An Interview with somebody's chicken during the festive season

This being the most popular festive season in the world I am sure millions of chicken will lose their heads at the hands of human beings. We feel kind of sorry for them and therefore we had our own Tiberindwa Zakaria talk to somebody's chicken to find out whether some of these birds know what is likely to happen to them during the festive season.

(Just before the interview starts with this particular chicken, I have to chase it around the compound for about 15 minutes and when I finally capture it, I ensure that I hold it so tight lest it escapes before we are done with the interview.)

Christianity versus cohabiting

The challenge I got when I became more committed to my Christian call was that I began poking my nose into what is usually referred to as “other people’s business”. The problem is that the more I got closer to God, the more assured I became of heaven and thus the misplaced assumption that everyone wants to go to heaven like me. I started throwing scripture that is profitable for instruction and reproof at those that are lost; those who do not know what they really want in life, those who are definitely going to hell if they heed not to my counsel.  

Meanwhile, I became uncomfortable with the rate at which I was bumping into girls in our showers at hostel in the wee hours of the morning. Okay, I understand that our hostel is a mixed hostel but there is a wing for the girls and one for the boys. So I expect that the few showers that we share as guys should not be intruded upon by those shameless offenders that spend nights at their boyfriends’ places.

When I grow up I want to be the Kabaka of Buganda

To begin with, I technically cannot be the Kabaka of Buganda (Uganda’s largest ethnic entity) because I cannot be Born Again. Yes I cannot go back to my mother’s womb and get reborn as a Muganda. I am from the famous Bunyoro Kingdom, what was once a powerful empire here in East Africa but which has now lost its lustre.

But still, I believe there is a way out for me. We can borrow ideas from the concept of being Born Again as understood within the Christian tradition. Under that concept, being Born Again has nothing to do with physical re-birth but rather a spiritual renewal that one receives after one has become an adopted son of the Most High God. That is how we that were once aliens to the promise, we that were once not considered children are now counted as brethren to Christ who is first born son amongst many brethren. Thus it is the very reason why we cry Abba father and also the means through which we have obtained an inheritance in the Kingdom of God.

Playing hide and seek games with my new editor

When a writer is tempted to pick fights with his editor in the name of writing an article, you know he’s run short of ideas. But that is not the case here. As a matter of fact, I have not run short of idea.

Besides, my new editor and I have enjoyed a perfect working relationship thus far, obviously apart from the usual squabbles about the deadlines. Once upon a time, I was very good at beating deadlines. These days, I am sloppy when it comes to beating newsroom deadlines. Unfortunately, that paper for which I write has now got an editor who is stricter on deadlines. So, for the last one week, we have been playing hide and seek games with my new editor online. Now someone is going to ask me how they play such games online. Well, with the advent of Facebook, Twiiter, Youtube, Googleplus and all other social media networks that are driving us mad, anything is possible online these days.

It's not sleeping sickness or nagana that is distubing Uganda's bigwigs

An interview with the Tsetse fly that is suspected to have spread Sleeping sickness/Nagana to Uganda’s bigwigs

The tsetse fly denies responsibility for the unfortunate predicament.

As we may all know, it is no longer news. The bigwigs in this God forsaken country we call Uganda have made it a habit to sleep at every budget reading and State of the Nation Address. It is almost two months since we last saw the people that matter sleeping during the budget reading and it seems illogical that the Wireless Connection has decided pick on this matter after two months. But you see the Wireless Connection is not the kind of place where you expect people to take logical actions. Anyway just for your sake let us cook up some explanation that we think will satisfy you.

We were still investigating the matter to establish which of the Tsetse flies in this country has the guts to enter into the mansions or bungalows of our beloved politicians to spread this sickness.

How I disorganized people's daughters in my final year on campus

I graduated from Uganda Christian University recently after getting an LLB (Hons) Degree but the most wonderful time for me on campus was that time when I was in my final year. And the reason is not hard to find.

You know, when you become a finalist, you become a defacto trusted consultant in the academic matters of your respective course.  I for one had all these young girls running after me to help them with their coursework and man I was more than glad to help out.

Why I despise girls who shun poetry recitals

My lady friends, I am sorry if this offends you but it is the truth. And I thought the earlier I speak about it the better for the friendship we share. You all know friendship is about openness. I am trying to be open about my convictions here so that we can share a more fulfilling relationship henceforth. I hope you all know that relationships are about taking the time to know one another’s needs, and going on to satisfy those particular needs.

Kenyans should donate the pork to Ugandans, not waste it on futile political campaigns

May 2013 ended on a very terrible note for me. The Kenyan Members of Parliament, a.k.a MPigs, sorry MPs, voted to increase their salaries. This means that all the pigs that those advocates used in the demonstration to dissuade the politicians from doing the obvious, increase their salaries: ­­­was a regrettable waste.

