I have started and not completed over 4 posts in the last two weeks since I last posted but was never able to complete them coz my job could not allow me the time. I have recently come to the conclusion that I hate my job. And not only because I cannot read/write blogs any more. I deliberately missed this particular course on campus because I did not want to get bogged down with eternal butt kissing, but here I am at it. You might say that I sold my soul.
Of course I have been reading all your blogs, but not commenting as much except where it was absolutely impossible for me not to say anything!
I have of course gone through things during this whole time. I still can’t ride a bicycle but I can assure you that when it comes to eating raw pork at Kyadondo, I find that I excel greatly. Seeing as I do not excel at many other things, I am really happy with that achievement. No. I already have enough gold stars so don’t stress. And other things have gone on since last I posted. A guy I know went and gave his wife a ministerial post. No really. The president did. I keep thinking what his last thought was just before he slotted Janet’s name on the dotted line. God I hope Ugandan’s do not see this as nepotism. Of’ course not. ‘MY’ people would never think evil thoughts like those about me. No. by now Ugandans are so used to this sort of thing and nothing I do can surprise them anymore. In fact, I do not expect anybody to raise dust about this appointment at all. Ugandans dig me. And with that last thought, he flicked his parker pen and wrote;
State minister in charge of Karamoja; Sweetheart.
I have been wondering how he got to this conclusion and I figure, it could have gone one of these three ways. Take your pick.
Conversations with the Mistress
Darling, we have talked about this before, but I do not see you doing anything about it. When will she get out of the way? Are you even ever going to leave her? Now, now my love, do not stress your beautiful behind over it. I have a few plans in my mind. Really? Does that mean you are going to do a Kiyingyi on her? No. not that darling. But this one is even cooler. Entwining his fingers in hers, he looks at her gently and pronounces; I know, how about, I ship her off to a land far away, where network is poor, so she won’t be calling me incessantly. Then my darling you can move in here with me Monday to Friday.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and buried his head in the pillow right where it was embroidered Love Nest Motel and immediately went to sleep, content in the knowledge that he had given her a pleasant enough answer.
The one about Valentines’ day
Janet was lying around lazily drying her freshly painted toe nails imagining what hubby dearest had gotten her for Valentine’s Day never imagining that in their thirty something years of marriage he would forget just how important this day was to her. He had been hinting lately how much unattractive her underwear was getting by the day so she surely expected a gift in form of lingerie. She could not wait to try it on for him. When he came to bed at 3 that nite, he did not even bother to say anything to her, even if her shallow breathing suggested that she was still awake. The next day at breakfast, realizing that he was in trouble, and not willing to get into any confrontation, he told her that last night was a deliberate move to get her all worked up but he had a surprise for her that would sure make up for everything. And on Tuesday Feb 17th, she learned of it in her favorite tabloid. She found out just how long she would have to travel to unveil her belated Valentine ’s Day gift and was not amused. Lingerie would have done just fine.
Let’s bury the hatchet?
Yea so all those reports in the press that I was against you standing for that parliamentary post in Ruhama? Those were utterly wrong.. I have never wanted anything more in my life than for you to become an MP. I swear. I would have done anything. Yes of’ course including giving up my presidency if it meant you becoming MP. No. really. I would totally forget about any more bisanjas if you wanted me to. Your happiness is all that matters to me right now and just to prove how much I am into you furthering your political ambitions, here is a real political post. Go see if Karamoja can catch up with the rest of us.
why i should never be allowed to write press releases
Panic gripped a monitor journalist yesterday morning as he rushed to work to find out whether he was still with job. This all stemmed from a press release by the Bank of Uganda in which the people’s bank quoted one of his editorials that was the cause of wide spread panic amongst the banking elite causing them to withdraw over a billion shillings from a one Barclays Bank. Classic case of tables turned if you ask me. You see, normally journalists write such alarming stories and sit back and watch everybody else squirm, headed in the other direction. But yesterday, said Monitor journalist was the only one running in the opposite direction, everybody else queuing up at the bank having managed to beat the morning traffic. That was until they heard the announcements by Bank of Uganda on Radio assuring them that Barclays bank was still solvent at which point they all ran back home to consult with their kids what that word meant. The kids of course were not very amused because MTV cribs was just showing Lil Wayne’s joint.
Now if Bank of Uganda were not lying bastards, here is the statement they would have sent out to the public;
Yes Barclays bank is under investigation for incompetence and a host of other things most of which we shall not mention here. You are therefore advised to go and draw out your money. No. Not so soon of course. See, it would not be wise to advise you to draw all your money now, what with Barclays owing us money and all now would it? So wait home a little longer until Barclays bank sorts out its loan to Central Bank, we shall let you know when it is really time to worry. No really. We would never lie to you if we knew a bank was closing. What was that you asked? Greenland and co-operative bank? Technically, we did not lie about those ones closing down. We just did not say anything to you. Besides, that was in the past. Forgive and forget mean anything to you?
We are not lying dogs like most of you would have us believe. Just because we have not yet let you all know by way of a press release that Stanchart has fired all its marketing team because they cannot afford to pay them does not mean that they are in any kind of financial trouble. What was that? Barclays bank also fired its loans marketing team? Yea. I knew that, but surely that is not indicative of any sort of financial trouble? What do you take us or? It is true Barclays Bank bought that bank that had been going under and have since failed to impress much but surely if everybody was judged by the number of times they have failed to impress, how many of the guys would still be standing tall?
Indeed it is really unfortunate that a one Dorene deposited most of her hard earned salary on her Barclays account on Monday and it has not yet been credited to her account. What can we say? Shit happens!
Now, allow me to hand the floor over to the CEO Barclays Bank who has something important to say; “On behalf of Barclays Bank and all those who believe without seeing, shut up already about Barclays. Because at Barclays, we only close on Weekends and public holidays, but one day I am sure, we shall close and never open. Ever
signed;
Guv'nor, Bank of Uganda.
Now if Bank of Uganda were not lying bastards, here is the statement they would have sent out to the public;
Yes Barclays bank is under investigation for incompetence and a host of other things most of which we shall not mention here. You are therefore advised to go and draw out your money. No. Not so soon of course. See, it would not be wise to advise you to draw all your money now, what with Barclays owing us money and all now would it? So wait home a little longer until Barclays bank sorts out its loan to Central Bank, we shall let you know when it is really time to worry. No really. We would never lie to you if we knew a bank was closing. What was that you asked? Greenland and co-operative bank? Technically, we did not lie about those ones closing down. We just did not say anything to you. Besides, that was in the past. Forgive and forget mean anything to you?
