He is larger than life

The “THIS IS IT” rehearsal video is amazing!
An adventure, showing people excerpts of Mj's life that we had never seen before.

The large crowd that walked into Cineplex seemed anxious, like they were going to watch a live concert. The silence was deafening, no phone’s going off as they usually do, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen.

Michael’s passion is such an inspiration. The manner with which he swerved his body and wiggled his toes seemed like music was literally flowing through his veins. His rehearsals were like the actual presentation, he poured out his life. He was very articulate as to how every note should sound, when he wanted a loud bang and when he wanted the music to simmer. As though he’d seen the concert before.

It was great to see Jackson unveiled, a side to him that had always been shielded. To listen to him talk, rebuke and guide his crew in a cool manner. The words “I love you” and “God bless you” flowed steadily from his lips.

His talent was truly out of this world. He wrote his own songs, created his signature dance moves. How is it that my 5 year old son who had never heard of MJ before his death can with ease, Identify his songs as they play on the radio? That just blows my mind.

His director and the team he worked with were in awe of him, how is that possible after several sleepless nights, grueling rehearsals and clashes which come with the package of any serious production?

I loved the show, I loved the amazing young talent, I loved seeing Jackson uncut.

There were occasional jeers of pity (Ugandan style), by the end, a wave of satisfaction swept through the crowd as they had drunk deeply and their thirst was quenched. Like at last funeral rites, they were happy to finally lay him to rest, to close the door and say goodbye.

Of Rats And Thieves!

Two days ago, Mich asked me to feel his shaky tooth. He said when it fell out, he would place it on top of the fridge so the rat would find it (a school theory no doubt). Then as though he had an aha! moment he said – “mummy, we shouldn’t kill rats because they will not be able to bring our gifts”. So, that is the new campaign in our household.
Once, my grandma in Serere told me about a huge rat that crept into huts and snuck off with utensils. Over time, cups, plates and ladles were noted missing. The rat would dig holes in the ground where it would hoard its loot. I don’t know how the things were traced but I imagine in folk tales, the rat would be caught and asked to lead the villagers to the hot spot. Mich has no clue what he is asking for.

And now to the real stuff that is making me boil. You see, in Africa, when a man is caught in adultery, tress passing or in some kind of wrongful activity, we get upset, we raise our voices but it’s soon forgotten. When a man is caught stealing, he is beaten to a pulp and set on fire. People walking passed passionately add their two blows without a clue of what the thief stole. Stealing ticks people off. The anger, rage and feeling of violation that they experience with thieves in their lives provoke them to pitch in. One thief caught is an ambassador for all the others who slipped away.
A thief invades personal space. He is an abuser. He doesn’t ask for permission, he snatches, takes what is not his. A thief kills and destroys, invades privacy, crushes our spirits and leaves suspicious, enraged, disgusted people all around.

Everything we own has a story; you recall how it came into your possession. It may have been a gift, something you saved up for - denying yourself of certain pleasures to purchase it, or maybe it’s a sentimental piece, valuable because of who gave it to you or who it reminds you of.
Out of desperation I have wished for a chance to negotiate with “my thieves”; to tell them - take the money but leave my ID, take the bag but leave my school notes, my contacts, my passport. That is the manner with which a thief brings me to my knees. I understand the fury that erupts when a painter’s half finished piece is stolen, a writer’s third draft manuscript is gone, a pupil’s pencil disappears, a business man is conned of his capital, and the 500 shilling coin is missing. It sucks!

I have encountered 4 types of thieves.
Hobby snitcher – They see something nice and think it would be great to add to their collection - it’s gone!
Desperate snitcher - “Man! I am hungry. Kato’s chicken will have to do, I will pray for forgiveness afterwards”.
Killer – “Your money or your life”
Kleptomaniac – He will pick anything that is not nailed down. He gets a rush from taking stuff.

Since I got back, a phone and a camera have gone missing arrrggg!!!