I hear mbu there will be another protest of a similar nature (read occupy parliament reloaded) on 11th June 2013. I hope there will be no pork involved this time around.

What we want is a coup, not this hopeless bickering we are hearing from some bored generals

When we speak about a coup, some of you get so apprehended to the point that you can even afford to hide under your chairs at the mention of that 4 lettered word. But hey, look here, come forth from your hiding place under that chair and let us talk about this. As Ugandans, it would simply be unrealistic if we pretended that coups are an alien topic to our existence. Just a reminder, for the 50 years that we have existed as an independent nation transitions of power have predominantly, if not only been by Coup D’états.

So, for us to pretend that it is an abomination for a citizen of this blessed curse of a nation to speak about a coup is to ignore our own history. But even then, we cannot speak of disgruntled Generals and not speak about a Coup D’état. Coup D’états is what disgruntled Generals machinate (apart from the coy Ugandan ones off course).

The truth about life after campus

When we are still on campus, we are usually tempted to make very many baseless assumptions about life after campus. We, in our myopic way of thinking assume that all will be well and we dream of things like making quick inroads into the world of employment, steadily rising through the ranks in our careers, driving the latest models of cars, purchasing plots of land in the prime skirts of the city, marrying the pretty ladies of this world, giving birth to a few beautiful kids and all that claptrap. But you see those are but merely funny dreams. And one thing I like about dreams is that they happen when we are sleeping. 

When we finally chose to wake up, we shall realize that things are different out here.  Here is how we think and what the truth really is.

Lantern Meet of Poets give love theme interesting twist

When word went around, to announce what has become one of the most, if not the most popular poetry recital in town to have been scheduled on a love related theme dubbed ”Bittersweet” even those that are never moved by poetry got concerned. For wasn’t it Plato that said, ‘At the touch of love, everyone is a poet.” If we are to judge by the throngs that showed up at the National Theatre on Day 2 of the recital, then Perhaps Plato was right. I am quite certain not all those that turned up that Saturday are necessarily poetry lovers but where love is the humans gather.

Of Campus kids who know nothing about Achebe and how they should eat rolexes

One fact I have discovered about myself is that I am a snob. Now, every writer is, in one way or the other. It is not that we really intend to walk around with extra kilos of false airs but somehow our calling forces us into such obnoxious behavior. As a matter of fact, writers are not paid a lot of money but the praises and flatteries that we receive for our work makes up for the poor pay. That is how our egos are boosted and we tend to bask in the glory. We then step on every other person’s toe with such reckless abandon.

The death of Achebe and the rise of the mighty snob

As a writer, the death of Achebe became fodder for my snobbish gibberish and the fact that I have read more of his titles than some Ugandans did not make things any better. (Some Ugandans know nothing about the late Achebe beyond his single but also most popular title of Things Fall Apart.)

Kabale is not the “Switzerland” of Africa; Switzerland is the “Kabale” of Europe

I have not been to Switzerland, so I am possibly not the best person to make pronouncements on this matter. Besides I am a Ugandan and Kabale is a town in Uganda. As a patriotic citizen of the Pearl of Africa, I will not apologize for my biases, after all I am supposed to love my country more than anything else, right? Okay, I understand that in this web-connected generation it is awful for me to speak like I cannot even do something as simple as Google up a few writings on the European nation. But even after reading all that and seeing those nice pictures of the panoramic view of the Alps and mountains, I refuse to accede to the notion that Kabale is like Switzerland. I am rather of the view that Switzerland is like Kabale. Now, one will argue that for me to say that Switzerland is like Kabale and neglect the reverse as a manifest fallacy is but a silly play with semantics. Though, the point such a person misses is that when you liken Kabale to Switzerland you subtly give the scenic beauty of Switzerland prominence over Kabale's exquisite scenery but to liken Switzerland to Kabale is to lay across the truth as it is, put Kabale's majesty over and above Switzerland's nice looks. If you want to disprove me on this matter, just get me a visitor’s ticket to Switzerland and perhaps when I go to Switzerland, I will reconsider my assertions. But until then, Kabale is the real thing.

Kabale is strewn with undulating hills, arguably the prettiest town I have been to in this country. Kabale sparkles and entices. And then it engages as it keeps you craning and rolling your neck in a bid to behold the grandeur of the hills that have always been the trade mark of the district that is in South Western Uganda thrown as far as over 260 miles (430 kms) from Uganda’s capital, Kampala. It is only six kilometers from Katuna, the border between Uganda and Rwanda. The neat folds of manicured terraces and the lush vegetable farms form a pattern of appealing greenery that looks down from the hills upon the numerous homesteads in the valleys.

