Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Born Again brothers should either style up or force the sisters into hell

Many of you must have heard some of our Christian sisters complaining mbu
Christian brothers are sluggish when it comes to matters of expressing
feelings of love. And there is a general feeling among the few sisters that
shared with me their experiences with the Christian brothers that those
allegations against our brothers are nothing but the truth and only the

One of those sisters in our church is the 30-year old Jane who always comes
to me grumbling about our brother Samuel. Samuel has done everything to win
Jane’s heart apart from confessing to her that he has feelings for her. Now
the sister is confused, she does not know whether to go on and take the
responsibility of confessing to him or leave everything to destiny such that
she can wait for that day when our brother will style up and have the guts
to confess to her, that is if he ever gets the guts to confess to her
anyway. Jane also whispered to me that the closest the fellow has come to
confessing to her was a few days ago when the guy told her that he loves her

On the other hand my brother Samuel is saved, BORN AGAIN, spirit filled,
demon chasing and fire spitting. The guy is so pious that one could easily
take him to be a distant relative of God. Unfortunately he leaves on the
planet where “evil things” like “getting attracted to a woman” exist. The
other day he was telling me how the devil and his demons of lust had started
a serious attack on him by invading him with some strong attractions to a
sister in church. The guy said that the attractions are so strong that every
time he sees the sister whom I understand to be Jane, his heart begins
pumping fast and that he just stops understanding himself. Now he has
declared a week of prayer and fasting to overcome those demons of lust.
Meanwhile he will also use that opportunity to strongly call upon the
almighty to do something about his marital status. I hear mbu he is single
and waiting for the lord to help him search for his Mrs. Right. That is how
far some of us can bother our father in heaven. Our father spent his
precious time creating these beautiful sisters that are all over the place
and now some lazy brothers want him to choose for them which of the sisters
amongst them they should marry.

I swear when I heard all this tomfoolery about our sluggish brothers and our
sisters who are almost murdered with injured feelings I not only felt sorry
for our sisters but also wished that some of these sisters had fallen for
BORN AGAIN brothers like us who are not only fast but also always go
straight to the point when dealing with these daughters of Eve in matters of
love. Honestly I will meet a woman for the first time and if I have fallen
for her, will walk right to where she is and tell her “I love you”. It does
not matter whether she says “yes” or “no”. All that matters to me is that I
have told her what my heart feels. After all I am not the first or the last
man to tell her these things and neither am I the first or the last to whose
heart felt confession she will say “no”. That is why, for the few years I
have lived on this earth, apart from my chana, all the other women I tried
to confess to say “no” but that is not anything that has ever bothered my
soul. In fact sometimes I take their "no" to be an
advantage to my chana. That is because honestly one of the few reasons why I am
faithful to that chana of mine is because those various ladies said “no” to
my love proposals other wise I would be sharing my precious love that I
bequeath to her with a few other women. (Hope she does not read this……. but
anyway it is a fact).

By Zakaria Tiberindwa

Tuesday, December 14, 2010


I cannot hold it any more
It is beyond my understanding
I am puzzled just about to be bamboozled,
Always in a mull because of the beauty I saw last night in my dream
She was an angel sent to me from God.

Her beauty is unexplainable,
Her body complexion indescribable
Her figure just as swift as the ostrich's neck
Her hair as smooth as fine granite and shines like fine gold

She is a wonder in the place
Butterflies linger about her searching for nothing else but...Nectar
Yes, nectar, her body is endowed with every kind of of nectarines,
These send many to throw food at her sight
She is such a beauty that God really put concentration on.

Her smile rivals with the sun's brightness at noon
Her walk competes with that of the fairs
Her nose framed only to capture calculated amount of oxygen
So you can guess the size, but don't get jealous man!!!!
Above all, she was created on Monday.
Yes Monday, come and ask me that creation account
I will encapsulate it for you.
How glad is it to have such an angel in my life
Therefore, give us a break: don't touch her with or without my consent or with my consent

Stay 100,000 miles away from her because you will melt away
I love the angel.

Michael Aboneka Jr.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

The string that knotted our hearts

If there is anything I have failed to define on this planet then it is the
word “love” despite that I go to a church that claims to be the place where
love is ministered unto the hearts of men.