We are not lying dogs like most of you would have us believe. Just because we have not yet let you all know by way of a press release that Stanchart has fired all its marketing team because they cannot afford to pay them does not mean that they are in any kind of financial trouble. What was that? Barclays bank also fired its loans marketing team? Yea. I knew that, but surely that is not indicative of any sort of financial trouble? What do you take us or? It is true Barclays Bank bought that bank that had been going under and have since failed to impress much but surely if everybody was judged by the number of times they have failed to impress, how many of the guys would still be standing tall?
Indeed it is really unfortunate that a one Dorene deposited most of her hard earned salary on her Barclays account on Monday and it has not yet been credited to her account. What can we say? Shit happens!
Now, allow me to hand the floor over to the CEO Barclays Bank who has something important to say; “On behalf of Barclays Bank and all those who believe without seeing, shut up already about Barclays. Because at Barclays, we only close on Weekends and public holidays, but one day I am sure, we shall close and never open. Ever
signed;
Guv'nor, Bank of Uganda.
BHH Impromptus Re-captus
Yesterday was the impromptu bhh which happens any time there is a major occasion. Yesterday we came to pay homage to the founding father or mother of BHH. This means that without her, we would have never had those monthly gatherings at Mateos where we all assemble and share a few sodas amongst ourselves in the hope that we do not get thrown out of the commercial bar. You see, she was the only one amongst Ugandan bloggers that thought it would be a good idea if we met every so often to worship the ground on which either one of us walks if you are to take S.A.G.E very seriously. As for me, I go to Bhh because that is the only social life I have! Anyway, without further ado, I bring you the re-cap, even if really I was not there long enough to qualify for this kind of job.
By the time I got there, most bloggers had already assembled which meant then that I had the odious task of going around the table issuing hugs and handshakes for the very fortunate ones, because I have got to tell you, it had been a long day and my deodorant is not known to move mountains. So I was still there greeting and hollering when my uncle spotted me from the other side of the velvet line. I went over to greet him and proceeded to explain to him why I was hanging with so many people. I had to lie to him that we are a group of people that publish newspapers on the internet. What was I going to say? That really we are just a bunch of wannabes that post pictures of thongs, breasts and bare torsos on our blogs? Pray tell, how was I going to explain to him what a blog was? He asked whether I was making good money via the online newspaper thing, I said no, coz I knew next he was going to tell me that Grandpa needed another set of walking sticks. Enough about me; the re-cap.
Nevender did manage to make it this time around, even though he sat right behind 27th where nobody could see him, what with Rev’s dreads blocking everything in sight for 20 miles or so. So Nev asked why I had not been replying his e-mails and I had no answer. You see, I did promise that we would each read a Psalm a day and then share with each other what we'd gotten out of it via mail, but truth be told, I read the first psalm and the next time I opened the bible, it took me straight to proverbs and I have never turned back since.
Speaking of bible books, Nevender was seated right next to one of my dearest friends neatsilverbow and when I walked in on them, they were engrossed in conversation. I later asked silverbow whether it was the Psalms they were discussing and she said “no, but soon we shall get to songs of songs.” By the way, she is leaving for Kenya today, hope she comes back with nice tales for us all. And do be a dear and say hello to eleet
Ivan’s graduating next weekend. Just before he came for BHH, he’d been buying a graduation gown. When I met him on the way to Mateos, he was wearing said gown intent on shocking and awing bloggers. I begged him to please take the gown off people were going to think he was insane and only then did he oblige. Honest.
The usual suspects were there. Darlene and Solomon King whom I did not get round to interacting with much because I had to leave early. Which was a shame really because they were the only ones that seemed to genuinely want me to stay longer. B2B, the man that has defied all the odds of maledom was there also and he asked me to leave a killa comment at his current post on which he roasts Cheri Akiki. So I went over to his comments and wrote; Killer. I would never dare take part in anything that does not portray Cheri in good light. I am deathly terrified of her. So please Akiki, just know I am not taking part in that thing where everybody has you against the wall.
Speaking of against the wall, Chanel in her grand entrance style did pin me up against a chair and started dry banging me from behind. I know. Took me by surprise too. I never pegged her for the whole PDA thing. I have got two words for you sista; HO!
The bazungu aka Detamble and Jackfruity the woman of the hour seemed to gel instantly. It must have been the accents. Finally Detamble found somebody that could understand her without having to repeat herself a million times. Rev did seem intent on breaking up that cozy thing they had going and he could be seen pitching into the conversation at the top of his voice. He also made it a point to discuss with me my most recent post in detail which of course was embarrassing for me. If I had known we were going to discuss each other’s most recent posts surely I would have made much of an effort to cram some of the lines in his post!
Jny23ug was there with his usual wild tales which I shall not disclose on this blog at this time.
Nevender came over with a friend who told me his name was Simon. “Simon peter?” I enthused. No he said not getting the joke. Obviously he does not read Erique’s blog. I did ask him also if he had a blog and he said no, as if I had insulted him so I left it at that. I think he was just a well wisher, or a spy. Another well wisher called Linda made up an appearance and spent the entire evening chatting with Rev, I do not know about what.
Edsla was there and he and chanel I think made good use of the seating arrangement to talk about I imagine Juliet or how Mr. Bigg was not amused that Eddsla once asked Chanel whether he could spend the weekend with her at a hotel seeing as I had turned down the offer
Then I left.
On another note, you seriously have to check out beeeme. She has shockingly delicious candid tales. Not prescribed for you Nev, Cheri the virgin and any under 21s.
By the time I got there, most bloggers had already assembled which meant then that I had the odious task of going around the table issuing hugs and handshakes for the very fortunate ones, because I have got to tell you, it had been a long day and my deodorant is not known to move mountains. So I was still there greeting and hollering when my uncle spotted me from the other side of the velvet line. I went over to greet him and proceeded to explain to him why I was hanging with so many people. I had to lie to him that we are a group of people that publish newspapers on the internet. What was I going to say? That really we are just a bunch of wannabes that post pictures of thongs, breasts and bare torsos on our blogs? Pray tell, how was I going to explain to him what a blog was? He asked whether I was making good money via the online newspaper thing, I said no, coz I knew next he was going to tell me that Grandpa needed another set of walking sticks. Enough about me; the re-cap.
Nevender did manage to make it this time around, even though he sat right behind 27th where nobody could see him, what with Rev’s dreads blocking everything in sight for 20 miles or so. So Nev asked why I had not been replying his e-mails and I had no answer. You see, I did promise that we would each read a Psalm a day and then share with each other what we'd gotten out of it via mail, but truth be told, I read the first psalm and the next time I opened the bible, it took me straight to proverbs and I have never turned back since.
Speaking of bible books, Nevender was seated right next to one of my dearest friends neatsilverbow and when I walked in on them, they were engrossed in conversation. I later asked silverbow whether it was the Psalms they were discussing and she said “no, but soon we shall get to songs of songs.” By the way, she is leaving for Kenya today, hope she comes back with nice tales for us all. And do be a dear and say hello to eleet
Ivan’s graduating next weekend. Just before he came for BHH, he’d been buying a graduation gown. When I met him on the way to Mateos, he was wearing said gown intent on shocking and awing bloggers. I begged him to please take the gown off people were going to think he was insane and only then did he oblige. Honest.
