tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87725472024-03-13T10:53:47.810+00:00Jeph's thoughtsJephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-45085345171239817772009-10-22T13:27:00.001+01:002009-10-22T13:34:07.490+01:00You are a Ugandan if you do the following…There are things that only Ugandans do that you won’t find elsewhere. We are the only people who bend all the rules, as long as we don’t break them. It’s the only country where you can pee by the roadside during broad day light and no one will point a finger at you, despite the strong warning “Tofuka wano, fine: Shs 10,000”, which loosely translated means you will be fined Shs 10,000 if caught red handed peeing here. <br /><br />A bold man once stood at such a place with a Shs 10,000 note and held it up high, but nobody dared to ask for it. But then, Ugandans fear witchcraft. Having failed to stop people from peeing on his wall fence, my neighbor decided to write on his wall: “we collect urine for witchcraft.” Nobody dared to pee there thereafter. <br /><br />Ugandans are the only people who refer to money as “balance” when they actually want “change.” We are the only people who have turned loneliness into business. You find posters with messages such as, “Do you need a lover?” pasted all over the city. Others advertise their loneliness. You find two pages of a newspaper dedicated to lonely hearts. “I’m short, dark and looking for a financially stable lady”. The man is unstable and is looking for financially stable women! This is broad day light theft.<br /><br />A true Ugandan will always respond “I’m fine” even when they are admitted in hospital or have lost a beloved one. We are fond of adding the phrase “well done” after greeting you, even when you haven’t done anything. We call a box of matches “a match box.” When it comes to our roads, only drunken drivers drive straight. They only have two problems, starting and stopping the car.<br /><br />It’s only Ugandans who look left and right before crossing a one way road. It’s only in Uganda were rainfall is an excuse for going late to work. That is if they are lucky to see you! <br /><br />Ugandans are very innovative. We refine empty mineral water bottles to pack fruit juice, empty insecticide tins to make tadoba (locally-made paraffin lamps), used tyres to make shoes (lugabire), and empty tins to hot-comb hair. We never put anything to waste.<br /><br />We also have our own kind of English. We are the only people who end questions with the 5ws. E.g. “You said what?” “You are going where?” “It’s for who?” “He did it how?” A typical Ugandan, especially one in a taxi, is likely to tell you to “extend” when in actual sense they want you to push up.<br /><br />We are good at throwing birthday parties for five-year olds and 80% of the guests are above 40. Women marry hoping to change the men and the men hoping that the women won’t change. You hear a lady say, “when we get married, I’ll make sure he eats home every night.” Visit any fast food place after 9p.m. and you’ll see how many married men are rushing to finish their chips before heading home for burnt offerings. <br /><br />Before marriage, the men enjoy walking behind their fiancées, but after two kids in the marriage, the guy is moving fast forward ahead of the wife! <br />We are good at listening to a football commentary on radio and tell it like we watched it live on television. It’s only in Uganda where I have seen restaurants where the day’s menu is in the waitresses’ mouth. <br /><br />She’ll lean over you and rap the menu like 50 Cent or Eminem. Once in restaurants, we always grab the opportunity to use tooth-picks even when we have only taken water. Ugandans, especially those from the central part of the country, are the only people who say, “kankomewo” which means “I’ll be back shortly” and never return.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1532869378776548972009-09-04T19:27:00.009+01:002009-09-04T19:49:44.997+01:00The Most annoying things in Kampala!!On my recent trip to Kampala, couldn't help but get so annoyed by so many things and I decided to compile some of the most annoying things.<br /><br /><strong>The ‘I’m-always-in-the-papers-and-nightclubs-so-I-guess-I’m-a-celeb’ kind!</strong><br />They pout their lips for the cameras, always have their faces in tabloids and insult the age-old profession called modelling by calling themselves models. So “Glamour girl” Daphne, where is the glamour in throwing bottles on peoples’ heads in night clubs? And why is it that the artistes often reffered to as “Singing Sensation” are never really that? When was the last time you saw Judith Heard on the catwalk? How come she is still referred to as a model and is often media fodder? Ok. So she gave birth to twins...now what? <br /><br /><strong><br />Salvador and his cousins</strong><br />The secret sweetheart for most housewives, maids and TV junkies a few weeks back was Salvador Cerinza. He walked in with his long hair cascading over his shoulders, looked into one of the female actress’ eyes and uttered his one liner in his usual assuring tone; “Don’t worry, soon you will know the truth.” Miles away in Kiwatule a 30-something year old man is glued to the screen to the “nail biting drama” unfolding. Meanwhile a maid taken up by the soap has burnt the dinner she was preparing. A wife has totally ignored her husband’s narration about his day at work. All because of a Mexican who, according to the plot, died ages ago but returned to earth mysteriously as a chauffeur and part time house help cum factory worker. Thank goodness it ended. Unfortunately, our grief hasn’t, what with La Tormenta, Gardener’s Daughter etc. Whatever happened to load shedding? <br /> <br /><strong>Corporate wannabes </strong><br />You would be blind to miss the lot. Not with their company cars that are parked strategically in front of a bar so that you know they are around. You see, they work for a “serious” company. Some even wear their company tags to Ange Noir. Try listening in to their chatter when they are having a drink at a “high end” bar: “Man, Obama’s tax cuts, if he is not careful, could backfire on him.” Meanwhile, their date who happens to be a fresher from MAK is nodding away in “agreement”. <br /><br /><strong>Arsenal supporters</strong>“Fabregas to Denilson, who side steps his marker and passes the ball to Clichy, who has crossed a neat ball for Robin Van Persieeee! Oh my God, he has missed it!” Story of their last four seasons. Good football, nil trophies. And when it comes to their supporters, it’s the rowdiest bunch you will ever bump into. <br /><br /><strong>What’s new-craze </strong><br />From Alzawadi’s to Barbeque Lounge. From Uchumi to Nakumatt. From Ange to T1. The list is endless! There are those of us who love to visit the latest hot bar, shopping mall or night club, go wild over it and after a few months, abandon it for the latest hot thing. Wait when a mad man starts a sheep race, then Munyonyo Goat Race will definitely be history and everyone will be cheering sheep! <br /><br /><strong>White people pleasers</strong><br />Kakaire is at a party at the British Embassy chatting with Mukasa about Mengo’s sagas. All of a sudden, Mukasa spots O’Brien coming over to join them. Mukasa totally ignores Kakaire’s yap about federo. “O’Brien, you’re alright, mate? I was in Manchester recently; it was bloody cold men…”<br />Mukasa, shut up. <br /><br /><strong>Poor customer care</strong><br />You enter a boutique to buy an item and you are met by shop attendants who stare at you for a moment. Then continue chatting about how Salvador is a hunk. You go to an eatery, ask the waiter whether the food is still hot and you’re met with a “Why don’t you check it yourself?” stare. Who hires these people? <br /><strong><br />Traffic policemen</strong><br />The lights are green, I get ready to move and I’m met by a stern policeman blowing his whistle at me telling me not to move an inch. But the lights are green! Meanwhile, the Utoda official is waving at me angrily, telling me to drive on. “Can’t you see the light is green? Which school did you go to?” Budo perhaps. <br /><br /><strong><br />Polyphonic what-the-heck-is-that ringtones</strong><br />A whole manager is in a board meeting, discussing important business with his fellow board members. Then he receives a call. “You are the bread andi butter/Bread andi butter/Oli Mugati gwa butter…”<br /><br /><strong>“I will spend Shs0 but urgently need to talk to you” kind of people</strong><br />If only telecoms charged Shs50 for any beep that goes to their network, I bet there would be no need for any promotions or airtime giveaways to get people to call. These people have perfected the art of beeping that you don’t even hear the beep. You are alerted by the flashing light on your phone and the alert “1 Missed call”. Even those who owe you money have the audacity to beep you, for you to call them, and if you do, they will inform you that they can’t pay you. <br /><br /><strong>Boda boda riders</strong><br />There has never been a quicker way to die on our roads than stepping on a boda. <br />And the most annoying thing is that however much you avoid them, there will be that one time you will need to use one and pray to God it won’t be fatal! They are one necessary evil. These men never wear helmets – despite a police directive to do so, they crash into people’s side mirrors but never stop and if you knock one of them, they are never at fault. It’s always you to blame. They put up their stages anywhere including in front of your home. And try removing them. They will remind you of their constitutional right to do whatever they please coupled with shouts of “Besigye oye, oye!”