One of the reasons why I have failed to define love is probably because I
have heard all sorts of things about love. A lot about love; both good and
bad to the extent that I have heard people that accuse love of being wicked.
However, I had the most interesting thing about love recently. My friend,
Donus told me that it is only in love where we do the silliest of things but
get excused just because we claim to do them in the name of love. Donus
claims that because we do them in the name of love we tend to simply refer
to these silly things as crazy things we do for love and honestly I agreed
with him because as far as I can remember all the crazy things I have done
for love are actually silly only that I had never thought about them in this
perspective before. And while I was still scratching my head to bring back
to memory all those crazy things that I had always done in the name of love
that is when I remembered one of the craziest things I have done for love in
my life. Probably I should say the silliest thing I have done in life and
decided to tell the world about it just that I may tell the world how
“crazy” we can be for love.

Back then in the days when my chana, Christine and I were in high school,
her parents were tight markers of her young soul. Fortunately, despite the
tight marking I had managed to maneuver a way of passing my message of love
to Christine and it had been gladly received on that end. Our love had thus
grown in leaps and bounds since that trademark achievement. Nonetheless as
young and energetic lovers then, we always thought we needed more private
time together since most of the time we had always met only coincidentally
when we had gone to fetch water at the well which we thought was too public
a place for us to share our secret love at such a place. Yet with the
behavior of Christine’s dad it was almost impossible to get this private
time. That is when I decided to hatch a plan of meeting this daughter of a
man more often. It is the craziest plan I have made in life and I made it
because I loved Christine. Luckily she accepted the plan.

The plan was such that we would meet late in the night when the whole world
had gone to sleep. She would have a long string tied on her hand, part of
which string she would let to hang outside the window of her bedroom such
that when I came, instead of knocking on her window which I thought would
easily attract the attention of the other sleeping fellas in the house,
instead I would gently pull the string tied to the hand to beckon her soul
from slumber. She would then wake up, open the window and have me share a
moment of conversation and love with her. The extremely soft and sweet
conversations between Christine and I would then stretch far into the night
with the two hearts knotted together: but knotted with a string of love.

By Tiberindwa Zakaria

A peasant in the city but a king in the countryside

After two or so years, a few weeks ago I boarded a bus back to Hoima. Hoima
for those of you that may not know is in western Uganda over 200 kilometers
away from Kampala. It is that district that is found in the heart of Bunyoro
sub- region which sub- region is also known as the region that flows with
milk and oil. I had gone back to see my 93-year old grand ma that lives in
one of the villages in Hoima called Kikara which is about 15 kilometers from Hoima town.

Having taken sometime without going back to that village, the moment I
stepped foot on that village after those two or so years I was given an
unforgettable welcome. Almost every person in the village came over to have
a handshake with me the son of that village when they were told that I had
landed right into the village, straight and direct from the capital,
Kampala. They were so excited to have had me back. One thing I realized and
I really liked about our village when I went there is the fact that once a
person is from Kampala, it matters not whether all that he does in Kampala
is spend days on the streets of Kampala as a beggar or hawker. All that
matters to the fellows in that village is that one is from Kampala for one
to be showered with reverence and honor of a king. When I realized this was
the case, being the wise fool that I am, I took advantage of the situation.
I started moving around and about the village with the swagger of a peacock
and I ensured that they all took notice of that swagger. I also
started a project which was to last a single night. That project
was to educate these village bofoons about Kampala. That night I invited all of
them and we sat around a huge fire, then the stories about Kampala started
flowing like a river. Obviously the stories were littered with so many lies
and exaggerations about Kampala: gigantic and soaring buildings, the cars
and the traffic jam, the pickpockets that are common in down town Kampala
and all those other things that villagers want to hear about Kampala. It was
not until late into the night that my river of stories reached its
destination and we decided to go and slumber.

The next morning, you should have seen how those villagers flooded our home
just to have the last word with the Kampala bound boy since I had told them
that I was to live the next morning and just as a matter of courtesy my
grandma that morning prepared a meal for me to have with my village
admirers. It was a meal of kalo or millet bread the staple food of the
ancestors of the sons and daughters of that land and the source of smoked
meat mixed with groundnut stew. When I sat to have that meal, started to
swallow my kalo and saw all those adoring eyes glued to my disposition, I
remembered that time when these fellows in the city had treated with
detestable despise just because I had told them that I was a son of a
Munyoro peasant. Yet when I saw the admiration that was all around my soul
that morning I was surely delighted: my soul knelt down, right there and
thanked the almighty that though the Kampala fellows had loathed me just
because I was product of a peasant at least I had got people in this world
that really admired and respected me.

By Tiberindwa Zakaria