The usual suspects were there. Darlene and Solomon King whom I did not get round to interacting with much because I had to leave early. Which was a shame really because they were the only ones that seemed to genuinely want me to stay longer. B2B, the man that has defied all the odds of maledom was there also and he asked me to leave a killa comment at his current post on which he roasts Cheri Akiki. So I went over to his comments and wrote; Killer. I would never dare take part in anything that does not portray Cheri in good light. I am deathly terrified of her. So please Akiki, just know I am not taking part in that thing where everybody has you against the wall.
Speaking of against the wall, Chanel in her grand entrance style did pin me up against a chair and started dry banging me from behind. I know. Took me by surprise too. I never pegged her for the whole PDA thing. I have got two words for you sista; HO!
The bazungu aka Detamble and Jackfruity the woman of the hour seemed to gel instantly. It must have been the accents. Finally Detamble found somebody that could understand her without having to repeat herself a million times. Rev did seem intent on breaking up that cozy thing they had going and he could be seen pitching into the conversation at the top of his voice. He also made it a point to discuss with me my most recent post in detail which of course was embarrassing for me. If I had known we were going to discuss each other’s most recent posts surely I would have made much of an effort to cram some of the lines in his post!
Jny23ug was there with his usual wild tales which I shall not disclose on this blog at this time.
Nevender came over with a friend who told me his name was Simon. “Simon peter?” I enthused. No he said not getting the joke. Obviously he does not read Erique’s blog. I did ask him also if he had a blog and he said no, as if I had insulted him so I left it at that. I think he was just a well wisher, or a spy. Another well wisher called Linda made up an appearance and spent the entire evening chatting with Rev, I do not know about what.
Edsla was there and he and chanel I think made good use of the seating arrangement to talk about I imagine Juliet or how Mr. Bigg was not amused that Eddsla once asked Chanel whether he could spend the weekend with her at a hotel seeing as I had turned down the offer
Then I left.
On another note, you seriously have to check out beeeme. She has shockingly delicious candid tales. Not prescribed for you Nev, Cheri the virgin and any under 21s.
The cleaner and why you should never steal a phone battery
I am not a thief. My sister knows that about me. So yesterday when I stole somebody’s battery, it caught even me by surprise. Nuh, not really. I was there, so obviously I could not have been surprised. But this story did not begin yesterday. Sometime last year, there is this guy at work whose phone could not charge. So I graciously agreed that every time he ran out of battery, which was often by the way, I would switch batteries with him so that I could charge using my phone. That arrangement worked soo well until the weekend when we opted to spend time with our families (he with his family, me with the TV). So then he decided that enough was enough he was gonna buy another phone.
He sold the old phone-with MY battery in it- and got a brand new version of the old phone. So therein lay the problem. Sure our batteries were the same make but his battery was sooo weak I found I had to charge my phone often sometimes up to twice in one day. I told workmate about this and he promised to sort me out.
Now fast forward to yesterday. Workmate left his phone lying around so I seized the opportunity and went for his battery. In the middle of switching, he walked into the office, so I dived into another guy’s office and once the switch was made, I returned his phone. Whoosh! That was close. I had gotten away with it. In fact I had gotten away with it soo good, he did not connect the dots when 5 minutes later he asked to use my charger when only moments before his phone battery was full. So today morning, I am seated minding my own business which usually means that I am either chatting or chatting when he poses this question;
Workmate (not looking amused); Antipop, how would you feel if somebody read your sms
Antipop (taking the bait); Why, I would be incensed of’course
Workmate (pleased with his ensnaring antics); So how come you read my sms yesterday?
Antipop, yesterday heist forgotten; Huh? What are you talking about?
Workmate: Yes. Yesterday in the morning. You went away with my phone, read my sms and came back giggling. Don’t think I never saw you return my phone stealthily. Why did you read my messages? Why? So that you can unearth my secrets and publish them in the papers?
That tirade went on and on, so to put a stop to it, I owned up to stealing his battery instead. He did not believe me. And so the rant continued. moral of this one, when you steal phone batteries, never, ever giggle.
And now the cleaner;
Our office cleaner guy is very nice. He always makes us all tea in the morning. The perfect help if you like. So anyway, the drainage for the sink in the bathroom is broken, when one washes their hands, the water just leaks on down to the floor. So Wasswa, he is bright, put a bucket underneath the sink to hold the water. Now on two occasions when the bucket is full good, he has proceeded to empty the contents back into the sink….
Introducing; beeeme.wordpress.com. I find that she writes brilliantly.
He sold the old phone-with MY battery in it- and got a brand new version of the old phone. So therein lay the problem. Sure our batteries were the same make but his battery was sooo weak I found I had to charge my phone often sometimes up to twice in one day. I told workmate about this and he promised to sort me out.
Now fast forward to yesterday. Workmate left his phone lying around so I seized the opportunity and went for his battery. In the middle of switching, he walked into the office, so I dived into another guy’s office and once the switch was made, I returned his phone. Whoosh! That was close. I had gotten away with it. In fact I had gotten away with it soo good, he did not connect the dots when 5 minutes later he asked to use my charger when only moments before his phone battery was full. So today morning, I am seated minding my own business which usually means that I am either chatting or chatting when he poses this question;
Workmate (not looking amused); Antipop, how would you feel if somebody read your sms
Antipop (taking the bait); Why, I would be incensed of’course
Workmate (pleased with his ensnaring antics); So how come you read my sms yesterday?
Antipop, yesterday heist forgotten; Huh? What are you talking about?
Workmate: Yes. Yesterday in the morning. You went away with my phone, read my sms and came back giggling. Don’t think I never saw you return my phone stealthily. Why did you read my messages? Why? So that you can unearth my secrets and publish them in the papers?
That tirade went on and on, so to put a stop to it, I owned up to stealing his battery instead. He did not believe me. And so the rant continued. moral of this one, when you steal phone batteries, never, ever giggle.
And now the cleaner;
Our office cleaner guy is very nice. He always makes us all tea in the morning. The perfect help if you like. So anyway, the drainage for the sink in the bathroom is broken, when one washes their hands, the water just leaks on down to the floor. So Wasswa, he is bright, put a bucket underneath the sink to hold the water. Now on two occasions when the bucket is full good, he has proceeded to empty the contents back into the sink….
Introducing; beeeme.wordpress.com. I find that she writes brilliantly.
Most memorable posts continued
Previously on this blog, i was suckin up to people. This is to let you aoll know that i am not yet done. here is presenting to you some more bloggers. Note, this is not to say that these are your best pieces of work. they are just the ones that have stuck with me.