Or even then, you cannot from Kampala get to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest or Mgahinga National Park that are famed for Gorilla tracking except you go through Kabale. May be if you are prancing in from Rwanda. So you see, how fundamental Kabale is, you will never Gorilla track except you have beheld of the glory that there is in Kabale’s splendor. Honestly.

Besides, there are waters of Lake Bunyoyi, on which to take a boat ride to a nearby Island. While on the ride to the Island of your choice, your eyes are fed on a nutritious optical menu or should we call it the “boat view” of the hills that enclose the waters.

I would kindly ask that when you chose to go to that side of the world you pay a visit to the unassuming Bushara Island like I did. There, you will have a great experience watching various species of birds. But even then, the serenity and tranquility that hangs around the Island is more than what you will ever ask for. It has the ability to tame the wildest of spirits to the point of deep reflection and meditation.

On the downside, Kabale is still a municipality but with the unique expectation that the hilly town exudes, you cannot rule out the possibility of Kabale becoming a city at one point in time. I look forward to that time for I know Kabale will be akin to the proverbial city that is built on hill and which cannot be hidden.

Perhaps I am getting too sentimental here but forgive me darling. I got such a deep attachment to the place when I visited. The fact that the girl on whom I have had the most serious of crushes is a daughter of the cute town does not make things any better. Now I know why she boasts of such fine looks. I perceive why she has those dimples, those two little valleys that bring me down to my knees when she smiles. And those dark gums? That complement her chocolate complexion? God! I love them and the gyratory of her curves. A hopeless romantic from Europe will possibly claim they were chiseled in Italy but I am persuaded that her kind is only manufactured in South Western Uganda.

Now, I also understand why she soared above the cheap deceptions of my petty advances. Today when I look at her swaying her hips from left to right and from right to left and back, my heart skips and I am taken around the sanctuary; probably the reason why my prayers are never answered, for I know I will never get her, and she knows it too. So, she sways them from left to right and right to left and back and she knows I am hypnotized but she won’t give me a chance. Sometimes I think she is proud but why mustn’t she be when she comes from a place as wonderful? So, I am left with no option every time we cross paths. I have to drool as she sways on and on for I can only look on and say “behold the beauty of Kabale!”  “There goes the beauty of Kabale,” I usually mutter to myself in the alternative. I am then left in my wild hallucinations seeing my hands taking a tour around the waist and the curves that she has all in the right places. My iniquitous hands take their slow caresses through the waist as though measuring the circumference of the curves in remembrance of the soothing turns that we took while we rounded through the numerous hills when we were approaching Kabale after Seven hours of waiting.

At the end of it all, my mind with its gullibility gets drawn into wicked entreaties, to evil charms it swoons and it is bound therein before the realities of her rejections set in to bring me back to this life. And that is when I remember how I was freezing under the cool temperatures of Kabale for the two nights that I spent in the town. “Surely, it was unfair that I spent such cold nights in loneliness.” I complain to myself.  

The difference between singing and wailing in the bathroom

Girls, it is okay to sing in the bathroom but it is really horrible when in the name of singing you decide to cry. Not that your so-called singing which in actual sense sounds like weeping really bothers us, nonetheless we are definitely saddened. So, before you begin singing tomorrow while taking your morning bath; I would rather that you consider reading this. It will help you revise your ways just in case you are one of those people who can only sing by sounding like they are crying.  

The story of my neighbor. We have been neighbors with this girl for the last one month. She is the typical melancholy, one with whom you can barely strike a conversation with, that girl that glories in staying in the confinement of her solicitude. Apart from the habitual greetings in the morning and evenings nothing ever goes on between us. Every one minds their business except on those days when I have to take my breakfast at home and I have to borrow her electric kettle. But of all the sorrow that comes which having such a girl as a neighbor, the mornings are the most torturous. Every morning she weeps in the name of singing ‘omutima bwegulwalala okwagala ngaguluma, gwo tonyige nti oba oguwe kudagala guwune. Ogwange mulinga omujudde ebituli yi yi yi oooo wuwiiiii wuwiii. (When the heart gets sick of love, it hurts so much. For you cannot treat it or give it medication that it may be well. My heart is like one that has been pierced with wounds so deep yi yi yi oooo wuwiii wuwiii).’ Another time she will be like Omukwano gunyuma bweguba gutandika, naye bwegukula gumanyi okubowamu, ate bwegutama buba bugumikiriza, omukwano lubanga luyimba ahhh ahhh ehhhh wuwii wuwii. (Love is great when it has just kicked off but when it grow it starts to bore and when you get fed up of love, it is only patience that can keep you in there, love is like a song ohhh ahhh ehhe wuwiii wuwiii). She goes and on crying out Samalie Matovu’s chorus.