<br /><strong><br />Sad radio show callers</strong><br />They call into radio shows and go on to sing Miss Independent for Shs5,000. Or at times call in to air their views about topics like why women depend on men and five seconds into their tirade…tee tee….their airtime has run out. And then there are those who make it a point to call in religiously. Ring ring.<br />“Yap who is this?” <br />“Fatti Boyi, this is Quiet Storm callingi for ze foce time.” <br />Quiet Storm, why don’t you save your airtime? <br /><br /><strong>Potholes, of course</strong><br />They stare at you like a three-year-old with no teeth. The competition for the only tarmac available on the Bugolobi road is so high. One has to leave the office early to beat it. You have to drive in zig-zag fashion to avoid ending up in them. And as you are manoeuvering … “Wee, wee, wee…” A convoy of Hon John Nasasira, Minister for Works and Transport, is passing by so you have to give way. <br /><br /><strong>The unbelievable radio adverts</strong>“The best place to find love is in a supermarket. Roy and I met in a supermarket. You can find virtually everything in Kenjoy Supermarket...” You must be kidding right? <br /> <br /><strong>Those not perturbed by anything</strong><br />You complain about the roads, they simply say, “Cheer up, Zimbabweans are starving. At least you had a meal.” You are angry at the traffic policeman for the way he is handling the traffic and he quips, “At least you own a car. Imagine a pregnant mother out there in a taxi, with no one to help.” Jeez, what planet are you from?Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-59958431916982615492009-07-27T18:51:00.002+01:002009-07-27T19:08:22.691+01:00YOU KNOW YOU'VE BEEN IN UGANDA FOR A LONG TIME WHEN...This is a collection of what people think about being in Uganda for a very long time.<br /><br />-Your phone rings and it is a wrong number and you can keep the Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello's going back and forth like a tennis match until eventually the caller realises you are the wrong number and abruptly hangs up, after spending at least 2 minutes worth of airtime. (Natalie McComb)<br /><br />- You get arrested and start bargaining over the bribe whilst you drive yourself to jail. (Jason McKelvie)<br /><br />- When malaria number 10 is cause for a party. (Ailsa Woolard)<br /><br />- When the power goes off in chicago during a storm and it makes you homesick...(Sarah Larson)<br /><br />- When you enter into a room of people and say Well done! (Tamar Stockley)<br /><br />- Your standard response to someone's greetings becomes "I AM FINE, HOW ARE YOU?!". (Maanan Madhvani)<br /><br />- You start saying "the what?" in every what? In every sentence. (Christopher Laughlin)<br /><br />- Al's bar becomes a form of speed dating! (Tom Slater)<br /><br />-You start referring to people as “this one” or “that one”. (Heather Lawrence)<br /><br />- Clothes becomes a two-syllable word. Clo - thes. (Ruth Townley)<br /><br />- You know you've been in Uganda for a long time when... you join this group! (Joshua Carlson)<br /><br />- When the sight of a boda-boda with a passenger carrying yet another boda-boda [effectively a boda-boda breakdown service] does not cause you to raise an eyebrow. (Kaz Kasozi)<br /><br />- When you stand in a queue and feel something is very wrong because it is orderly and the person behind you respects your personal space. (Nick Astles)<br /><br />- When you're no longer surprised that a boda boda guy will try to convince you to become his customer by running you over. (Andrea Bohnstedt)<br /><br />- When you have named the potholes. (Nanna Schneidermann)<br /><br />- Your knees ache from squating over a long drop 4 times a day because you ran out of ciproflaxcin a month ago...(Jeremy Schmitz)<br /><br />- Its 32 degrees C outside and you can still see one or two people fully dressed Sweater and all. (Kaliika Annat)<br /><br />- When you start craving for a 'Big Mac'. (Ash Kotecha)<br /><br />- When you are sincerely disorganised...meaning shit faced!!!! (Haris Coussidis)<br /><br />- When you know that a Swiss Loll at the Belgian bakery is a Swiss Roll. And that the man asking for Lose actually refers to Rose. (Sanne Andersen)<br /><br />- When you don't get confused even though the person you're talking to keeps mixing up 'he' and 'she' in the same sentence. (Kirstine Corneliussen Magoola)<br /><br />- When you point with your lips and say yes with your eyebrows. (Marcia Baugh)<br /><br />- When are reluctant to let go of a new, CLEAN 1000 shilling note. (Daisy Asiimwe)<br /><br />- You start thinking drinking beer with a straw is cool. (Joel Wandurwa)<br /><br />- When your home does not have an address. (Alice Kimbowa)<br /><br />- When you exhibit NRE bar behaviour in a Michelin star restaurant in a ball gown in london... (Naomi Swain)<br /><br />- When the beggar starts giving out change. (Morgan Gyaviira Bonna)<br /><br />- When people use please in everything they say when talking to you and it does not sound weird at all.........`bye please'...."thank you please" (Mimmy Khamis )<br /><br />- When you still have to look left,right and left again before crossing a one way street. (Francis Musinguzi)<br /><br />- When that article in Wikipedia on Ugandan English totally makes sense (Martin Ucanda / Anne Mugisha)<br /><br />- When you consider going to Garden City a "trip to the Mall", made even more special if the escalator is switched on (Stuart Cook)<br /><br />- The idea of using someone's establishment as a waiting or meeting room without giving them any business does not appall you at all (Lydia Namubiru)<br /><br />- You hold up a fart in public, not knowing it obviously ends in the brain..., which is why many of we Ugandans end up speaking shit, which would have been avoided (Alex Balimwikungu)<br /><br />- you yell, "muzungu" at other muzungu's you see walking down the road as you pass them in your car (Virginia Earwicker)<br /><br />- When near death experiences on bodas become an amusing daily routine (Sarah Lightfoot)<br /><br />- When you blush/smile whenever someone mentions a particular city in Afghanistan...thanks to The red pepper (Lorac Mutesi)<br /><br />- when u notice strangers staring in ur face like they have known u all their lives (Laurhita Kisa)<br /><br />- when you give a naked beggar in the middle of an intersection a samosa, and he disgustedly refuses because he wanted a chapat instead... (Nicole Galovski Hawkins)<br /><br />- When people around you can't tell instantly which is left or right (Steven M. Kiggs)<br /><br />- When you give inanimate objects the capability to act and feel, e.g. "this soda is defeating me" or "This computer is refusing to work" (Marianne Bach Mosebo)<br /><br />- When you ask a new acquaintance if they are on FACE BOOK and they reply no am on UTL / MTN / CELTEL / WARID (Daniel Bwente)<br /><br />- When u visit garden city to get onto the escalator ("just for just") (Doreen Lwanga)<br /><br />- When you say "let me come" and you go in the opposite direction! (Maureen B Ndahura)<br /><br />- When instead of asking to be passed something you say stuff like "Please assist me with the salt" (Bill Reynell)<br /><br />- When "E" on the fuel gauge means Enough (Alex Porter)<br /><br />- When the taxi conductor speaks of Obama like a long lost friend! (Jimmy Delyon)<br /><br />- When the garbage dump next to your house becomes a landmark on the Kampala A-Z (Rachael Akidi)<br /><br />- When u ask a waitress to show u the ladies and she says 'it's near that Hinkini signpost' meaning Heiniken poster (Becky Akello)<br /><br />- When you finally take it as a compliment and smile sincerely when someone comments on how fat you have grown (Karin Bridger)<br /><br />- When you express surprise by saying "Eh!" (Rebecca Swan)<br /><br />- When you call a cab a 'special hire' (Charles Mugyenzi)<br /><br />- There's temptation to have your beer with a straw! (Eric Liyala)<br /><br />- When a road that has not been opened for public use [Northern bypass] develops potholes (Benjamin Muganzi)<br /><br />- When someone says "come again" instead of " I beg your pardon" (Sheila Tumwine)<br /><br />- When the single shots have run out and you have to order a double (Lana Forbes)<br /><br />- When you are no longer surprised that the guy you just met is called Grace (Violet Violette)<br /><br />- When you have no problem saying "nice time" (Trish Ben Bella)<br /><br />- When you know that incompetent and "level best" are the same thing (Goran Olsson)<br /><br />- When you have witnessed a deafening whistling competition between the police and traffic wardens at road junctions (Ruta Dor)<br /><br />- When you ask where the bathroom is, and the response is, "short call or long call"? (Karen Cassidy)<br /><br />- When greetings take hours like: -"Oliyota nyabo?"