I have run out of adjectives to describe talented and extremely gifted writers. So I shall just introduce you to tumwijuke, fondly known as tumwi. If ever there was blogger royalty, she would be queen, Baz king, leaving the rest of us openly gazing in unconcealed envy. Except Enrique. He would be next in line for the throne. Nuh. Just kidding. All of you are talented just the same so I am going to go on record as saying blogville is like Switzerland! There is no president. You all rule. Back to tumwi who can write and write good. To try and explain how fantastic she is with words (when she wants to be) is an injustice. So y’all go back and try to enjoy this as much as I did. And I don’t even like poetry.
Nobody likes a smart ass. Introducing to you this obnoxious, unapologetic , sweet faced smart ass. I call him Erique, the baby faced assassin. I swear one day I want to kill him, the next day I try to boycott his blog for a senseless hilarious post he has written but then minutes later I find myself clicking Go and into his world I come again. This newbie is hilarious funny and and and. He says all the things you have thought secretly but never dared to utter. I remember when I first met him, how much I urged him to join the blogger community. If I had known he would come in and overshadow the rest of us, maybe I would have not been so generous with extending my invite. Whatever you do, you must absolutely read his blog in this lifetime. But read especially, his advice on love
One woman that does not mince her words is Miss Chanel here. She says it like it is and is not afraid to rubbish anybody at their own blogs. Jesus. I am almost terrified of her. She also hosts very nice house parties even tho she makes me do all the work while she takes all the glory. Of course she also steals from me, but this post is not about spoiling her good name. She has a guest blogger called Mr. Bigg. I wonder if it is only just her blog he visits. Anybody remember how she rubbished men’s bu small things thus; I don’t smoke cigarettes?
Joulletv- I keep saying she chose the wrong profession; law. She writes like how many journalists should be writing like…but whatever. I will not say which of hers was my favorite post. To what end? Her blog is blocked to all else. An injustice if I ever saw one. Your posts have made for some great reading
Carlo. No. it was not the boobs post! You can start shooting me now if you want, but really I was not enthralled by pictures of girls baring protruding growths. What am I saying? I guess I am just jealous my breasts were not among the pics that were drooled upon. Anyway, I liked the originality and creativity behind this post. Kinda took me back to my roots. For that, I will name her most creative blogger of the year.
Dusk aka spice aka mindblowing something something. She is computer illiterate. Once her computer asked her to delete her blog and she pressed 'yes.' And as computer is wont to do, it asked her again. "Are you sure Dusk? Are you absolutely certain? without a doubt you want to delete the blog? what are you crazy? you mean you really want to proceed with this insanity?" and again she said yes. Then she came complaining. but she is one candid feisty young lady I must say. Has anybody read her most recent toe curling post? Read it. But then read this one also…
Xenafleur. I have met her. She is as strange as her blog name. Her tale of her taxi romance was funny. Pity she did not like it. Me, i laughed so hard.
Solomon King has more alter egos than he knows what to do with. Okay fine so he utilizes them all but I find it very confusing. Thanks for bringing us bloggers under the one blogspirit thing. You have made blogging much easier for most people. Except me who is still set in the old fashioned way of finding the most recently updated blogs by typing in all of the blog URLs I have off head. It works too. Thing is I cannot use technology. Solomon King is also just only human. Read about surviving trying times here.
Then there is Solomon's friend, the faceless Emry’s who I am dying to meet. I hear he is a weak dude! Boys, i think you should stop selling yourselves short. In the wise words of Swaibu, "temwenyoma!". Mark my words Emrys, i shall find you! in his spare time, he writes love letters.
Intelligentsia used to run a good and funny blog until he launched a website. Needless to say, his blog has been starved of any real entertaining posts for a while now, but thankfully, he started off the New Year with comeback posts. By the way he is Kenyan and very possibly eats Ugali aka posho with fried meat, and so he does not choke, he washes it down with Senator. My most memorable post of his has got to be the one where he calls on all bloggers to send pics of their desktops. He posted the results someplace on his website I think.
Darlene. How can we ever show how grateful we are for ensuring that happy hour runs ever so smooth and on schedule? Your picture taking skills are awesome. More awesome is some of the flak you might take from said pictures. Here, see for yourselves. Also, remember how she had this wild tale about snoozing?
He is fresh out of school, fresh in to blogging. His name is Nevender and you dare not call him Neverender Chanel. He is miffed by such carelessness. His posts have brought what I shall call spiritual equilibrium amongst us. A nice balance from Rev’s chants and gug’s well, self proclaimed atheism. Anyway, once he wrote about how sex before marriage was like pizza! I never heard anything truer. I love pizza.
Speaking of gug, he once said he does not care whether we read his posts, so I guess he won’t care that I will considerately not mention his posts except to say that he takes fight for the rights of gays very seriously and he has my support. I told you guys, this post is a major kiss butt job.
Three words. Party party party. Is how one can only describe Eddsla. And his posts. And who can forget how he tried and succeeded I must add at getting us all to feel sorry for him coz his girlfriend was well, moving on? He had Chanel and whatshisname the mushy guy throw a drink up thingy in his honor. Speaking of Chanel, who can forget how Mr. Bigg warned Eddsla thus; hands off chanel, she is a taken woman. Drama follows this guy and we love to read about it. this one time, he responded to a stray text and here are the results
Mylz Rwamiti; an example of a blog I should never have read.
To be continued
I have run out of adjectives to describe talented and extremely gifted writers. So I shall just introduce you to tumwijuke, fondly known as tumwi. If ever there was blogger royalty, she would be queen, Baz king, leaving the rest of us openly gazing in unconcealed envy. Except Enrique. He would be next in line for the throne. Nuh. Just kidding. All of you are talented just the same so I am going to go on record as saying blogville is like Switzerland! There is no president. You all rule. Back to tumwi who can write and write good. To try and explain how fantastic she is with words (when she wants to be) is an injustice. So y’all go back and try to enjoy this as much as I did. And I don’t even like poetry.
Nobody likes a smart ass. Introducing to you this obnoxious, unapologetic , sweet faced smart ass. I call him Erique, the baby faced assassin. I swear one day I want to kill him, the next day I try to boycott his blog for a senseless hilarious post he has written but then minutes later I find myself clicking Go and into his world I come again. This newbie is hilarious funny and and and. He says all the things you have thought secretly but never dared to utter. I remember when I first met him, how much I urged him to join the blogger community. If I had known he would come in and overshadow the rest of us, maybe I would have not been so generous with extending my invite. Whatever you do, you must absolutely read his blog in this lifetime. But read especially, his advice on love
One woman that does not mince her words is Miss Chanel here. She says it like it is and is not afraid to rubbish anybody at their own blogs. Jesus. I am almost terrified of her. She also hosts very nice house parties even tho she makes me do all the work while she takes all the glory. Of course she also steals from me, but this post is not about spoiling her good name. She has a guest blogger called Mr. Bigg. I wonder if it is only just her blog he visits. Anybody remember how she rubbished men’s bu small things thus; I don’t smoke cigarettes?
