, to make very merry and if we are lucky enough, get a random snogo or pick up ‘a stray’ and – not to melee as happens in Europe. Clubbing is our final frontier where the plot is lost, where we do something silly that’s worthy of a Kampala Sun mention before we go home. 

Assuming Charlie, Elvis and Desh were not following, we do need breathalyzers to grab those driving whilst drunk but not to stop us from getting into your clubs. Who knows, but our WAGs might pick up on the idea and start introducing them at home and you don't want us sleeping in our cars overnight do you Elvis, Desh and Charlie? 

Do Women Need To Reconnect With Their Cats?

Father Simon Lokodo, so I understand, is minister of ethics and integrity and hazarding a snippet at what his job description entails, “something to do with society and behaviour?” 

I think.

Anyway, he has beef with we in the media for – Abanooya on Bukedde TV and Blind Date on NTV – which he states, “promote prostitution.” Hmm!

What about Senga who teaches Bride-To-Be about sex and how to please? Will he send the moral police to raid hen parties and have Senga, Bride-To-Be and Girlfie’s arrested and paraded at the Media Centre as the unacceptable faces of decadent women? 

Sticking on the Senga trail, I hear her lectures are quite risqué - risqué enough to burst open the pimples that still linger on the faces of the Namagunga and Gayaza girls from their school days. Though Senga concentrates on what women need to do for men, I think there is a need to send her abroad to catch a lecture or two by US and UK Senga on what woman needs to do for herself.

Nicole Daedone is the UK Senga behind orgasmic meditation (OM). In 2001, she launched OneTaste and today she has a worldwide following of just over two million. OM so Senga Daedone says is a ‘mindfulness practice that involves stroking the upper left-hand quadrant of the clitoris for 15 minutes without interruption’.

Writing in the London Evening Standard early this month, journalist Anne-Celine Jaeger, who attended an OM seminar said: “I’m staring down the barrel of a gun. This however, is not a fashion show and the gun is a vagina spread out before us like a lotus flower. The well groomed vajayay belongs to Claudia, who along with Marc, is about to demonstrate OM. Marc begins by ‘safeporting’ – touching her thighs and moving his fingers to the hotspot where he starts shredding (guitar speak). I like that, mbu shredding. Think about it.

So, what sort of people, go to Senga Daedone’s OM seminars? “It’s not perverts” says Jaeger. The seminars are not held in backstreet dingy hotels while looking at the emergency exits in case of a moral police raid. “Everybody was there from mid-twentysomething couples to divorcees in their fifties to young mothers.” In other words, Namagunga and Gayaza girls would fit in.

Senga Daedone’s lectures are not about sexual gratification. People sign up for different reasons from ‘yearning to truly connect to others’ or as one attendee bluntly put it: “I came to reconnect with my ‘young cat”. I couldn’t use the given word that is used when referring to a young cat because it would floor Father Lokodo, you understand?

What women get out of OM is a starting point that rises, comes down, goes up again and has no agenda and cultivates energy. It’s here, it’s there, it’s everywhere and the end is a symphony of highs, a confluence of individuals so harmonious, so in tune like Berlin’s philharmonic orchestra is. There is nothing phonographic about it. It’s like poetry, touching someone’s soul along with an increase of overall vitality, energy, libido and a reduction of stress. 

Jeez! Why can't women be like us men? All we men want is to be simplistic and focus our linear goal-orientated mission of sending ‘40 million+ swimmers’ up a canal with no highs of Moses Matovu on sax and the rest Afrigo Band belting out Jim, and having a serious crash once the mission is over.

Now you see why, Senga, Namagunga and Gayaza Girl need to pack their bags and get themselves to Park Crescent Conference Centre in London to connect with their ‘cats’? And we would be cool with it.

Am sure we would.

Seeing men can attend, Father Lokodo might want to tag along and see for himself in case he decides to ban the seminars before they hit dusty streets of Kampala, Bushenyi and beyond. 

NOTE: Sunday Vision censor board found this article too risque for publication  

I'm Poor - Sh42m A Week Can't Feed My Family

Two weeks ago, this is what he told court. “I can be called a poor man. I don’t have the money to support my family...”

I’ve had to cut his statement short because, The Free Dictionary on Google is spewing out the definition of ‘poor’ which, it defines as: “Having insufficient wealth to meet the necessities or comforts of life or to live in a manner considered acceptable to society.”

Definition digested? We continue? The poor man is the Russian, Sergei Pugachev, once labelled ‘Vladimir Putin’s banker’ and who, is fighting a worldwide freeze on his $2 billion assets imposed by a London court at the request of officials in Moscow. Pugachev supposedly made his fortune siphoning off $1 billion in funds from Mezhprom Bank, which filed for insolvency in 2010.

When all your dime - $2 billion of it, is frozen by the courts, Pugachev must be justifiably poor because he has no income coming in. But wait a minute. The courts have not hung him out to dry, nor thrown him, his wife and kids onto the streets without a dime.

Rather, they told him: “Hey Pugachev, don’t worry about the Russian officials. This is London. We won’t seize your £12 million valued house, so carry on living in it. Plus we will also give you £10,000 (sh42m) a week to live on. Considering your (once) wealth, it’s not much, but with adjustments here and there, you can make do on it - can’t you?”

Are they nuts?! He screamed poverty because he can’t make ends meet and you better be holding on to your underpants and knickers for his reasoning. You see, a £10,000 a week, grace-of-court allowance, is not enough to pay for his two house-ee’s, three nannies, two drivers and wait for it, wait for it - a live-in doctor. Yes, you read right - a live-in doctor.

But Sergei, if you got rid of Driver, Nanny, Doctor and House-ee, it would save you money. Plus, why not sell off the house, buy one that’s cheaper and pocket the change?

Here, we have people who live on less than 20k-a-week, but pay rent, get to work, eat one meal a day and may have sh200 left over for one luxury – a tot pack of Royal Vodka.

If Ugandan Mullah found himself in a situation where the High Court froze his assets but was given sh42m a week to live on, would he also cry poverty? Of course he would as he tries to comprehend a ‘miserable life’ on what was once pocket change.

However Mullah, this would be your new lifestyle. There would be more rolling of the dice at Kampala Casino’s roulette tables or flying British Airways but Egypt Air. No going to Sheraton Hotel for Sunday brunch or splashing out sh10m to buy a CD that some dreadlocked ganja smoking Rasta hobbling about on one crutch is launching in Hotel Africana’s car park.

Out go the sh400m+ Mercedes, Range Rover Sport and X5 for a sh12m Toyota Premio from the bond. The 8k+ beer at Serena will be swapped for 3k beer at Nampeera’s. The Kololo mansion would be vacated for a house in Najjera at not more than sh1.5m a month. And no more splashing $4,000 per term for your very daft kids to go to international schools but, sh800,000 at a local school like Buganda Road.

If you still cry sh42m-a-week is poverty money, I’ll take you to the slums of Katanga and Kikubamutwe, where families, who given the chance to live on a mere 40k a week, would think Easter has come early and be deemed a Sudhir, a Wava or Mbire, to envied by their really pitiful neighbours who only earn 5k-a-week.