Sensual Kampala

Eyes mirror the soul. Many have trained to disguise their emotions, but ordinarily our eyes tell on us.
I have therefore concluded that this city is on heat, excuse the language but I can’t find a more polite phrase. It’s the way men look at women, women smile coyly and then meet at strange locations at weird hours to quench their lust. Old men defile little girls, older women sleep with younger men; it’s about black mail, love affairs gone bad, the devil – the reasons are endless. It’s probably been this way since before, before, but now I see the issues with new lenses.
As I interact, I sense the forces in control -; “sleep with her, just don’t get caught”, build my house, get the latest car, wiggle a way in to the CEO’s good books for a promotion, crave status, hang with the “right” crowd, date the pretty young thing, have an affair with the married lady – “she’s been on my list for a long time, besides her husband doesn’t pay her as much attention”. Study ACCA, MAT, CAT, AAC, AMT, TMA and I don’t know what else.

The waves of traditional and church weddings continue to sweep the city while the waves of separation, infection, unfaithfulness and stress sweep right back and stronger. The gravity of commitment to covenant's has long since lost meaning. Have the traditional introduction ceremony and wed, who cares what happens after the guests are gone? Ok, so we have a few debts, the presents are nice, there is a “bun” in the oven and she is still being pursued by man-friend x who will not give up no matter how many vows she makes. That is life!

Looking to be employed is ancient, owning a business is the in thing. Money pours in, you wish you had embarked on this journey ages ago. “Do business” “Be your own Boss”.

But I wonder back to - When do two people become one? Is it when their minds have the same password, they understand each other beyond words? Is it when they publicly confess their undying love? When they get physically intimate? Or when after 30 years of living together, they know how each one likes their tea, what that look means, how one’s toes curls when they are extremely irritated?
Should sex be taken seriously? Isn’t it as simple as spontaneously laughing at the same joke?

Life is complicated and yet the author says it’s quite simple. “Self control” runs the course of His manual like a man in a marathon. He says He has given us everything we need for life and godliness – I don't know.

Anyway, now that it's finally off my chest, I can carry on with the day’s events. Whether or not I make sense is a whole other issue.


Have a great weekend

Renewing my Ugandan license is driving me crazy

My driving license expires in a week. No better time like the present to have it renewed right?

I drove to Uganda Revenue Authority office in Nakawa and begun the hustle. I’d have been happy to have someone else run this errand but there is no one else, so the “ponky” landed on me.

The chaos in that place is hard to describe; - 8 o’clock on Monday morning looked like 12pm, Thursday afternoon - lots of people standing around, gazing at cars, and conversing. I walked passed a man squatting by the wall, trying to catch some sleep. I don’t know if he was succeeding but his eyes were shut and he was rocking slightly, with the wall as a support.

The office/warehouse, which is excellent for cargo and animals but nothing else, was stuffy and crammed. I had to guess my way around, figure out which forms to fill, where to take them and whom to talk to. Meanwhile men were staring, taking long glances at my paper to see what I had written. I occasionally heard, “Njagala okukyusa numba puleetti” and “kati kampune yange”, kampune became kampune. A hundred and one transactions taking place - company registration, number plate acquisitions, license renewals... I wish there was a simpler way - like getting a drivers license for life. Okay, maybe the country revenues would take a dip, but can we make it 10 years instead of 3? That way we won’t have to squash up in an old unventilated warehouse, among other things.

I stood in 4 different lines in the space 4 hours. Twice I was lucky to stand in the right line from the start, the other times I had to begin at the back of yet another line. Twice, while in the right lane 2 men elbowed their way in front of me.

Hello! In case you didn’t notice, this is a line, if you want to join, kindly start at the back, just like I did.
So I asked the man why he was “fixing himself”.

“But I was somewhere here”

“I have been standing here and I don’t recall you in front of me”

“Yes, but I was somewhere here”

“Where?”

“Ok I don’t remember well. But let us leave that”

“Would you be happy if someone did this to you?”

“In fact, no!”

I was in a good mood, figured there was no reason to continue the exchange. I got my name printed and was off guessing what the next move was.
I queued up at the bank, paid the fee and after 30 minutes was instructed to go back to the warehouse. By this time the lines were so thick it was hard to figure out which counter I would end up at and if it was the right one. Again I stood in what I suspected to be the right line and again a man popped in front of me, just like the weasel.

“Can you please join the line (at the back)?”

“Ah ah! Me I just want a stamp”

“What about the rest of us?”