Joulletv- I keep saying she chose the wrong profession; law. She writes like how many journalists should be writing like…but whatever. I will not say which of hers was my favorite post. To what end? Her blog is blocked to all else. An injustice if I ever saw one. Your posts have made for some great reading
Carlo. No. it was not the boobs post! You can start shooting me now if you want, but really I was not enthralled by pictures of girls baring protruding growths. What am I saying? I guess I am just jealous my breasts were not among the pics that were drooled upon. Anyway, I liked the originality and creativity behind this post. Kinda took me back to my roots. For that, I will name her most creative blogger of the year.
Dusk aka spice aka mindblowing something something. She is computer illiterate. Once her computer asked her to delete her blog and she pressed 'yes.' And as computer is wont to do, it asked her again. "Are you sure Dusk? Are you absolutely certain? without a doubt you want to delete the blog? what are you crazy? you mean you really want to proceed with this insanity?" and again she said yes. Then she came complaining. but she is one candid feisty young lady I must say. Has anybody read her most recent toe curling post? Read it. But then read this one also…
Xenafleur. I have met her. She is as strange as her blog name. Her tale of her taxi romance was funny. Pity she did not like it. Me, i laughed so hard.
Solomon King has more alter egos than he knows what to do with. Okay fine so he utilizes them all but I find it very confusing. Thanks for bringing us bloggers under the one blogspirit thing. You have made blogging much easier for most people. Except me who is still set in the old fashioned way of finding the most recently updated blogs by typing in all of the blog URLs I have off head. It works too. Thing is I cannot use technology. Solomon King is also just only human. Read about surviving trying times here.
Then there is Solomon's friend, the faceless Emry’s who I am dying to meet. I hear he is a weak dude! Boys, i think you should stop selling yourselves short. In the wise words of Swaibu, "temwenyoma!". Mark my words Emrys, i shall find you! in his spare time, he writes love letters.
Intelligentsia used to run a good and funny blog until he launched a website. Needless to say, his blog has been starved of any real entertaining posts for a while now, but thankfully, he started off the New Year with comeback posts. By the way he is Kenyan and very possibly eats Ugali aka posho with fried meat, and so he does not choke, he washes it down with Senator. My most memorable post of his has got to be the one where he calls on all bloggers to send pics of their desktops. He posted the results someplace on his website I think.
Darlene. How can we ever show how grateful we are for ensuring that happy hour runs ever so smooth and on schedule? Your picture taking skills are awesome. More awesome is some of the flak you might take from said pictures. Here, see for yourselves. Also, remember how she had this wild tale about snoozing?
He is fresh out of school, fresh in to blogging. His name is Nevender and you dare not call him Neverender Chanel. He is miffed by such carelessness. His posts have brought what I shall call spiritual equilibrium amongst us. A nice balance from Rev’s chants and gug’s well, self proclaimed atheism. Anyway, once he wrote about how sex before marriage was like pizza! I never heard anything truer. I love pizza.
Speaking of gug, he once said he does not care whether we read his posts, so I guess he won’t care that I will considerately not mention his posts except to say that he takes fight for the rights of gays very seriously and he has my support. I told you guys, this post is a major kiss butt job.
Three words. Party party party. Is how one can only describe Eddsla. And his posts. And who can forget how he tried and succeeded I must add at getting us all to feel sorry for him coz his girlfriend was well, moving on? He had Chanel and whatshisname the mushy guy throw a drink up thingy in his honor. Speaking of Chanel, who can forget how Mr. Bigg warned Eddsla thus; hands off chanel, she is a taken woman. Drama follows this guy and we love to read about it. this one time, he responded to a stray text and here are the results
Mylz Rwamiti; an example of a blog I should never have read.
To be continued
the one about facebook
I hate facebook
I despise it
Especially(or only) because really I am a computer illiterate who would not know the first thing to do with a social networking site. So to hide my secret this, I pretend like Facebook is beneath me. I call facebookers such names as juvenile dimwits, spit on them with unconcealed distaste and then walk away and go cry my eyes out from shame and envy.
Now because I swore to all of my friends that I would never be caught in the dead hanging with the idle lot (I hear even Harry Sagara is on facebook) I did the next best brave thing and opened a facebook account with an alias. You understand, I had a reputation to protect. Tamara Agaba was henceforth born on facebook. Tamara, because at the time that brilliant idea hit me I was watching big brother and the field presenter from I do not remember where was called Tamara. And she was tall. Agaba because I have a feeling in my past life, I might have been called Agaba.
By the way, y’all missed my kwanjula last nite. Yeah. I dreamt that I had a kwanjula. The groom wore a brown suit.
But back to facebook. I went about the process of inviting friends and my friends’ friends and by the end of that exercise, I had all of 9 contacts. I know. My friends are not very much loved I am afraid. I must say I found facebook rather boring. Apart from changing my what do they call it that thing that begins with Tamara is… it was an absolute bore. But secure in the knowledge that my undercover moves had not been found out, I plied on. But one day, this conversation took place in the taxi between my friend and I;
Antipop (says something true to friend)
Antipop friend(not looking very convinced)
Antipop: Honest. Would I ever lie to you?
Antipop friend: I don’t know, Tamara, would you?
I despise it
Especially(or only) because really I am a computer illiterate who would not know the first thing to do with a social networking site. So to hide my secret this, I pretend like Facebook is beneath me. I call facebookers such names as juvenile dimwits, spit on them with unconcealed distaste and then walk away and go cry my eyes out from shame and envy.
Now because I swore to all of my friends that I would never be caught in the dead hanging with the idle lot (I hear even Harry Sagara is on facebook) I did the next best brave thing and opened a facebook account with an alias. You understand, I had a reputation to protect. Tamara Agaba was henceforth born on facebook. Tamara, because at the time that brilliant idea hit me I was watching big brother and the field presenter from I do not remember where was called Tamara. And she was tall. Agaba because I have a feeling in my past life, I might have been called Agaba.
By the way, y’all missed my kwanjula last nite. Yeah. I dreamt that I had a kwanjula. The groom wore a brown suit.
But back to facebook. I went about the process of inviting friends and my friends’ friends and by the end of that exercise, I had all of 9 contacts. I know. My friends are not very much loved I am afraid. I must say I found facebook rather boring. Apart from changing my what do they call it that thing that begins with Tamara is… it was an absolute bore. But secure in the knowledge that my undercover moves had not been found out, I plied on. But one day, this conversation took place in the taxi between my friend and I;
Antipop (says something true to friend)
Antipop friend(not looking very convinced)
Antipop: Honest. Would I ever lie to you?
