The Year Is Nigh!

I am more than a trifle concerned. I am concerned because come Tuesday – 25th December to be precise, there is going to be a Christian jihad.


There is something about religion and Christmas day that I don’t click. It is one of those days when people run amok. And the thing is, they start doing it at least three days before Christmas. They rush out to the stores to buy just about everything that is on sale even if they don’t need it. It is only when they get home that they realize that they don’t need what they bought so they wrap it up and then off load them at the next kwanjula or wedding that they attend.

If they are not busy buying up everything that they can possibly buy from Nakumatt or Uchumi, then they are on Luwum Street looking for shoes, a shirt, blouse or a pair of trousers for Christians, believe that when they go to church on Christmas day, they have to wear new vaz because they have to impress.

Excuse me!? Why would I go out and buy new vaz to pay homage to some zungu who did not shave, go to school, and was born in a barn where the pigs, sheep and cows were sleeping. And then when the zungu got older, he did not aspire to be a doctor or an aeronautical engineer Rather, he went into juju because how to you explain feeding a crowd of people who could fill up Namboole Stadium on just five loaves of bread and two fish!

The funny thing, if Pastor Gary Skinner or Robert Kayanja did that, the tabloids would be screaming out everything from juju to witchcraft.

But I am a sane person. I have not fallen for the Christmas prank of going out to buy everything I can possibly buy from Uchumi or Nakumatt. I have also not gone down to Luwum Street to buy new vaz and certainly come Christmas day, I will not be in church listening to the ramblings of some old fogey who has given himself a title like priest, vicar, archbishop or bishop for I have better things to do.

Anyway enough of religion, and let’s move on to something more interesting don’t you think?

A week ago I was invited to a smoker’s convention and at this point I would like to state that: SMOKING CAN KILL. But I live life on the edge so of course I ignored that that statement for I had to be there. The function was at Club Venom in the mall opposite Quality Cut’s in Kabalagala and the funny thing is this. Why hold a smokers convention in a club that is a no smoking club?

I you wanted to light up, you had to go outside. Secondly, in this club they did not sell beer like Tusker, Bell or Club. They brew their own beer which is served to you in a pitcher for 20k.

Tumbavu to that so I told the event organizers and promptly made an exit to find something better to do.

As I end, I know I have to say this. I don’t really want to but as I type it out, I am biting my tongue and hoping that one of my editors will read it and say: “Hey this is not TB’s style. TB does not say things like this” and promptly delete what you are about to read next. I wish you all a happy Christmas and all the best for 2013.

That was tight.

The Kwanjula

Sanjay Patel, is an authority on fireworks for he has been dealing with them for a number of years. And he will tell you that they are ‘explosives’ and are not to be taken lightly. They can burn and even blind if they are not handled correctly.

So I am at a kwanjula that was beset with issues from the start. But I will start off with the fireworks. Well they weren’t really fireworks that shoot up into the skies but mini ones that sparkle. Once the cake was cut, Chap who thought he was Sanjay Patel lit a couple of them. As soon as he lit them, it was obvious that something was bound to go wrong. He kept directing the sparkles into the guests and for the fear of going blind, I did the needful and shielded my eyes.

There were a couple of fly looking girls who, were dancing round the cake and that is where Chap took himself next. He lit up another one but got too close to one of the girls that her hair caught fire! This is no joke. Her hair was in flames with a plume of smoke billowing out of it.

This is what happened next. The girl had no idea that her hair was on fire so Chap did the needful and battered her head in a bid to put out the flames. It worked but in the process of battering her head, she was elbowing him in the ribs and in an act of ‘self defence’. I should not have laughed seeing I was sitting on the front row but I had to as it was comical.

Still on the kwanjula, it was one that appeared to have a tight budget. Yes I know not everybody can afford to have a lavish one, but in some instances especially when it comes to service providers, you might have to think twice when going for the cheaper option.

The chap who provided the PA system let everybody down. From the start, the microphones were not working. And when they worked, there was feedback – a screech that had us covering our ears for the best part of the function.

And what was the DJ up to? He thought he was playing music for school kids on holiday because the volume level was so high that every two minutes or so, the spokesmen had to keep on telling him to tone it down. Even when the two spokesmen were doing their thing, he ashamedly, saw no harm in playing a song or two.

If the DJ was that bad, it was the one of the photographers who took the biscuit.

Do you know those tacky pictures of weddings and kwanjula’s that you sometimes see in the papers? I now know who is responsible for them.

