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.