<br />"Gendi" then they proceed with a lot of "Mhmmmmm", "Mhmmmmm"<br />with each one a little higher. (Jasmine Danielle Sullivan)<br /><br />- When it is o.k. for another guy to impulsively call you, 'My dear' (John Kamau Matalanga)<br /><br />- When you have nicely chiseled and perfect square potholes (Suna Kironde)<br /><br />- When only Ugandans show up at weddings, showers, graduation and birthday parties in a new outfit with nails and hair done but no gift (Micho Jay)<br /><br />- When the man on the radio saying, 'today is national erection day' does not cause you to raise an eyebrow (Julie Scullion)Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-10137027464570037602008-07-15T16:38:00.000+01:002008-08-13T22:01:07.189+01:00Bakiga, the aggressive loversMANY men will not dare marry a Mukiga woman. "They are very tough, they can beat up a man," says one man. The way they talk, even their physical appearance, intimidates him, he said.<br />His fears aren't entirely baseless. The Bakiga are known to be very hot tempered; a Mukiga woman will not hesitate to lift a saucepan of food off the fire and splash it in your face if there is nothing within reach to hit you with. But behind the aggressiveness lies lovers who will stop at nothing to please their men, or women.<br /><br />The Bakiga of southwestern Uganda migrated from Rwanda centuries ago. They are slightly over 1.6 million, about seven percent of the total population. Their district, Kabale, has one of the most beautiful landscapes. Because of its undulating hills, it has been dubbed the 'Switzerland of Africa.'<br />The hills lie in picturesque chains of ridges, and between them wind streams, bordered by papyrus swamps. Homes are built on tops or sides of hills. It is a millet zone, too cold for bananas, too hilly for cattle. It is here in the hills that the Bakiga grow their millet, maize, peas, potatoes and tend their flocks of sheep and goats.<br />Historically, the Bakiga had no kings. They are independent spirited, energetic, straight-talking, aggressive people. They are brave and natural born warriors.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Romance and marriage</span><br /><br />May Mandelbaum Edel writes in The Chiga of Western Uganda, that as a girl approached puberty, she started conducting herself in a ladylike fashion. Tomboyish manners like whistling and climbing would be unseemly. She would prepare herself for matrimony by 'pulling' her labia minora, in which she would be instructed by friends a little older than herself.<br />A girl had to stay pure. It was terrible if an unmarried girl became pregnant. A mother could try to help her to abort or conceal it but once the men - her father and brothers learnt of it, they took drastic action. The girl would be beaten to confess the name of the lover, yet it was taboo for a girl to reveal the name of the man. The girls rarely confessed. If the girl never ran way, her father would kill her, usually by throwing her over a cliff. Kisizi Falls was most used for this purpose. Or, they would be dumped on Akampene, a small island in Lake Bunyonyi.<br />If her parents managed to marry her off to her lover, when the child was about to be born, she would retire to a secluded place in the bush, bear it there and strangle it. She would then be purified by a ritual specialist.<br />A Mukiga boy's experiences of sex began as early as he liked, and the wives of his elder brothers were not inaccessible to him.<br />Men preferred young wives. Marrying off a daughter before puberty was frowned upon. It was also inadvisable to delay too long after puberty. There is a proverb that says, 'vegetables are sweet to eat while they are still tender'<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Marriage negotiations</span><br />Like in many African societies, negotiations for marriage were carried out between the families, not the bride and groom. The couple had no say in the matter. The negotiations were conducted with great formality and deliberation. Visits would sometimes go on for more than a year. Stephen Rwangyenzi, the director of Ndere Troupe Centre, said a Kiga marriage started with "okuriima, scouting for and spying on the girl and her family."<br />If all went well, the process would be initiated by a go-between, kiriima, acting for the groom's father would go to formally request for marriage, okugamba obugyenyi.<br />No matter how desirable the match, no self-respecting father would consent the first time the suitors came to ask for his daughter.<br />Next was, (and still is), okujuga, the paying of the bride wealth.<br />Okuhingira, was/is the occasion of handing over the girl to the groom's family. But the ancient way was detailed. When the grooms arrived to claim her, the girl would be whisked off and hidden in the back of her mother's hut.<br />After hours of debate and numerous extra demands had been met - a cow for the bride's maternal uncle, and perhaps a sheep or goat for the bride's father, everything would be ready.<br /><br />The bride, hidden in her mother's hut and dressed in her best would begin the rhythmic weeping, okugabuka. As she sobbed, she had to say words suitable for the occasion. 'Oh, good bye, I am going away from home now, I'm going to be lonely…'Pride was taken in doing this well and a girl would be praised for the quality weeping. The groom's party would spend the night feasting and dancing.<br />The next morning, the bride would be brought out against her strong resistance and all the other girls would help her. One by one, her brothers would drag them out of the house. Clothing would be torn in the tussle and ornaments not carefully taken off in advance could be broken.<br /><br />Finally, the bride would be seized, her head would be ritually shaved, and she would be carried off on her brother's shoulders. The party set forth amid a lot of weeping. The bride, her head well covered, would be carried on her brother's shoulders all the way to her groom's house.<br />At the groom's home, celebrations would be on for okutaasya, receiving the girl. The groom, well washed and groomed would be eagerly and nervously waiting for her. On arrival, she would kneel at the entrance. The groom would tap her with a little twig, saying, 'ogamba rumwe gambe kabiri, 'you may speak once, but I will speak twice,' indicating that he will be master in his household. She would be led into the house where her mother-in-law greeted her.<br />She would go to the back room and weep some more, while the groom's relatives and her escorts feasted and danced. She could eat a little, daintily, but if she forgot her manners and started eating greedily, the married woman who had accompanied her, and who would spend the first night there with her, would pinch her to remind her that she was under observation.<br /><br />Towards cockcrow a special ceremony would take place. The girls would be awakened and they would begin to sing. The bride's brothers would be given beer and they would go into the inner compartment of the hut and bring out the wailing bride.<br />The groom would urinate on a stool and he would dip his hands in the urine. The brothers would pull off the girl's skirt and seat her in the hands of her husband on the stool. She would be struggling all the while. As soon as he touched her genitals, she would be released, and the groom and his brothers would leap and dance and break into their best ceremonial boasts. All those who had shared in this ceremony (except the bride's brothers) were, in a sense, supplementary husbands and had the right to sleep with her when all the marriage rites were over.<br />The next day, when her escorts left, the groom would buy off his sisters and his mother with gifts, so that he would be left alone with his bride at last. When he came to the bed where she would be lying, her rhythmic weeping would become more intense. Her mother would have earlier instructed her not to cry too loud or too long, lest everyone laughed at her.<br /><br />The girl would often struggle vehemently to avoid the embrace of her husband. To aid her, the escorting woman would have earlier greased her with butter. Sometimes she actually succeeded in holding him off for a time. When her husband finally succeeded in consummating her, known as okushwera, her struggles would cease and she would be expected to be ready to receive him thereafter without protest.<br />When this was over, her husband came out into the courtyard, proudly victorious. His sister would go in to dress the bride and give her food, but she would refuse to eat until her husband had given her gifts. All the girls would attempt to treat her gently and make her feel at home but she would remain sulky and silent.