My part as the caring neighbor. Being the caring neighbor and attentive listener that I am, I suspected that this girl’s heart must have been pierced so deep in her past relationships that it was literally bleeding. Otherwise, there was no reason why a sane daughter of the man could wail so much about love every other morning. So, I asked her out for a date and luckily enough she accepted to tag along. The date was strictly (I swear) for the purpose of making this girl feel good about who she is and may be get to understand that she is also capable of being loved because honestly, from the way she always cried, there was definitely a lot of love that she needed to get from guys like me. As usual, that day, to get the tit-a-tee rolling, I asked for her hobby and she was like- singing. I love singing so much. I guess you have heard me sing in the bathroom. What! Singing in the bathroom! You must be kidding me, I thought to myself. Singing or crying in the bathroom? I almost asked. I was beaten.

The moral of the story. To cut the long story short the moral in the story is that before you imagine that what you do in your bathroom every morning is singing, find out from your neighbor whether it really is what you think. Otherwise, stop wailing. 

50 , 30 or 27 years? Someone is fooling us about Museveni’s time in power

Guys, His Excellence Yoweri Kaguta Museveni has been around for fifty years. Just in case you were complaining that the man has been around for too long- 27 which when rounded off to the nearest tens makes it 30 years, it is time to wake up. According to Museveni, in response to bwana Tinkasimire who was complaining about his alleged “over-stay” in power, 30 are the years he has spent in town. He spent some twenty years in the village fighting to come to town which in total makes it fifty years.

Now I know many of you thought over that statement and it just did not seem to make any sense in your minds. The fact that the NRM day celebrations were moved from 27th to 30th January for whatever reason means you will even think about this more. But that is why I am here struggling to write this. I want to open your eyes to the real truth behind the statement on which I have mediated for close to a month now.  

We shall start with an exposition on the statement concerning the allegation of spending “20 years in the bush and thirty years here in town.”  Now it is pertinent that we understand that asking Mzee to leave power is literally sending him out of town back to the bush and which in my little understanding would mean going back to the village because the bushes of this world only exist in villages. So what Museveni was trying to say is that tada mukyaalo and which resolution I support. No one wants to come from the village and go back there. If you think I am lying ask Judith Babirye why she sang that song Omukisa gwa Mukama and why she particularly includes those lyrics concerning her determination to stay in the city mbu “ekibuga ssikyifuluma nedda (I will not get out of town no matter what)”. And it is not only Judith Babirye but there is also another guy called Cobby Bly who sings and says “Sidda Mukyalo, wadde Kampala nge egganye” I will not go back to the village even if things fail to work out here in Kampala. Yet, how can I speak of all these people and forget my man Red Banton in his famous Nemeddeko track in which he vows not to leave the city. I can go on and on even speaking of Ugandans who in their private conversations intimated to me their determination to stay in the city and never to return to the village from whence they came. So, who does Hon. Tinkasimire think he is to push a “whole” president back to the village?

May be I need to give more explanations on this matter. As far as I know Mzee has no family home in town except State House in Entebbe and he can only keep his stay in State House by keeping in power. Therefore, anyone who presents suggestions of him descending down the throne of presidency is technically sending him back to that village called Rwakitura to go and graze his cows in the bushes that side. And How I wish all Ugandans would understand this simple fact that the man is not about to just accept to go back to Rwakitura when he has been in town for thirty years.

The other aspect that I may need us to know about that statement is that there is someone fooling us. And the question is who is fooling us? One person tells us Mzee has been here for thirty years, the real statistics seem to suggest 27 years and when we hear from the horse’s mouth, it is something like “It is not 30 years, it is 50 years that I have been active. You are miscalculating.” So whose word should we take? I would rather we take Mzee’s word. I hope we all know that our Mzee is omniscient. He knows all things, even those things that we know not. Perhaps that is why he is the only man that God has blessed with a vision for this country. We had all been fooled to think that he has been around for thirty years kumbe the man has been around for fifty years. This, to put it, a little bluntly means that we are all fools and Mzee is the only wise man in this nation. Yes we are all fools. How could we have failed to figure out that Mzee has been around for more than thirty years if we are not fools? We have all been fooled by people like Tinkasimire and our eyes are blind to the truth. So, let us all wake up and know that this country deserves nothing better than Mzee, the fountain of wisdom, the discoverer of Oil, the Conqueror of the Bush Empire for we are all but fools. 

The next article will be an analysis on why the Ugandan Army should disband ouir parliament