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?”
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…
My shine
This morning on my way to work I was standing by the road trying to cross it obviously, because I do not have idle tendencies of just standing by the roadside for just. Anyway, so I am standing by the road looking left, right, then left. There is an elderly lady standing right beside me, also attempting to cross the road. She reaches out and takes my hand. Startled, I turn and look at her and without saying a word, held on to it tighter and helped her across the road. or maybe she helped me. On the other side, I let go of her hand, she smiled,I smiled, and withought ever sasying a word to each other, we had shared a moment. I have never felt so special in my life. It is the little things
Meanwhile, check out, neatsilverbow
Meanwhile, check out, neatsilverbow
pishures
Work's crazy. Sometimes i work 13 hour days. I kiss butt for a living. In the morning, I am a kayungirizi of sorts. In the morning, I will be in the meeting with my bosses where I will listen to and comply with their every whim. And then when they are done whining, I will kiss their royal butts. Later in the day, I will call up the people that are in charge of satisfying the whims of my bosses and I will kiss their ordinary(insert list of all your favorite bloggers) butts. This is a true story by the way.
Also, is it just me or has there been a general slack in morale ampng boggers? wats up guys? keep those posts coming!
Anyway, here are some pictures. Feel free not to look at them.
Also, is it just me or has there been a general slack in morale ampng boggers? wats up guys? keep those posts coming!
Anyway, here are some pictures. Feel free not to look at them.
Detamble fixing her glasses properly in order to make out those dark dark faces that were in front of her. Solomon King looking at her and thinking, dude, i am right in your face, how come you can't see me? anybody know what happened to detamble by the way?
something no man should be caught alive doing. carrying a woman's hadbag does not count as one of the romantic things a guy can do to prove undying love to a woman.
would you trust this proffessional tailor with your clothes?
Not even if the medicine is to save your own life?
And that tree is growing right outside of UMEME offices in nakawa/kyambogo. For those of you who do not geddit, the tree is growing right under the electricity lines. phew!
It contains Vitamins A, B,C,D,E and Z complex
Yep. When those of Warid start making airtime cards, they will stop being singled out.
Then later maybe you can taste the food
Dapht, and Doofus enrolled here
And that is Carlo.
The chilling truth
Most of you probably read this story in Sunday vision. For the benefit of those that cannot access newspapers on weekends maybe because office is closed on Sundays and they cannot get ‘em free, they are too stingy and won’t spend on a newspaper, or their roads are too screwed up by Lord knows what and hence the newspaper trucks cannot get to their neighborhood, here is the short of it. On a July or June day in 2006, a rich man went to his construction site with two burly men and a 7 year old girl in tow, and watched while said men threw her into a pit that had been dug out in the still-under -construction- building and covered her with concrete and later proceeded to do sacrificial chants on her grave. This sort of thing is done in the quest for riches. I have not been able to have any pure thoughts since I read that story.
But just two days before that, I was out in the field with one of my bosses, also, a very popular rich little man in town. Anyway, he was briefing some of his employees (drivers) on safety and shit like that. Then he said something that chilled me to my breast bones. He said “Be sure not to knock down anybody. Because it is very costly in hospital bills. Unless you are lucky and that person dies. There I get to spend less on burial and stuff… ”
There. His concern was not for people’s lives but how much he would have to fork out in compensation. For the rich, it is all about the money. No heart.
I am not very happy today. Can you tell?
But just two days before that, I was out in the field with one of my bosses, also, a very popular rich little man in town. Anyway, he was briefing some of his employees (drivers) on safety and shit like that. Then he said something that chilled me to my breast bones. He said “Be sure not to knock down anybody. Because it is very costly in hospital bills. Unless you are lucky and that person dies. There I get to spend less on burial and stuff… ”
There. His concern was not for people’s lives but how much he would have to fork out in compensation. For the rich, it is all about the money. No heart.
I am not very happy today. Can you tell?
originallity 101
The year is 2008. There is a credit crunch and the US has a Kenyan for President. It's a very odd state of events. Very! Back to the credit crunch. Money hasn't started growing on trees and while people wait for that, they need ideas. Brilliant revolutionary ideas. The stuff of legend. Stuff that people will buy.
Some where in the nation of Dapht, off the coast of Angola, a company has been brainstorming. Thus far, its been a futile process. The chairman of the board of directors Kwak Industries wants innovation or everyone will be subjected to reruns of that telenovella they loathe. Its not looking up and all hope is just about lost....when suddenly...