<br /><br />After a few days, the couple would visit the girl's home 'to finish the butter,' known as okwaruka. If he had not found his wife a virgin, now would be the time to complain to her father, by showing him a pierced handle of a hoe. The father would hush things up by giving back some of the bride price.<br />Back at the groom's home, "The new wife would go into a two or three month-long of induction, okwarama," said Rwangyenzi.<br />Once settled in, the new wife's main role was to grow food.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Polygamy and wife sharing</span><br />This was the norm. A man would give the senior wife a gift before taking another wife, 'because he would no longer keep her warm at night'<br />The husband paid careful attention to each of his wives, and would sleep with each wife in turn, usually spending two nights in each hut. He had to divide any gifts equally to allow no jealousy to develop. Usually co-wives would go about their ways separately, on good or at least neutral terms with each other.<br /><br />A woman could occasionally console herself in her loneliness with another man. No man would be jealous provided his wife confined her favours to his own brothers and lineage kinsmen and observed good behaviour, such as conducting her liaisons quietly in her own hut and never in the bush. If a good friend visited, the man would give him one of the huts, and a wife to 'spread the bed for the visitor', okwarira.<br />A woman would never sleep with her father-in-law or his age mates.<br />Marriages were on the whole, permanent. In case of disputes, the elders were the first court of arbitration. A woman could go away in anger to her father's home, but she usually returned. In rare cases, she would go off and marry another man. Rwangyenzi said today's Kiga marriages feature the introduction, settling of the bride price - mostly in cash, the give-away, and a church wedding. "Paying the bride wealth and the give-away ceremony are usually combined these days.<br /><br />Adapted from The Monitor News paperJephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-58534885811894507572008-01-04T20:14:00.000+00:002008-01-04T20:26:55.415+00:00Could you last a day without lying?Could I go a whole day of telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?<br /><br />Yeah no problem.<br /><br />Oops, I've blown it already.<br /><br />If we never told any lies we'd struggle to hold down a job - in fact we'd never make it past the interview - we'd have no friends and families would be at war.<br /><br />Would I tell my neighbour that I stopped going to the gym with her because she reeks of BO?<br /><br />Could I break it to my cousin that when I said his newborn son was the cutest I'd ever seen, I was lying? And that in fact he'd be lucky to come last in a beautiful baby competition? Definitely not.<br /><br />It is becoming increasingly acceptable to mislead and distort and I think it's time for those of us who feel strongly about truth to take a stand on this.<br /><br />So I've made it my mission to not tell any porkies all day.<br /><br />I wake up with a hangover and can just about stagger out of bed and on to the sofa. There's no way I'll make it to work. But this is no time for calling my boss and faking the flu. Taking a deep breath, I ring to tell her I'll be late.<br /><br />"Are the trains up the spout?" she asks.<br /><br />"Nope," I say. "I just can't be bothered getting up yet and can only face GMTV right now."<br /><br />She shrieks, I think, because she's impressed and refreshed by my honesty... but then warns if I'm not at my desk in an hour I can spend every day watching Morning Television.<br /><br />But before I struggle in there's Christmas thank-you letters to sort out. I write a quick note to tell my aunt to tell her that the knock-off perfume she gave me made me nauseous and will not wear it again.<br /><br />And I've got a confession to make to my other half, too. Before she leaves for work I tell her I didn't get her that Casino Royale DVD for Christmas because she's such a huge James Bond fan.<br /><br />No, I got it because I wanted to freeze-frame Daniel Craig in his trunks whenever he's out. (It's at 29mins 25secs in case you're interested.)<br /><br />"I guessed as much," she says. "I've found the disc in the machine three times since Christmas - and I hadn't even taken the cellophane off it."<br /><br />Walking to work, I pass my chirpy postman.<br /><br />"Excuse me," I say as he cycles past. "You have a lovely smile - and your bum looks great on your bike."<br /><br />Whoever said "truth hurts" should have seen the massive grin which was stretching right across his face. "Thanks love," he beams. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me for ages!"<br /><br />I'm getting the hang of this. On the train a man shoves his paper into my face. Normally I'd suffer in silence. Not today.<br /><br />"Can you shift your paper, mate?" I snap.<br /><br />He looks like I've just spat in his coffee and gets up to sit somewhere else. Result.<br /><br />At the office, my boss doesn't look too pleased to see me.<br /><br />"Did you finish that story I asked you to write yesterday?" she asks.<br /><br />"No," I reply. "I spent the day looking at stuff online."<br /><br />This might get dangerous. An email from a friend pops into my inbox. He had a New Year snog with my friend and wants to know if she's said anything about him since.<br /><br />"Yes," I type. "She said you had halitosis, wouldn't fancy you in a million years and only snogged you because she was blind drunk.<br /><br />"Best off sticking to women in your own league." His reply consists of two words, and they weren't "thank you".<br /><br />At lunchtime I have wine with my meal. Usually I tell the waiter I love it even before it hits my lips. But I feel braver today. "That's minging," I announce.<br /><br />And I'm just as courageous at the coffee shop.<br /><br />"Your hot chocolate is so cold it's like chocolate milkshake," I tell the assistant. He looks confused - maybe he can't understand my african accent.<br /><br />Somehow I make it to the end of the day. My boss asks for a quiet word before I go. It's probably to thank me for making such a monumental effort to come in this morning.<br /><br />"You obviously took National Tell The Truth day very seriously," she says. "And so do I. Your dress? It's so not you."<br /><br />Ouch! Maybe they were right after all - because that really did hurt.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-50216196007949493942007-12-15T12:33:00.000+00:002007-12-26T12:36:14.482+00:00Office MeetingsOffice Meetings: Noisy, chaotic and unproductive? Dull, boring and a waste of time? Whichever school of thought you subscribe to (and it has to be one of those two. There is no other alternative. No, I have refused. There is no such thing as an organised, efficient, productive office meeting. Never.) you need help in making these things tolerable. And I have just the thing.<br /><br />What you need is Mischief. <br /><br />Go like this: When it is your turn to make a contribution, say something like:<br /><br />“We have to find a way of promulgating a synergistic policy structure to plot a schematic to map the way forward, you get, eh?”<br /><br />They nod. You continue.<br /><br />“We have to keep an end-result-oriented, market-driven approach to this programme. Pro-active is the word of the day, we have to move pro-actively towards a paradigm shit.”<br /><br />Now wait. Look around innocently.<br /><br />There should be a sudden silence in the room. Some of the younger staff members may be giggling. Look at them and ask, “What? What did I say?”<br /><br />One of them will break down and tell you that you said paradigm “shit”. Deny it stubbornly. “No. I said Shift. Paradigm Shift.”<br /><br />The meeting could be diverted now into a discussion over whether you said Shit or Shift. Don’t stop them. Fuel the fire by standing your ground and refusing to concede an inch. But after a few moments, you could draw them back home:<br /><br />“We are not here to discuss if people said Paradigm Shift or what. Let us get back to the issue. I was saying that, we as a team have to get together and move forward in the same direction on this.”<br /><br />Some dude who feels like being the levelheaded one will agree. You can use his nodding head and his mutterings of assertion as a springboard to add:<br /><br />“We can’t just sit here twiddling our bums. We must take a good look outside the box to explore opportunities in untapped regions.”<br /><br />Repeat as above. Insist that you said “twiddling our thumbs!” Do not countenance any suggestion that you said anything but thumbs.<br /><br />After a while the meeting may return to normal. Let them think they are safe for a while then when it is almost time to end, hit them with:<br /><br />“I hope we all take what we have discussed here to heart, and assiduously apply what we have resolved. Remember, we must move forward together as a team. We are a strong team, we are a motivated team. Remember, guys, divided we fall, but urinal we what? We stand!”Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-44318924251063601312007-11-02T10:48:00.000+00:002007-12-26T12:36:48.240+00:00Ugandans: Kings of the cheapAs we bask in the warmth of having had Queen Elizabeth II visit, let us not forget that in Uganda we are royalty in our own right. We are the kings and queens of cheap. Where we bargain till our lungs are sore, where a serving of food goes for a mere Shs100, where a single dose of paracetamol is shared between all family members and where your cosmopolitan magazine comes without a cover. This is Uganda, the land of cheap.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Re-using mineral water bottles</span><br />When the more affluent of society dispose of the mineral water bottles that they have used, they are collected and used for the better good repacking water (boiled if you are lucky) and very transparent passion fruit juice that is sold for a bargain price of Shs100. Countless people will be served in these bottles including businessmen, vendors and street children and they will be disposed off only when they develop a leak.<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Slicing straws and serviettes</span><br />Forget that at the factory, the serviette was intentionally folded in four layers - and for good reason too. At the restaurant, they will have none of that. Even our more affluent restaurants do this. They cut the serviette into two, sometimes four pieces to maximize the profit. And when you buy that juice packed in the now banned polythene bags, do not think that you will be taking the whole straw with you. If that drink is in short packaging, the straw will be cut in half using a rusted pair of scissors, and off you will go.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Bargaining</span><br />Some tourism agencies even advise foreigners on how to bargain as a special package. Some others even provide a tour guide to help with the bargaining process. Simply put, Uganda is well known for bargaining. A true Ugandan will even bargain on the price of airtime. So before your throat is hoarse from constant bargaining, before the vendor slices the price of the item by half his asking price, leave that wallet in your pocket.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jalibu/ Enyongeza</span><br />It is not enough that you get just that which you paid for. A Ugandan will ask to first taste it (jalibu) and even after paying for it, will want (and demand for) a bonus (enyongeza). The victims here are roasted groundnuts, maize and popcorn vendors. This is probably why telecommunication companies introduced the bonus airtime. Last week a man who wanted to buy a nail cutter surprised my sister when he started to trim his fingernails with it before paying for it. On questioning him, he replied smugly that he was checking to see whether it was sharp enough. “I can’t buy it if I do not know whether it is sharp enough,” he said.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Carry your own eats and drinks to outings/ the beach</span><br />In Uganda, we subsidise our social life at whatever cost. This happens especially on holidays when families decide to have family outings. You want to celebrate a birthday at the beach, but you are not prepared to meet all the costs. What do you do here? Simple. Prepare a feast at home, squeeze some passion fruit juice, hire a vehicle, and carry your radio and a few CDs and head to the beach. Just pay the entrance fee and get partying.<br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Introducing the Shs1,000 airtime strips</span><br />For a long time telecommunication companies tormented Ugandans with the airtime cards. The cheapest went for Shs5000. But a true Ugandan will want balance on his Shs5000 note and therefore airtime sales were just too low. That is when Mango came up with the Shs4,000 airtime. And when the Shs1000 airtime strip was introduced, Ugandans rushed to buy phones and airtime.<br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Second hand clothes</span><br />This issue even makes the annual budget and causes too much ado among traders and consumers alike. Try taking away second hand clothes from the market and you will feel a Ugandan's true wrath. Ugandans just love their second hand clothes. This relationship is so strong that not even increase in taxes will put it asunder. “What most of us do not realise,” says Lucy, an ardent consumer of these clothes, “is that at the end of the day it may cost equally as much as buying a new garment. With the cost of detergent and bleach to wash out the strong smell, and the time you spend trotting from market to market to find what you are looking for, you are probably better off going to the shops and picking a new garment off the rack.”<br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Pirated movies and CDs</span><br />This is a guilty pleasure that most Ugandans indulge in. Why spend thousands of shillings to purchase a movie you will only most likely just watch once or buy a CD you will get tired of eventually? What most Ugandans do is go to one of the mushrooming computer bureaus and get the CD burnt, or get the latest movie for as little as Shs3,000 never mind that the sound and picture quality is worse than that of UBC, the official Chogm broadcaster.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Never throw away used up tin</span>s<br />This, it appears, is a trait for all Africans. When the cooking oil, the blue band, or that tin of biscuits runs out, do not throw the empty tin away. Wash it, keep it and store salt, seeds and sugar or whatever needs storing. Or just be like my mother and keep them empty, and feel happy just looking at your collection of empty tins on the shelves.<br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Cutting the kavera in half/ wrapping in newspapers</span><br />Especially now that polythene bags do not come as cheap and have been banned, wrapping eats in old newspapers is the norm. And when that polythene wrapping is given it is barely enough to cover the item that you have purchased.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Shs200 cinemas</span><br />Never mind that the blockbusters showing there are not current box office hits. What matters is that you get to watch them in this lifetime at a subsidised price of Shs200 and if the language is too complex, a funny Luganda commentary is thrown in – real value for money – even if half of what they interpret is not really what the actors are saying.<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mobile pedicure/ manicure fix</span><br />You do not have to go to a beauty parlour, in Uganda to get you looking like -well, looking painted - all you have to do is sit at your door step or at your stall and before you know it, your nails will be fixed for as low as Shs500. It does not matter that the manicurist does not look like he ever spent a day at beauty school or that that nail cutter looks <br />like it could send you straight to the tetanus ward.<br /> No, I have not forgotten that Uganda is a third world country and that a large portion lives on less than a dollar a day. I am just saying that sometimes, you do not have to be a millionaire to live large.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-61319558606074177182007-10-16T09:53:00.000+01:002007-12-26T12:37:20.097+00:00Enough of those forwarded emailsI know for sure there was a time in my life when I enjoyed forwarded emails. Any email. That was when I had just got an email account and counted how many mails I received. That was then.<br />Now we have busy schedules and countless emails to sift through daily. The excitement of finding an inbox full of forwarded emails has waned immensely.<br /><br />Forwarding emails without checking to see the contents or which category of recipients it’s intended for can be calamitous. Okay, near calamitous.<br /><br />Take my friend Lisa for instance who spent a whole day wanting to spill her guts out because it had dawned on her that she had accidentally forwarded a link to a job-advertising website, to her boss. She had clicked on the “forward” button and clicked on the “send to all” button which included her boss’s email as well.<br /><br />The day dragged, Lisa called her council of advisors (unfortunately I’m one of the honoured) for advice on whether she should pack her files and wait for the “suspended” or “dismissed” word for letting her boss know she still looks for other job opportunities.<br /><br />Advice ranged from her resigning to her pretending it wasn’t her who sent it. Her torment kept growing when there was no fire coming from where she expected.<br /><br />More calls for advice ensued, more free advice to confuse her followed. She bumped into her boss in the corridor later that afternoon and was tormented even further when he breezed past her in a rush. Her torment had now grown several heads.<br /><br />As a result she had an extremely unproductive day: heart palpitations, procrastinating, wallowing in self-pity, self-bashing and serious advice seeking. The ending to all that torment was beyond Lisa’s comprehension or that of her council of advisors. Before leaving office at the end of the day, the council advised her to pop by her boss’s office.