Antipop friend: I don’t know, Tamara, would you?
Re-cap
As you all probably already know, my year already began. And I have no resolutions. Especially coz I cannot work under pressure. That means you and you should stop heaping all that pressure on me to post, post, post. I meant to post this one last year, but I figured this would be the best time to do it. No better time to suck up to people than at the beginning of the year. Here is me ranking my favorite posts of each of you from last year. Or of years past. In no particular order.
Ivan the queen of puns is a talented writer. When I can make the time to read his long posts, I do have enormous fun. My favorite post of his is when he narrated his harrowing experience with a serial killer. It was a killer read if I must say. did y’all see the pun right there? i learn fast.
Rev, has also some weird looooooooooooooooong posts. I mean he puts the lo in long, the de in detailed, the i.n.g on words. Needless to say, do I rarely read his brilliant writing to the end, which I must add is such a waste seeing as he is a very talented philosopher and let’s face it, idealist. But the day he told the story of how his mom had rescues and abandoned baby, I fell in love. With the tale.
And this brings me to Detamble of course. I knew her so much better when she was in Australia. Now that she is here, she has become quite a stranger. Whatever it is she is doing must keep her mighty occupied! Geddit? Occupied, ha ha! Anyway, she had this whole beautiful write up about her country/continent. The land of the free she called it. Weird, I always thought Australia was the land of thieves. That piece captured the very essence of good writing.
Princess. This one was born with a pen in her hands. If I ever saw beautiful writing, I saw it at her page. She is very crafty with words this one. it is almost impossible to pick. My most memorable tale of hers was the one about a boy, girl and a motel. Such flow. Such eloquence. Such fluency. Such fun.
Speaking of fun, Baz is my Ugandan John O’Farrell. John O’farell is only like my favorite writer ever. Damn! I can read his stuff over and over and still laugh as hard! And that is exactly how Baz makes me feel. It is awful hard to pick from which of his is my most memorable, but I am going to go ahead and say it is the one where he gave 24(the series) a whole different spin. I laughed so hard, i farted. True story. anyway, i was so excited i spun in my chair eager to share with...
Phantom who told me to get a life he had read that post about a year before. Still I did not let him take my shine. Come to think of it, that was not the first time he was raining on my parade. this one time while doing a random search about a random thing i do not remember on google, I found a totally random blogpost about Ugandan writers . So I show him said post and guess what? He was the author of said post! I will go ahead and nominate bite me as my most memorable from his lot. and not only because it has a tempting title.
Then there is Phoebe. She is weird. So is what she writes about, and how she writes it. But she is damn good at what she does. I guess that is how come she got a scholarship to go to Italy to study. I have always wondered. Read this letter to her dad.
And who can forget Tandra’s random ramblings? and those comments she leaves lying around? she is not one to throw words generously around. if she leaves more than two words in your comment section, dude, you will be real blessed. Read about her yoga class esxcapades.
Not only does this guy have strange post titles, he does this thing where he adds 'ness' to all words large and small. Back to basics has made for some nice entertainment over the years. He tackles issues that most other boys are not willing to get into. He asks and answers questions about size, romance and whatever other mushy stuff other real guys are afraid of tackling, like whether or not it is okay for boys to cry at the sight of breasts. And the good news is, it does not make him less macho. This is a tale of how he almost made a girl fall preggers by just looking at her. if you are one to believe that sort of thing.
You cant mention him without mentioning the missus of course whose blog is 'if he can so can I' but for now, she has not been able to keep up with his zeal. This tale of when a certain blogger gave her a fake phone number was hilarious. I mean it is okay for a chic to give a guy the wrong phone number, but chic on chic action? Now that is new.
When i started out, i thought this was going to be easy! Jesus! there is so many of you. so i am going to have to do this thing in three segments. For those of you that did not make this list, that does not mean that i love you any less. so please chanel, dry your tears.
so i say, have a nice day
Ivan the queen of puns is a talented writer. When I can make the time to read his long posts, I do have enormous fun. My favorite post of his is when he narrated his harrowing experience with a serial killer. It was a killer read if I must say. did y’all see the pun right there? i learn fast.
Rev, has also some weird looooooooooooooooong posts. I mean he puts the lo in long, the de in detailed, the i.n.g on words. Needless to say, do I rarely read his brilliant writing to the end, which I must add is such a waste seeing as he is a very talented philosopher and let’s face it, idealist. But the day he told the story of how his mom had rescues and abandoned baby, I fell in love. With the tale.
And this brings me to Detamble of course. I knew her so much better when she was in Australia. Now that she is here, she has become quite a stranger. Whatever it is she is doing must keep her mighty occupied! Geddit? Occupied, ha ha! Anyway, she had this whole beautiful write up about her country/continent. The land of the free she called it. Weird, I always thought Australia was the land of thieves. That piece captured the very essence of good writing.
Princess. This one was born with a pen in her hands. If I ever saw beautiful writing, I saw it at her page. She is very crafty with words this one. it is almost impossible to pick. My most memorable tale of hers was the one about a boy, girl and a motel. Such flow. Such eloquence. Such fluency. Such fun.
Speaking of fun, Baz is my Ugandan John O’Farrell. John O’farell is only like my favorite writer ever. Damn! I can read his stuff over and over and still laugh as hard! And that is exactly how Baz makes me feel. It is awful hard to pick from which of his is my most memorable, but I am going to go ahead and say it is the one where he gave 24(the series) a whole different spin. I laughed so hard, i farted. True story. anyway, i was so excited i spun in my chair eager to share with...
Phantom who told me to get a life he had read that post about a year before. Still I did not let him take my shine. Come to think of it, that was not the first time he was raining on my parade. this one time while doing a random search about a random thing i do not remember on google, I found a totally random blogpost about Ugandan writers . So I show him said post and guess what? He was the author of said post! I will go ahead and nominate bite me as my most memorable from his lot. and not only because it has a tempting title.
Then there is Phoebe. She is weird. So is what she writes about, and how she writes it. But she is damn good at what she does. I guess that is how come she got a scholarship to go to Italy to study. I have always wondered. Read this letter to her dad.
And who can forget Tandra’s random ramblings? and those comments she leaves lying around? she is not one to throw words generously around. if she leaves more than two words in your comment section, dude, you will be real blessed. Read about her yoga class esxcapades.
Not only does this guy have strange post titles, he does this thing where he adds 'ness' to all words large and small. Back to basics has made for some nice entertainment over the years. He tackles issues that most other boys are not willing to get into. He asks and answers questions about size, romance and whatever other mushy stuff other real guys are afraid of tackling, like whether or not it is okay for boys to cry at the sight of breasts. And the good news is, it does not make him less macho. This is a tale of how he almost made a girl fall preggers by just looking at her. if you are one to believe that sort of thing.