John: Ladies, I have come up with this brilliant and totally original idea. Let us manufacture batteries! you know, the kind that people can use in their remote controls. yes. I bet nobody has ever thought of that! not even the guy that invented remote controls. Am I brilliant or what?
Joseph and Japheth: Cool.
Japheth: But what shall we call the batteries?
John: That is where I come in. I also managed to come up with an original name to go with the batteries. Ladies, allow me to introduce you to Panasonic
Joseph Rushes over to his computer, types panasonic into his google search bar and gets 1,804,573,240 hits. Looks over at the girls disapointment showing on his face and says
Joseph: Thori Ladieth, but it theemth that name isth already taken. But here isth another name I had been meaning to bring to your attention justht in keth we ever invented a cardboard boxth. Are you ready for.....Toshiba!
Japheth who until now has been silently watching wondering what in the world she has been doing hanging around this dumb bunch, shakes her head)
Japheth: Ladies please. I hear what ya'll have been trying to say. But as you all already know, and i have constantly proven to you over the years i am the brilliant one in this group, let me do some brain storming with my medula and get back to you girls in three, two, one... PANASHIBA! And that is final!
Joseph and John dumbfounded by this sort of wizardry yet again, just nod their head in wonder and get down on their knees to worship the day's hero.
have a nice weekend guys
not without my onions
Due to popular demand, I have decided to come back. Okay so I am stretching the public demand bit. Only Cheri wanted me back, but I am here anyway. I have been away because I was dealing with emotional trauma.
Last week Sunday
Lawn mower guy comes home pops his machine to life and before long, grass blades are meeting their demise. Nice enough. We do not have to live in constant danger of being bitten by snakes. Not so nice is that the noise from his outdated lawn mower has just interrupted my Sunday afternoon TV routine. Yes. On Sundays, I watch TV like it is going out of fashion. So I fought with my conscience about shouting at the guy about the possibility of muting his damn thing. Reason won. I figured, he couldn’t possibly know that the machine was making noise. You see, lawn mower guy is deaf. Besides, I have the plight of the physically disabled persons at heart.
Sometime last month
This genius idea came to me. It was so brilliant I sat back and hugged myself right after it had occurred to me. So I thought I would contribute to family welfare by increasing food production. I sorted through the onions at home and came up with perfect candidates for planting. Five of them were quickly lowered into the earth and I sat back and waited for harvest time. Everyday I checked on the onions, pruned, weeded and caressed. They were the best looking onions I had ever seen. They were so hot in fact, I could not wait to see how favorably they would compete with the boiling cooking oil once they had been harvested. In short, I was proud of these onions and even more proud of my handiwork. They were germinating well and I was pleased
Last week Sunday
In the evening, I went for my daily routine of checking on my onion garden. There were none. They had been leveled to the ground! They were the level of the freshly mowed grass. I knew immediately who had done it. I had let him off the hook earlier about the noise because he was deaf, but what excuse did he have now? Clearly his sight was excellent otherwise he would not have gone into the grass cutting business! How could he have not seen those onions? How could he have missed them standing there in their glorious splendor? How could he have mangled my babies so? So anyway, I am sorry, but I am going to have to shout at a handicapped person. So all this time when I have been away, I was composing a hate speech
Update
My onions once proud and glorious now sit in withering cowardice. The once healthy well fed glorious healthy looking leaves have become all skinny as they attempt to grow back. I miss my healthy babies
Fact
Yes I planted onions in a grass compound!
Last week Sunday
Lawn mower guy comes home pops his machine to life and before long, grass blades are meeting their demise. Nice enough. We do not have to live in constant danger of being bitten by snakes. Not so nice is that the noise from his outdated lawn mower has just interrupted my Sunday afternoon TV routine. Yes. On Sundays, I watch TV like it is going out of fashion. So I fought with my conscience about shouting at the guy about the possibility of muting his damn thing. Reason won. I figured, he couldn’t possibly know that the machine was making noise. You see, lawn mower guy is deaf. Besides, I have the plight of the physically disabled persons at heart.