<br /><br />And so she did, to say goodbye and see what was taking him long to give her hell. She found him typing an email and was surprised that he was in a cheery mood and even laughing at himself for his pick-a-key-after-three-minutes typing speed. He told her he was glad she came in because she at least understood “these machines”.<br />He also wanted help with the email she had sent him.<br /><br />I would love to know how high Lisa’s stomach somersaulted at that particular moment. An Internet and computer newbie, the boss told her he saw her email in his junk mail and was not sure if it was junk or real and didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Lisa is a lucky girl.<br /><br />Who has to throw us a party soon. She also has a fast brain when it wills itself. It did this time and she launched into a lecture about spy ware, viruses, hackers and how most of all these are out to penetrate one’s personal details stored on their computers with the aim of causing malicious damage.<br /><br />It made him uncomfortable and in reflex action they changed seats as she took him through the process of how to reduce junk emails by reporting them as “spam”. She then showed and made him a “safe list” so that emails of contacts he wants to keep in touch with don’t go to the junk folder.<br /><br />The final touch was when she finally went to the junk mail folder, selected “delete all” and emptied the trash folder while re-assuring him she would re-send her email, it as not urgent.<br /><br />Lisa’s luck was that her boss was lost in his quest to, trudge this world of “webs so wide” as he always put it, in reference to the World Wide Web. Not all of us have soap-opera luck like Lisa though.<br /><br />While still at school, I remember waiting for my friend to attend a lecture so we could go home together. To pass the time, I decided to check my mail at their Internet lab.<br /><br />Imagine opening this email with no subject line only to be greeted by automated full screen photos of nude women in compromising positions… I felt pricking stares on my back and when I turned to look was met with a myriad of faces: harsh ones, disappointed ones, disgusted ones.<br /><br />I hadn’t had my cherry on the cake yet: it came in form of a visibly shaken lab attendant who politely advised me not to open such websites, “we don’t mind how students enjoy their time on the net but you see we have other users…and your kind of websites bring pop-ups and viruses…”<br /><br />My clearly audible defence that I was not a porn fanatic and that I was also perplexed at how it popped up fell on shaken-till-closed ears too.<br />Nothing went in any of the ears I intended the message for, so I neatly gathered my belongings and majestically walked out of the lab in all the grandeur of Lady Pervert.<br /><br />I never again took that path and was glad my classes were on another end of the campus. It was then that I vowed not to read any emails with no subject lines and this was after raising my junk mail filter level not to accept any dubious emails in my inbox. Did I mention how the culprit who sent that mail laughed himself to stitches?<br /><br />He found the whole incident so “cool” and wished he had been there to see it all happen. Fiascos like this can be avoided when one reports or marks unrecognisable email or messages as spam mail. This means it’s junk, unwanted mail and won’t get delivered to your inbox. Or better still, set their junk mail filters to levels they are comfortable with.<br /><br />I have done that with hotmail and I’m not an authority on whether other email providers have that service. But at least they have a junk email control service.<br /><br />Then there are the chain letters. These are forwarded emails which take the reader through a journey of names and email addresses such that by the time one reaches the desired message, one has already decided it’s time to get off the Internet and do something else.<br /><br />Sometimes after scrolling for five minutes to the message you realise it is the same message you have received now for the twelfth time. One such kind is the rotating ball of friendship email which rotates around emails faster than Venus on its axis and within one week has come back to you several times.<br /><br />But at least these are no-harm forwards meant to cheer up one’s day or inspire them. There are those threatening ones which tug at one’s conscience until one has no choice but to resend. They go, “If you don’t forward this, something bad will happen to you, in five minutes after reading this you will get bad luck, or bad luck will befall you for seven years”. Honestly.<br /><br />If you are the kind of person who persistently sends forwarded emails of almost everything that comes your way like jokes, wedding meetings, prayers, luck charms and the like, don’t be surprised or angry when you find that your colleagues have blocked email coming from you.<br />You probably deserve it.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-32279255056299323302007-06-02T11:16:00.000+01:002007-12-02T11:17:07.757+00:00My car-tyre sandalsLet me tell you: up to now I still cherish my secondary school car-tyre sandals! I wish I had kept them safely in my museum of history; they would have made a good relic for my future autobiography.<br /><br /> Listen, those tyre sandals shaped for me a better perspective about life; something which those spoilt girls who stopped me for “a ride” did not know. That is, learning to focus on what matters in order to get that which you desire. For me, the issue was to read my books and then the rest would follow. I learnt to set my priorities right even at that early age. As long as my mzee was very willing - like he always was - to pay my school tuition, which was a good deal. After all, how many kids longed to go to school but they couldn't?<br /><br />As far as shoes were concerned, mzee never gave a damn. For all we could remember, mzee went about his daily business barefooted for the most part, and only put on shoes when he had to go visit someone in the city or (and this rarely happened) to see a doctor. That's when he would pull out his best attire normally reserved for Sunday: a checkered jacket, a marching shirt and trousers, and a pair of Bata shoes.<br /><br />These precious items were always tucked away under lock and key in my mother's suitcase, along with our Sunday best. Our mother was very strict on this. Ati you could simply wear your best clothes bila mupango? Forget. You had to be sick (in which case you would be going to see the doctor) or else when you were going to join a new school. Sometimes we had to feign sickness in order to get an opportunity to put on our shoes. As soon as you came back from the doctor's you would put them back in the suitcase.<br /><br />And so if you saw mzee pull out his shoes, walking stick, bowler hat and bag, you would know he was headed for the city. Most of the people in our village borrowed literally everything whenever they had an errand to make, but mzee would never do anything of that kind. So his shoes and jacket always serviced the entire neighbourhood. Even men who were as tiny as mosquitoes still borrowed mzee's jacket. We always joked that mzee' jacket was ‘wearing the man’ rather than the other way round. I remember one guy who wanted to borrow his poll-tax tickets as well because his taxes for the year were still due. Guys are funny: how do you borrow someone else's ticket or ID to travel?<br /><br />Anyway, as I was saying, mzee did not give a damn about anyone going to school - be it in the city - on foot. If you told him you needed new shoes mzee would ask you whether you are going to study or to attend a fashion show! For him, shoes were a luxury since he wore them only when it was necessary.<br /><br />But looking back now, I think I admire mzee's attitude. The man had fifteen of us, all going to school. How could he have managed to keep us in school with his limited resources if he did not set his priorities right? We always watched as he sold several of his cows every term and gathered us around him, with our reports.<br /><br />“How much did they write on your report?” he would ask each one of us. “So-and-so's report says the school charges are so much,” one of the big boys would read out aloud. Mzee would ask him to count off the amount and give it to the owner of the report card. Plus transport to school, of course, and a few coins for pocket money (if you are lucky). “And how about you?” the ritual would continue, up to the last child.<br /><br />Make a mistake to complain - like our sisters often did - and there would be fireworks. “Ayisii!” mzee would retort, like he always did whenever he was ready for a fight, “I don't want to see a stupid girl showing me her ugly teeth!” Then he would thump the ground several times with his walking stick. “If you don't want to study, that's your business.<br /><br />I am giving you this opportunity to study because I wanted to go to school but my father denied me the chance. Give me back my money and sit at home and get married. After all, it is all a waste! You always bring home a lousy report and now you even dare shout wo-wo-woo at me!”