Photographer was in his element in trying to get the groom and the bride to pose in what he presumed was an award winning pose. At one point when the couple were sitting on the sofa he thought it would be a good idea to place a bouquet of flowers on the headrest in between them.

He also thought it a good idea to have their hands entwined while holding wine glasses and flowers. What was he on – crack cocaine?

Finally there were the caterers who, saw it fit to turn up four hours late. Their excuse? Traffic. And after keeping us waiting for four hours, the food was nothing to write home about. Biting into the chicken luwombo was akin to biting into a piece of rubber!

As end, I still feel for the girl who had her hair burnt and have to wonder what chemicals she had in it to make it so flammable.  

When Opportunity Knocks

When opportunity knocks, grab it by the balls and don’t let them go. This is my Sunday tale.

Affande is one of those affande’s who is likeable. Yes, he is in the army and was recently promoted and he is the commandant of a military facility in Kampala but one thing he never does, is to flaunt the pips on his shoulders. He is down to earth, reserved and speaks well.  

A couple of weeks ago, along with a friend of Indian origin, we were off a pork joint at the MTN switch in Bugolobi. But rather than eating the pork in Bugolobi, we had it packed so we could eat it with LP, who was waiting for us at Kilama’s, which is just past Zone 7 in Mbuya.

Now this is where things get tricky. At Kilama’s the TV was on and spewing out the excited commentary of a sports anchor and something to do with Tusker CECAFA football. Not being a sports person, there was a need to find out what CECAFA was all about.

Ten seconds into the explanation and I was bored in feeling your Sunday needs, I will not bore you with what I was told, but if you persist in wanting to know what CECAFA is all about, I suggest you read the back pages of this newspaper for in this column, you have a more interesting read like the pork we got from Bugolobi. Exactly!

With the pork packed, we were in Affande’s Pajero or ‘mamba’ as he calls it and ten minutes later we took up our seats at Kilama’s in the middle of a semi rowdy crowd of CECAFA football fanatics.

Akodi, the young lady who helps out at the shop did the needful and served us the pork on a metallic plate, the size of a tyre rim on your average Squeeze ride – some Toyota brand called a Spacio. Or is it a Raum?

As Akodi put the plate down, the crowd that had been into screaming football was no longer into screaming football. The waft, the smell, the delights of a plate of pork mixed with cabbage and whatever else the Pork Roaster and put in derailed the crowd. CECAFA ceased to exist. It was pork that now existed.

And I saw him. He had sat at the back near the road in a yellow Obote II era shirt. But just like that, he was no longer sitting at the back but on the fringes of our plate of pork and yes, he went for it – the piece, the succulent one that Affande, Clement, LP and I had all been eye balling. I don’t think he even chewed it for no sooner had he put it into his mouth he was reaching for another piece.

Obviously, I was vexed but it was not for making noise because I thought he was Affande’s friend. Affande in turn thought he was Clement’s friend and Clement thought he was LP’s friend while LP thought he was my friend.

So we ate our pork with our new friend who ate the bulk of it. And when we were done, he asked for water so we could wash our hands, tooth picks so we could pick our teeth and serviettes so we could dry our hands.

And he was gone. He had gone back to CECAFA. And while he was at CECAFA we all asked ourselves who he was and that is when reality set in. We didn’t know him.

He on the other hand had seen opportunity and took it. He had free pork and beer on us. But that does not really irk me.

What does is that he went for THAT piece of pork! THE succulent one that was wrapped up in cabbage and with MY name stapled on it. IT WAS MY PIECE! So you man in the Obote II era shirt, when I next see you, just flee UG the way Obote did when Okello and Okello were breathing down his neck in 1985.

  

A change in The PGB and The MTN Kampala Marathon

It has been a while since I have had an altercation with the Presidential Guard Brigade (PGB). Then, some of them were aloof, downright rude and unable to think outside the box.

They would bark without thinking. And when they checked your car, it would be the glove box because that is where people who have guns supposedly keep them.

My relationship with them was so bad that they would give me a hard time and I in turn would try to make life for them a misery.

Recently I was at the COMESA summit meeting in Speke Resort Munyonyo – not because I was a delegate or that I had a contribution to make to the summit but to lend a hand to Greg Petzer and Akilesh Malik who run the resort.

Since a number of heads of state attended the meeting, PGB were deployed and the beef that we have for each other was bound to surface.