Sometime last month
This genius idea came to me. It was so brilliant I sat back and hugged myself right after it had occurred to me. So I thought I would contribute to family welfare by increasing food production. I sorted through the onions at home and came up with perfect candidates for planting. Five of them were quickly lowered into the earth and I sat back and waited for harvest time. Everyday I checked on the onions, pruned, weeded and caressed. They were the best looking onions I had ever seen. They were so hot in fact, I could not wait to see how favorably they would compete with the boiling cooking oil once they had been harvested. In short, I was proud of these onions and even more proud of my handiwork. They were germinating well and I was pleased
Last week Sunday
In the evening, I went for my daily routine of checking on my onion garden. There were none. They had been leveled to the ground! They were the level of the freshly mowed grass. I knew immediately who had done it. I had let him off the hook earlier about the noise because he was deaf, but what excuse did he have now? Clearly his sight was excellent otherwise he would not have gone into the grass cutting business! How could he have not seen those onions? How could he have missed them standing there in their glorious splendor? How could he have mangled my babies so? So anyway, I am sorry, but I am going to have to shout at a handicapped person. So all this time when I have been away, I was composing a hate speech
Update
My onions once proud and glorious now sit in withering cowardice. The once healthy well fed glorious healthy looking leaves have become all skinny as they attempt to grow back. I miss my healthy babies
Fact
Yes I planted onions in a grass compound!
Loser chronicles
From the loser chronicles, I bring you quotable quotes
Loser; so how have you been?
Antipop; ok. Have kind of missed you
Loser; Yea. I know. Despite everything people say I know people always liked me. You see, I always went the extra mile to make people happy
Antipop; I’m sorry, what?
Loser; Yes. I went the extra mile to make YOU happy
Antipop; when? Gi’me one example
Loser; you don’t remember? We even used to do sports together
Antipop; Er, sports?
Loser; Yes. We went drinking together. That is the greatest sport a man can do with a woman. You have got to admit though, that was a nice gesture on my part
Comment;
Yes I remember these times. Holed up in a cheap kafunda wedged between weird looking characters speaking Rutoro. The closest I got to sports was this one time they brought a steaming tray of pork and set it on the table in front of us. And loser told me to dig in. I folded my sleeves and did what any self respecting woman would do. I made a dash for the meat.
Loser; so how have you been?
Antipop; ok. Have kind of missed you
Loser; Yea. I know. Despite everything people say I know people always liked me. You see, I always went the extra mile to make people happy
Antipop; I’m sorry, what?
Loser; Yes. I went the extra mile to make YOU happy
Antipop; when? Gi’me one example
Loser; you don’t remember? We even used to do sports together
Antipop; Er, sports?
Loser; Yes. We went drinking together. That is the greatest sport a man can do with a woman. You have got to admit though, that was a nice gesture on my part
Comment;
Yes I remember these times. Holed up in a cheap kafunda wedged between weird looking characters speaking Rutoro. The closest I got to sports was this one time they brought a steaming tray of pork and set it on the table in front of us. And loser told me to dig in. I folded my sleeves and did what any self respecting woman would do. I made a dash for the meat.
i have often wondered
First off, let me just say that we all have different ways of looking at things. For example, boy recieves a basket of flowers, you see love, I see a blog post. By the way, that is as close as I am going to get to as if appologising to you who thought I have nugu and all that from before.
But this post is about how i have always wondered...yes. I sit there and start wondering about stuff. Research has shown that all smart people are like that. Also, this is as close as I am going to get to explaining to people how extremely brilliant I am. So this is what I have been wondering;
What type are you? Are you the type that wipes, squishes the tissue, dumps it in the toilet and pulls up your pants/panties and forgets about it? Or are you the looking type? As in, you wipe and you check...If you are the latter, don't you just hate how sometimes you wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe...phew!
Moral of this thought; Eat your greens and drink a lot of water!
Note to Baz; Do not think i have forgotten about the whole reputation killing tirade you had going about me the other day. Mbu "maternal-looking brown chick eating maize and humming Rock Of Ages to herself." I will have you know I have very excellent taxi ettiquette.
But this post is about how i have always wondered...yes. I sit there and start wondering about stuff. Research has shown that all smart people are like that. Also, this is as close as I am going to get to explaining to people how extremely brilliant I am. So this is what I have been wondering;
What type are you? Are you the type that wipes, squishes the tissue, dumps it in the toilet and pulls up your pants/panties and forgets about it? Or are you the looking type? As in, you wipe and you check...If you are the latter, don't you just hate how sometimes you wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe and wipe...phew!
Moral of this thought; Eat your greens and drink a lot of water!
Note to Baz; Do not think i have forgotten about the whole reputation killing tirade you had going about me the other day. Mbu "maternal-looking brown chick eating maize and humming Rock Of Ages to herself." I will have you know I have very excellent taxi ettiquette.