<br /><br /> But we all knew him. That was always a threat to make whoever had a bill to table think twice. Who did not know how the old man loved his daughters? He would always call them secretly and give them a few more bucks when the guys were not watching.<br /><br /> But because of mzee’s pragmatic approach to life, we were able to go to school as far as his pocket could take us. And the lesson we got from him was clear: if you want to get something good in life, you’ve got to persevere and sacrifice for it. Good things, mzee believed, do not come easy. And he was right.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-55361118820294703062007-05-24T18:24:00.000+01:002007-12-02T11:19:14.672+00:00Lifting standards for the girl of our lifeI do not know why people – young people in particular – find it hard to be real. That is, to be themselves. The desire to impress seems to override common sense.<br /><br />You’ve probably heard the story of the young man who was walking down the street with his girlfriend. Suddenly, the young man saw a Mercedes-Benz approach them and he took cover in the nearby bush. The young lady, not sure what to make of it all, stood in shock.<br /><br />All of a sudden, the young man reemerged dusting his trousers and peeping to see if the Mercedes had gone by. The young lady, now breathless, asks:<br /><br />“What happened. Why did you run away?”<br /><br />“My father!” the guy replied. “He was in that Mercedes Benz and I didn’t want him to see us together. He would kill me!” And so the poor girl went way thinking her boyfriend’s father drives a Benz.<br /><br />In our days at university, we saw guys do such crazy things on a daily basis. Did I tell you about that young man in our hall of residence who used to borrow everything from cups to flasks to bedcovers to stereos whenever his girlfriend came to visit? You wonder why anyone would go to such length to win a girl’s love but guys apparently do it all the time.<br /><br />Well, even girls, I’m told borrow their friends’ shoes and clothes all the time. And it turned out one day as two friends were at a wedding reception, the lady messed up her friend’s blouse with coke, which sent the other yelling, “Gwe! Kale see what you’ve done to my nankani! You’ve messed up my blouse naawe!” Upon which the friend was so incensed by the public embarrassment that she stormed out of the party and went home to nurse some fits of rage and prepare for a fight later that night.<br /><br />Well, that’s almost what happened to the other guy in the hall of residence who had turned himself into a serial borrower of stuff.<br /><br />As soon as he had finished entertaining the lady, he escorted her along what we used to call the “red carpet.” That was the walkway along which guys would die to be seen escorting their girls. It was then that they would be graduated from being “Veges” or “Vegetarians” – which was a ridiculous way to refer to us who were hard-core non-meat eaters. Non-womanisers, that is.<br /><br />But no sooner had the guy seen the lady off to her room than all his neighbours showed up to enjoy some of the leftovers and reclaim their stuff in time to “raise standards” for the evening meal. By “raising standards” we meant giving the moldy beans a makeover in form of frying them to make the weevils more palatable.<br /><br />Within no time, the boys had stripped the room to its bare self as before. But unfortunately, the young lady showed up again to pick up her key, which she had forgotten on the guy’s bed.<br /><br />She could not recognise the room where she had just been entertained because, stripped of its former luxurious décor, it looked like a desert island. But guys always have a good excuse even when they are caught pants down. He could definitely see the lady realised something funny was going on.<br /><br />“These needy fellows!” the guy begun, sensing the lady’s suspicions. “They like borrowing stuff like hell. Now they have taken all my things and I have nothing left to use!”<br /><br />I don’t think the girl was convinced by the silly excuse and don’t ask me whether she gave him the boot that day. But that’s not all.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-17823562955742316302007-04-18T10:46:00.000+01:002007-04-18T10:49:18.569+01:00Ugandans and their Funny habits.It is believed that every country has a spirit; something that defines the people and the nation. But what is the spirit of Uganda? It is hard to tell.<br />Apart from the national emblems, nothing is profound in nature about Ugandans or their country. But if you care to notice certain habits, you will tell who a Ugandan is within seconds of meeting them.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Shifting at night</span><br />There is a weird nocturnal behaviour in the Pearl of Africa. It is not bar-hopping or night-dancing. It is shifting from one house to another.<br />Ideally shifting from one house to another should be done during daytime so that one gets enough time to settle in.<br />For some suspicious reasons, Ugandans do it at night! It is only in Uganda where you will see a caravan of trucks loaded with old blankets, furniture and other household items on transit to mysterious destinations at dusk.<br />Are people embarrassed of their modest possessions or could they be hiding property stolen from their neighbourhood?<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Drinking beer using a straw</span><br />However disgusting, this habit has been accepted by society. It has fitted in so well, Ugandans will act shocked to hear anyone scorn it!<br />If you asked anyone to pull out the straw from his or her beer, you would be asking for a fight.<br />But if drinking beer using a straw puzzles Kenyans, then there is something terribly wrong with it. It is bad manners!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jumping the queue</span><br />It is the worst social transgression Ugandans have managed to pull off. Can every Ugandan receive a pat on the back for this one? It is annoying, irritating and egotistical, plus the other adjectives women like using in reference to men, put together.<br />In hospitals, banks and cafeterias, any place where there is a queue being followed, a Ugandan will try to create ‘short cuts’.<br />It is civil to follow a line in other places, but to a Ugandan, especially one working in a corporate organisation, it means you have been patronised or ‘undermined’!<br />When you see someone jumping a queue, it is their way of saying, “Look, I am the boss at my work place. Surely, you do not expect me to stand in this line with all you less mortals.”<br />And the rest of us who are not ‘bosses’ are simply telling the world, “Look, I was raised in a kennel.” It is really, really bad manners!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Clinging on to old/worn out items</span><br />What is this bondage between Ugandans and their property? It is easier here to store than get rid of old obsolete items.<br />From visibly torn or stained clothes to rusty charcoal stoves, each property that a Ugandan buys is treated with sentimental attachment.<br />When you return home, check in your stores, you will be surprised at the amount of antiques you need to get rid of. You could actually establish a mini museum! Picture this: If Europeans and Americans behaved this way, we would have no St Balikuddembe Market. It’s frightening, isn’t it?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Haggling</span><br />Whoever introduced haggling in Uganda must be wondering why they did it. Ugandans even haggle in supermarkets where prices are fixed.<br />The habit is steadily rubbing on to tourists perhaps as an intangible souvenir from their travels to Uganda.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Carrying pocket radios to parties/ceremonies</span><br />Most Ugandans may rant calling this an accusation. You are right, it is not urban but a rural habit and that still qualifies it to be Ugandan.<br />It is a ‘fashionable’ habit rampant among the Iteso and the Karimojong. For fear of having it spread to the urban areas, we feel obligated to prevent this potential social scourge.<br />Psychologists, however, are still investigating why Iteso and Karimojong men and boys take pocket radios to functions where music is blaring on large speakers.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The rich find doing house chores shameful</span><br />Being rich in Uganda means not to be seen mowing your compound, polishing shoes, washing car, drawing the curtain, walking on foot, ironing your clothes, changing your car tyre or tidying up the house. Someone must do it for you.<br />Society has been a proponent of this unwritten social code of conduct.<br />If people see a rich person doing any of the above things, they will considered them to be misers!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Beeping</span><br />Beeping has never been part of a mobile phone manual, but since the mobile revolution hit this nation, every Ugandan has been guilty of beeping.