“I don’t know”

His raw nature made me chuckle but honestly I wished I could yank him by the back of his shirt collar and settle him outside the entrance.

We own the moment.

Aah!

You look stunning!

I’m enthralled with the way your clothes fit perfectly; defining a man with purpose and vision, a man with style - dignified and playful all at once.

It’s refreshing to see your smile.

You bend ever so slightly and wrap me in your arms. Your cologne - subtle and crisp, smells heavenly. As I lay my head on your shoulder I wish time would hush, make no move, stay forever in this moment.

You whisper – “I've missed you” I respond, breathless, “me more”.

The strength in your hand as it envelops mine, firm but gentle confirms – “I care about you. I want to protect you”

My heart skips a beat, our eyes lock in a knowing gaze and we smile when our favorite song plays on the radio. We own the moment! Nobody feels the way we do. Fireworks and lightning engulf us at the same exact split second - simply blissful!

Just you and me baby! Just you and me.

I love Uganda

Chap-chap!
Just like that, 2 months have whizzed passed since coming home. I have done my share of complaining and now life goes on. It is almost down to a routine; Crazy boda-boda men putting their lives on the line, the pushing and shoving, heavy traffic, numerous holidays. The riots came as a surprise welcome home package but clearly some Ugandans are burning with rage and there is dynamite waiting to explode.
I love the predictability of the weather, when it’s scorching hot during the day; I know showers are around the corner. I know that since the UMA show is on, it’s going to rain; at least it has been that way for many years. I love the cool breeze and I’m glad I don’t have to drastically change my wardrobe to suit the weather. I miss fall colors but not the cold winter nights, wrapped up, sipping on a cup of coffee every hour. Hustling with Sam to turn up the heat and he turning it down because much as I need the warmth but he can’t take the bills.

I love munching on a soft freshly baked bun, sprinkled with sesame seeds, sand witched with crunchy onions placed over tasty ham, glazed with mayonnaise, snappy lettuce and a nice red round juicy slice of tomato yummm! The Dominoes burger does it for me!
I close my eyes and slurp as I chew on the tastiest, juiciest, Ugandan pineapple.
My toes curl as I sip on an ice cold glass of homemade, thirst quenching passion fruit juice.
Memories of a fun filled childhood rush in like kids running out to play when I settle down to a plate of that white ish – colorless ish stick of sugar cane. Ah! It makes a cracking sound when I take a bite, as I begin to crunch, the sweet juice gushes out, filling my mouth, it flows down my throat and I forget it’s a chore to spit out the husks.
The firm, fleshy jack fruit, takes me to another place.

As I glance at the tree in my compound, pregnant with its fruit, my cheeks lean up to meet my eyes.














The “C” word (calories) is history, food is fresh, healthy and organic.
Oh Uganda, may God uphold thee! ( and I haven’t even mentioned the Avocado).

Madness from the East

Like grasshoppers drawn to light, they are drawn to money ventures. Like ants in line, stopping to greet each other and ferrying chunks of food to the anthill, their sense of community and hard work is evident. They are spread out all over the globe, from the dingiest dark corners to hoity-toity palaces.
They multiply like mushrooms; they creep into areas and take over. They are successful business owners, when they spot fertile fields, they ship family, distant cousins, neighbors and local touts by the hundreds. Woe is yours if they employ you - getting fair pay is like squeezing juice out of a dry mango seed. They almost always carry packed lunch to work and will not leave until they must. They own shops’ in villages’ on the outskirts of civilization, yet the villagers will know where they are located because of the reasonable prices.
While the rest of us buy expensive cars, they drop children off on simple scooters. When there is a fuel crisis, guess who is still on the road?
2 grown men walk into a restaurant and order a 300ml coke which they gladly share. Don’t know if it quenches their thirst but something tells me they were on a mission, scouting out the possibility of taking over that business or maybe it’s just the sense of brotherhood.
3 families with 2 children each will live in a 2 bed roomed run down shack and there is room for grandma and grandpa.
Madness!
They make for half the population in prestigious schools around the world.
The best known doctors carry their long tongue tying names.
They are advisers' in the White house.

Even though their heads balance like eggs on spoons as they speak, we’ve got to give it to them – we need some of that madness.