However, there were some changes. The rank and file soldiers that were deployed to man the road blocks and the outer perimeter of the resort had changed. They were no longer rude, arrogant and aloof. Rather, they employed words that were previously alien to them. Words like: ‘good morning, have a nice day, would you mind if we checked you car’ and so on.

I was in shock but happy that the powers that be realized what a negative image the PGB had and had decided to do something about it.

However change is not perfect. While the PGB boys who wear uniform have changed for the better, those who wear plain clothes have not. They use foul language, they don’t want you standing anywhere and given the chance, they would rather not have anybody who is not PGB in the resort when the president is around.

There were a few exceptions like Nathan Katana who had a practical approach to some of the problems that sprung up and went out of his way to solve them. The powers that be at PGB should take the president’s inner core security detail for a course in public relations for if that is done, the public perception about them would change for the better.

Last Sunday was the MTN Kampala Marathon and over the past nine years, the event gets bigger and bigger. Such is its success that this year New Vision jumped on the band wagon in sponsoring terms.

But there is something that has baffled me for the past nine years. When women dress up for the marathon what do they think they are going to do? Do they think they are going to a party? Yes they do! This year a good number of them turned up wearing high heels. If they didn’t wear high heels they were wearing ballet shoes!

There were also a good number who turned and did not bother running but stood around the airstrip as if trying to bring some glamour to the place.

And then there are people who have for the past week been telling everybody how they run the marathon and this is where I burst their bubble. The only people who ran the marathon are the people who took part in the 42km race!

While the race was on, I was making myself comfortable in the MTN hospitality tent. And trust me it wasn’t easy quaffing down all those Tuskers while the race was on. My arm now hurts from lifting all those bottles.        

Mind Your English

There are a number of utterances that people spew out that simply don’t make sense. Some people so I think, don’t actually think about what they are going to say before they say it so whatever first springs to mind is what they throw out.

Greg Petzer is a white South African who has been living in Uganda 2007 when the CHOGM Summit was on. His wife and three kids also joined him in Kampala a few months later when he took up the position of General Manager at Speke Resort Munyonyo.

When his family jetted in, I met both his wife and kids and then, his kids spoke what I would call near perfect English.

However as time went on, the quality of their English began to change that today, they speak English the Ugandan way. Here are a few classic examples.

First Come: “First come.” What on earth is first come? They used to be a time when called people simply blurted out the word ‘come’ and that was that. Then somebody decided it wasn’t enough and prefixed it with the word first. Why would anybody want to do that?

Just: Ask people why they were doing this or that and the most likely response is going to be ‘just’. So the conversation between the Julius and I went along the following lines.

TB: Julius why are you doing what you are doing?”

Julius: “Just”.

TB: “Just? What do you mean?”

Julius: “Just”.

I was obviously going to get nowhere so I left it at that. And this just word, is one that is favoured by students especially those at Makerere University.

I am here: This one is a classic for it always takes place by telephone. On a good number of occasions I have called up people to ask them where they are and the response given is: “I am here.” And when you press them further and ask what they mean by that they will still respond by saying that they are here. Is it really a burden to simply tell some exactly where you are?

Where are you coming from: This is a favorite of receptionists and security guards. Back in the day I had gone to meet Maria Kiwanuka at her Radio One office. When I got there, Receptionist asked: “Where are you coming from?” The question sort of threw me but I did respond and told her I was coming from home. To that she retorted, “No, I mean where are you coming from?” Confused, I told her the Old Taxi Park for I had taken a taxi from home.

I later found out that what she wanted to know where it is that I worked.

Do you know why we stopped you: This is the preserve of the traffic cops. On the numerous occasions that I get stopped in Namuwongo, I am asked if I know the reason they stopped me. I once tried to be sarcastic and told Female Traffic Cop that if she didn’t know why she had stopped me she ought to go to Butabika and have her head examined and that maybe the doctors there will be able to help you remember. Needleless to say she went mental on me and fined me for having a broken tail light.

They sent me: Blue collar workers like this one. When you ask them who sent you, the response is always: “They sent me.” Yes we know you were sent but who exactly sent you?      

Cleaning Away The Poop

I really don’t mean to ruin your Sunday or your appetite, but if you are reading this article as you eat, stop right here, finish your food then read.

You may think that I am lying when you read my first tale today but it is true.  I do love my pork and recently, I was introduced to a pork place that is a stone throw way from the MTN switch in Bugolobi. The pork place also has a car washing bay and a couple of container shops.