You cant mention him without mentioning the missus of course whose blog is 'if he can so can I' but for now, she has not been able to keep up with his zeal. This tale of when a certain blogger gave her a fake phone number was hilarious. I mean it is okay for a chic to give a guy the wrong phone number, but chic on chic action? Now that is new.
When i started out, i thought this was going to be easy! Jesus! there is so many of you. so i am going to have to do this thing in three segments. For those of you that did not make this list, that does not mean that i love you any less. so please chanel, dry your tears.
so i say, have a nice day
indiscriminate only because i do not want to say random
So this place my new work place, it has taught me this one thing. That nobody is safe from office gossip. You see, every time somebody goes out the door, we (yes, me inclusive) go ahead and tear them to shreds. So for a while I was enjoying the whole trashing people behind their backs, until I realized that I might (very likely) be a subject of it as well. Anyway, that has not stopped me gossiping though. There is a certain thrill you get from hearing all those mean things said about your workmates! Hopefully they enjoy my session as much as I enjoy theirs.
There’s this guy I know that does not like sports. Mary does not even watch soccer. So as a concerned supporter of the Uganda Cranes I asked him this all important question. “Why not?” So he says that as a child he had a traumatic experience with the football. You see, when he was in primary three (note: that is the age when every boy is asking their parents to get them a leather ball at Christmas), he attempted to join his friends in a game of soccer. When the ball came hurtling towards him, Mary shielded himself with his hands. Ball connects with the hands; boy comes off the pitch screaming black and blue. Apparently, “the football hurt my hands.” He probably also broke is fingernails in the process. That little girl is now a thirty something nerdy computer something something. Mary can be reached here.
Anyway, I leave you with this;
This guy buys sunglasses earlier in the day. Bed time draws close and just before he slips into the covers, slips the glasses on. So somebody asks, “But why are you wearing sunglasses to bed?” Guy answers, “Why, what if I dream that I am at the beach?”
There’s this guy I know that does not like sports. Mary does not even watch soccer. So as a concerned supporter of the Uganda Cranes I asked him this all important question. “Why not?” So he says that as a child he had a traumatic experience with the football. You see, when he was in primary three (note: that is the age when every boy is asking their parents to get them a leather ball at Christmas), he attempted to join his friends in a game of soccer. When the ball came hurtling towards him, Mary shielded himself with his hands. Ball connects with the hands; boy comes off the pitch screaming black and blue. Apparently, “the football hurt my hands.” He probably also broke is fingernails in the process. That little girl is now a thirty something nerdy computer something something. Mary can be reached here.
Anyway, I leave you with this;
This guy buys sunglasses earlier in the day. Bed time draws close and just before he slips into the covers, slips the glasses on. So somebody asks, “But why are you wearing sunglasses to bed?” Guy answers, “Why, what if I dream that I am at the beach?”
Her uncle. he loved her. he used her. and never said sorry
Her uncle Kennedy was awesome. Like that time on New year’s day when he took her out to the beach and bought her beer; enough beer to knock her out cold even if she was only 15. Uncle Kennedy was super cool; he even used to tell her stories about his girlfriends, especially those that were good in bed. He even encouraged her to talk about her sex life, encouraged her to own up to the fact that she was not a virgin any more. Even if she was only 15. And she was still a virgin. Uncle made her feel bad every time she said she was a virgin. He said she was lying. No way could she still be a virgin. He had after all once been her age and knew what kind of mischief girls and boys that age got up to. She loved her uncle Kennedy. He was her best friend. They did not have secrets from each other.
She was never an obedient child Karen. Her mother knew this about her. So when Karen told her mother that school was breaking off a week later than was scheduled, her mother had gone ahead and called the dean to confirm. She was lying again to the dismay of her mother. What was getting into this child? No matter how much she had tried to discipline her, Karen had remained an unapologetic insolent. She was ordered to go back home on the day school broke off or she would have to answer to her mother. But you see, Karen had already made plans with her friends to go dancing the whole week long and she was not about to cancel. What would she tell her friends? That mummy had refused her to go? Never. Her friends were to never find out that she was anything but the hardcore girl who snuck cigarettes and waragi over the school fence and mixed it with her quencher.
The first day after school, Karen and her friends had shacked up in some seedy room her friend’s boyfriend had found them. That night, they’d gone to the disco really early where she had met and danced with a guy till morning. One week later, said guy broke her virginity. She was 16. A week after that at the bus stop, after swearing undying love to her, he waved her off to a fate unknown to her. She had had a good two weeks of fun, but now she could not go back home. With tears streaming down her eyes, some for the new boyfriend she would not see again in a long while and the other tears for the sense of foreboding that was fast engulfing her. She was not ready to face her mother.
Like an epiphany, it hit her half way through the odious bus ride. Uncle Kennedy. Surely he would take her in? He did. Into his one room apartment with the one bed they would inevitably have to share. They talked all night that first night and every night after that for a week. She did not question him when before they drifted off, he took her in his arms in an embrace. Uncle was just trying to keep her warm, is what she kept telling herself, even if deep down she knew better. Then he started to roam his hands over her body, and fondle her breasts and urging her to turn around and kiss him. Humiliated disgusted and disgraced, she had stormed out of the bed. “That is disgusting.” she had answered to her uncle’s query. Insulted and hurt, Uncle Kennedy has demanded to know why that was. After everything he had done for her, taking her in when she had no place to go, why was she treating him that way?
She did not understand why uncle was being this way. He was her uncle for golly’s sake. And not only that, everybody knew that he was HIV positive. He looked it too. He was awful skinny and his fast thinning hair had turned an ugly brown. Did he want to give it to her too? And now why was he angry with her? Could she not understand that what he was doing to her was wrong? She slept on the couch that night. Uncle Kennedy did not talk to her for about a week, but she was still too scared to go home. When he did eventually speak to her, it was to scold her and make her feel worthless. But anything was better than going back, so she endured it for as long as it lasted…
Karen eventually went back home
Her mother was so relieved to see her and all she wanted to do was hug her
Years later, Uncle Kennedy got born again, but he has never asked Karen for forgiveness. She is still close to her uncle regardless of everything, even though she still has questions about that night. will she ever get answers?
She was never an obedient child Karen. Her mother knew this about her. So when Karen told her mother that school was breaking off a week later than was scheduled, her mother had gone ahead and called the dean to confirm. She was lying again to the dismay of her mother. What was getting into this child? No matter how much she had tried to discipline her, Karen had remained an unapologetic insolent. She was ordered to go back home on the day school broke off or she would have to answer to her mother. But you see, Karen had already made plans with her friends to go dancing the whole week long and she was not about to cancel. What would she tell her friends? That mummy had refused her to go? Never. Her friends were to never find out that she was anything but the hardcore girl who snuck cigarettes and waragi over the school fence and mixed it with her quencher.