It also has a toilet but not of the water flushing kind so I guess that makes it a pit latrine not so? Of course it does! But there is never any toilet tissue – not that it has bothered me because I have never felt the need to go poop when I am there. And even if I did feel the need to poop whilst I was there, I would take a short leave of absence and drive down to Chris Ireland’s Jazz Ville and leave the poop there, or save it for when I get home.

Getting back like I said, the pit latrine has no toilet paper so for the people who want to poop, how do they clean themselves up?  

Going by the stains on the walls, it is all too evident that some people use their hands then wipe the mess off on the walls! How gross can people get?

So who could the culprits be? Are they the women who work in the container shops? Perhaps it could be the chaps who wash the cars for they are the kind, the kind who don’t give a hoot about personal hygiene. Then again it could be the men who roast the pork or worse still, the women who prepare the avocado, tomatoes and cassava?

With that when the man presented the pork, I looked at his hands and they looked clean enough but when the woman served the cassava, avocado and tomatoes, her hands looked like they had dabbled in a spot of poop smearing.

So I passed on the cassava, tomatoes and avocado. I could have told Paulo, LP and Indian Friend with Long Hair about my suspicions but I kept quiet for they seemed to be enjoying the avocado, tomatoes and cassava that might have been handled by hands that had dabbled in smearing poop on the walls  

Moving on, there is the COMESA summit coming up in the next couple of weeks at Speke Resort Munyonyo and KCCA is doing its best to smarten up the Gaba road in a bid to impress the delegates. And while I do agree that since KCCA came into being there have been some improvements in trying to keep the city clean one thing that I don’t get is what is with sweeping dust off the roads?

In Namuwongo, and on a daily basis, every morning an army of women descend onto the roads to sweep dust off the roads which they then pile up at the side of the road.

And in this rainy season, the rain washes the piles of gathered dust back onto the roads so the following morning, the women will once again sweep the roads of the dust and again pile up the dust by the side of the road. And this is something that goes on forever.

Maybe the policy makers at KCCA have a formula that I have yet to grasp so could someone please educate me? Jennifer, are you there?

Indian Friend With Long Hair

Indian friend with long hair is a person who I would describe as being an amiable man. He also goes with the flow and very few things irk him – or so I thought.

At Kilama’s which is both a shop and bar where he drinks from, there is a Billy goat that is tied to a tree on the way to the washrooms – if at all they can be called washrooms.

As far as I am aware, Billy Goat does not bother anybody though at times it takes on an aggressive stance when you walk past him. But it is all harmless and I am sure Billy Goat does it in a joking manner.

One day Indian Friend with Long Hair comes back from the washrooms all hot and bothered. When asked what had irked him, he said he been involved in a fight with Billy Goat.

His story sounded a trifle farfetched for why would he get involved in a melee with Billy Goat? But he had and he says when he walked past it, Billy Goat adopted a menacing stance – something that did not go down well with him so there was a need to assure him (Billy Goat).

Okay so he didn’t exactly tell us how he had goofed Billy Goat save for throwing a punch at him. However, when I walked past Billy Goat he showed no signs of being dazed from the punch he was supposed to have received.

Rather Billy Goat was in an ecstatic mood. So ecstatic he was that he was sporting an erection that would make most she-goats blush. And that got me thinking. Did Billy Goat think that Indian Friend with Long Hair was a she-goat? Was Indian Friend with Long Hair rather peeved that Billy Goat had chosen to show him his erection and perhaps had rubbed himself against Indian Friend with Long Hair as he walked past? To Indian Friend with Long Hair, is it possible that my version of events could be correct?

Still with Indian Friend with Long Hair, he has been a ‘naughty boy’ in that he chose to get LP pregnant thrice. Perhaps he has not exactly been a naughty boy because these days more and more couples are opting to have children before they married. What LP’s parents thought or said when she got pregnant, that we don’t know.

Last week he decided to pop the question and LP went into a frenzied spell that only the female species would be able to understand. Like somebody with a bad stammer she kept on saying: “I’m going to get married” over and over again.      

But why couldn’t she take it in her stride like Indian Friend with Long Hair did or I did? We were blasé about it all and merely ordered for another beer each while asking ourselves where Affande went and what time the pork man would turn up.

Four hours later and in the background and in all the noise from a football match on television, the local drunk blabbering gibberish and the passing traffic, I could still hear the unmistakable words of “I’m going to get married’ being uttered by LP.

In seeing LP so happy and in a happiness that I have never seen on her before, Indian Friend with Long Hair, you had better come through and marry her for if you don’t, don’t be surprised when one evening she comes bed with a machete!