The first day after school, Karen and her friends had shacked up in some seedy room her friend’s boyfriend had found them. That night, they’d gone to the disco really early where she had met and danced with a guy till morning. One week later, said guy broke her virginity. She was 16. A week after that at the bus stop, after swearing undying love to her, he waved her off to a fate unknown to her. She had had a good two weeks of fun, but now she could not go back home. With tears streaming down her eyes, some for the new boyfriend she would not see again in a long while and the other tears for the sense of foreboding that was fast engulfing her. She was not ready to face her mother.
Like an epiphany, it hit her half way through the odious bus ride. Uncle Kennedy. Surely he would take her in? He did. Into his one room apartment with the one bed they would inevitably have to share. They talked all night that first night and every night after that for a week. She did not question him when before they drifted off, he took her in his arms in an embrace. Uncle was just trying to keep her warm, is what she kept telling herself, even if deep down she knew better. Then he started to roam his hands over her body, and fondle her breasts and urging her to turn around and kiss him. Humiliated disgusted and disgraced, she had stormed out of the bed. “That is disgusting.” she had answered to her uncle’s query. Insulted and hurt, Uncle Kennedy has demanded to know why that was. After everything he had done for her, taking her in when she had no place to go, why was she treating him that way?
She did not understand why uncle was being this way. He was her uncle for golly’s sake. And not only that, everybody knew that he was HIV positive. He looked it too. He was awful skinny and his fast thinning hair had turned an ugly brown. Did he want to give it to her too? And now why was he angry with her? Could she not understand that what he was doing to her was wrong? She slept on the couch that night. Uncle Kennedy did not talk to her for about a week, but she was still too scared to go home. When he did eventually speak to her, it was to scold her and make her feel worthless. But anything was better than going back, so she endured it for as long as it lasted…
Karen eventually went back home
Her mother was so relieved to see her and all she wanted to do was hug her
Years later, Uncle Kennedy got born again, but he has never asked Karen for forgiveness. She is still close to her uncle regardless of everything, even though she still has questions about that night. will she ever get answers?
World Aids Day; Breaking my silence
My cousin Immaculate. She was in S.3. Her mother had sent her to live with us when she was in P.7 after catching her with a man in the toilet, hoping that my dad, quite the disciplinarian would turn her into a disciple. She was in S.3. That was when she died. I remember how terrified I was of her. I remember how pale and skinny she looked. She vomited a lot. My dad fed her on a lot of eggs. And juice. And drugs that looks like stained glass. She liked to bask in the sun. Then when she could not take in any more, she would beckon me to help her up, and back in the house. But I would run off scared and beckon the house help. What if I caught whatever it is that she had. What if my lips chapped as hers had? What if I contacted those sores that I saw on her arms, legs feet, and hands? I did not know what it is she was suffering from, but I knew I never wanted it. She died a few months later. In our house. I was 10. At her burial, I heard people whisper. It was Aids that had done it to her. I told myself then that I did not want to die from HIV. Even if then I did not know how one contacted it.
She was my favorite cousin in the village Naome. She was always full of life, always chatting, and eager to show me around the farm and help me pick guavas. But when I went to the village that particular Christmas, everything had changed. Naome was not there to greet us. I found her lying in her bed, stark naked, moaning and writhing in pain. I took one look at her skinny body and knew immediately what she was dying from. Her huge eyes turned and stared at me blankly when I walked in. i ran out of the room and never went back. Five days later, at day break, she passed on. Aids had claimed yet another one. I was 12.
I find I cannot compose myself on this one. I had grown into a teenager. My dad and I clashed a lot. He was not that happy with me and I understood why. Come visiting day, he sent my elder sister to visit me. Had I been that bad that my father could not even bear to come and visit me? My sister had told me that he was busy. I did not buy it. I set out to read hard at school, maybe then I would win my father back. I found out from my mum later that father had been sick. Later that holiday, I noticed my dad was not his usual vivacious self. I also noticed he had stopped wearing shorts, his favorite weekend do. Once when he was jumping into his car, I noticed the sores on his legs. Wait. I had seen those sores before on Immaculate. I was horrified and mortified. Surely my dad did not have Aids. He was my father. He was not supposed to have any such humiliating diseases. I approached my elder sister and asked her. She confirmed my worst fears. She also pointed to the woman that had given him it. I was disgusted, and terrified, and I knew it would be only a matter of time. Three months later, the teacher on duty came to fetch me out of class during night preps. My dad had passed. Aids had claimed him. I was 13.
And many more…
Today I remember the many lives that have been lost to the Aids blight. I celebrate especially those that were dear to me. To those that are living with it and those that fight every day. To my little adopted sister who by no fault of hers was born with HIV, and my mum who fasts and prays for a miracle every day, for my little sister to get better.
Imagine the possibility of an HIV free generation…
She was my favorite cousin in the village Naome. She was always full of life, always chatting, and eager to show me around the farm and help me pick guavas. But when I went to the village that particular Christmas, everything had changed. Naome was not there to greet us. I found her lying in her bed, stark naked, moaning and writhing in pain. I took one look at her skinny body and knew immediately what she was dying from. Her huge eyes turned and stared at me blankly when I walked in. i ran out of the room and never went back. Five days later, at day break, she passed on. Aids had claimed yet another one. I was 12.
I find I cannot compose myself on this one. I had grown into a teenager. My dad and I clashed a lot. He was not that happy with me and I understood why. Come visiting day, he sent my elder sister to visit me. Had I been that bad that my father could not even bear to come and visit me? My sister had told me that he was busy. I did not buy it. I set out to read hard at school, maybe then I would win my father back. I found out from my mum later that father had been sick. Later that holiday, I noticed my dad was not his usual vivacious self. I also noticed he had stopped wearing shorts, his favorite weekend do. Once when he was jumping into his car, I noticed the sores on his legs. Wait. I had seen those sores before on Immaculate. I was horrified and mortified. Surely my dad did not have Aids. He was my father. He was not supposed to have any such humiliating diseases. I approached my elder sister and asked her. She confirmed my worst fears. She also pointed to the woman that had given him it. I was disgusted, and terrified, and I knew it would be only a matter of time. Three months later, the teacher on duty came to fetch me out of class during night preps. My dad had passed. Aids had claimed him. I was 13.
And many more…
Today I remember the many lives that have been lost to the Aids blight. I celebrate especially those that were dear to me. To those that are living with it and those that fight every day. To my little adopted sister who by no fault of hers was born with HIV, and my mum who fasts and prays for a miracle every day, for my little sister to get better.
Imagine the possibility of an HIV free generation…