<br />Why do we beep when we can communicate using an sms or take sh300 and call from a phone booth?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Showing off in bars and public places</span><br />‘Do you know who I am?’ This is often a threat, not a question.<br />If you are a bar addict, you have encountered this threat either being issued across the counter (when the waitress is informing a patron to pay before getting a drink) or during a midnight bar brawl.<br />When you hear this, you know the person probably has some links/relation (could even be distant) with either Mayombo or a member of the State House/regime.<br />Sometimes you find he is an Internal Security Organisation operative. Others just take advantage of their western twang to create an impression that they have ‘connections’ with State House.<br />Other funny habits include; owning pirated dvds/vcds/video and audiotapes; 'detoothing' and acquiring the most expensive/ latest model of mobile phones every year.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-17223681281600320022007-03-24T16:29:00.000+00:002007-03-24T16:32:57.571+00:00Men are the happiest creatures alive today<p>Come to think of it: our body anatomy often gives us a competitive advantage over others in many ways. I’m talking about men in particular.</p><p>Some would argue that by creating men with a missile sticking out, God seems to have inadvertently given them some advantages over their female sisters. Take the ability to urinate on the roadside with ease, for example. You do not need to pull down all stuff in order to irrigate the hedge on someone's nice house. No. You just pull out your weapon, aim a jet at a poor insect and you're done. One minute flat.</p><p>And so, according to my friend, that’s what makes men the happiest creatures on earth. Consider this argument below and judge for yourself, ladies: </p><p>Men are just happier people what do you expect from such simple creatures? If you’re a man, the world is your urinal. Your last name stays put (well, not anymore these days, guys, what with these crazy feminists). The garage is all yours. Wedding plans take care of themselves. Chocolate is just another snack.</p><p>You can be President. You can never be pregnant. You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park. You can wear NO shirt to a water park. Car mechanics tell you the truth. You don’t have to stop and think twice which way to turn a nut on a bolt. You can open all your own jars.</p><p>You never have to drive to another gas station toilet because this one is just too messy; you just aim a long shot from a safe distance, shake it, and you're good to go. Same work, but more pay for you. Wrinkles add character to your face.</p><p>People never stare at your chest when you’re talking to them. The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected. New shoes don’t cut, blister, or mangle your feet. You have one mood all the time.</p><p>Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat. You know stuff about tanks. A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase. You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness. If someone forgets to invite you to a party, he or she can still be your friend. You don't have to remember everybody’s birthday all the time. Not even your wife’s.</p><p>Three pairs of shoes are more than you need. You almost never have strap problems in public. You are rarely notice wrinkles in your clothes. Everything on your face stays its original color. The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades. You only have to shave your face and neck. Well, and those other parts, of course.</p><p>You can play with toys all your life. Your belly usually hides your big hips. One wallet and one pair of shoes - one color for all seasons.</p><p>You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look, who cares? You can “do” your nails with a pocket knife. You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache…</p><p>Plus, you can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes. Yep. No wonder men are happier creatures!</p>Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-6491723958493302962007-03-24T16:02:00.000+00:002007-03-24T16:06:56.909+00:00How to turn a brat into a decent child<table class="contentpaneopen"><tbody><tr><td class="contentheading" width="100%"> <br /></td> <td class="buttonheading" align="right" width="100%"> <a href="javascript:void window.open('http://www.busiweek.com/index2.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=3074&Itemid=59&pop=1&page=0', 'win2', 'status=no,toolbar=no,scrollbars=yes,titlebar=no,menubar=no,resizable=yes,width=640,height=480,directories=no,location=no');" title="Print"> </a> <br /></td> <td class="buttonheading" align="right" width="100%"> <a href="javascript:void window.open('http://www.busiweek.com/index2.php?option=com_content&task=emailform&id=3074', 'win2', 'status=no,toolbar=no,scrollbars=yes,titlebar=no,menubar=no,resizable=yes,width=400,height=250,directories=no,location=no');" title="E-mail"> </a> <br /></td> </tr> </tbody></table> <table class="contentpaneopen"><tbody><tr> <td colspan="2" class="createdate" valign="top"> <br /></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" valign="top"> <p><strong>Recently, on a visit to a friend’s home, I witnessed the kind of havoc undisciplined children can cause. </strong></p> <p>The children made so much noise that passers by must have thought there was a problem in the household.</p> <p>Interestingly, the visiting parents didn’t seem to find any problem with the ruckus and noise their children were making until a riot broke out. The host children soon were up in arms against the injustice visited upon their toys: theier toys were being mishandled and literally dismembered mercilessly.</p> <p> It was then that the parents of the troublesome lot (visiting children), awoke from their lethargy to save the situation.</p> <p>This brings us to the question: What have we as parents done to cultivate good behaviour in our children?</p> <p>No matter how busy we think we are, we must spend time studying and teaching our children proper behaviour. Next time you are out visiting with your children, watch out for the following tendencies they may show;</p> <p>*Monopolising conversation</p> <p>*Bullying </p> <p>*making too many negative comments or put-downs about their fellow children or adults</p> <p>*Getting angry when others do not do things their way </p> <p>*Bad table manners. </p> <p>Helping our kids learn good behaviour requires patience time and most importantly, love. Target one behavioural problem at a time and then monitor any change in your child. </p> <p>In correcting the children, let us not go into rages when they do something wrong. Such military show of annoyance may work in the army but children may misinterpret it as a show of dislike towards them. At the end of the day, they treat other kids the way they are treated at home. Below are some of the pointers on how to handle bad habits.</p> <p><strong>Monopolising conversation </strong></p> <p>Let your child learn to actively listen to others. Teach them to ask questions about the other kid especially if the child in question is new in the neighbourhood. This in the long run reduces chances of your child being egocentric. </p> <p><strong>Loud conversations</strong></p> <p>Teach your child to speak in low tones. Girls for example, must be taught that ladies must not shout in public or any where else for that matter.</p> <p>Children who shout are often rejected by their peers and end up being isolated in games and other social activities.</p> <p>Children that make negative comments Teach your children to appreciate people around them. Teach them to compliment their peers and hold their peace when the other party is, for example poorly dressed.</p> <p>This however a child will learn if the parents and other family members do it.</p> <p><strong>Domineering and selfish children</strong></p> <p>This problem unfortunately is common among adults especially when our ideas and suggestions are ignored, we tend to grumble and whine. </p> <p>Similarly, children fall prey to this trait and need to be taught that their ideas may not always be right or acceptable to others.</p> <p>Teach your children to respect other peoples opinion at a young age and the world shall see a new generation of managers.</p> <p><strong>Behaviour at table </strong></p> <p>Poor table manners must be firmly handled because at a certain point in their lives, they may be embarrassed. </p> <p>And as the saying goes, “you cannot teach an old dog new tricks”, teach your children now when they are still willing to learn. </p></td></tr></tbody></table>Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-71227462835457345092007-02-27T12:33:00.001+00:002007-02-27T12:33:27.917+00:00The Last King of Ankole land<p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Next year, I could win the best director Oscar for my movie The Last King Of Ankole Land. The Ankole king I'm talking about is not Prince Barigye, since he has never been enthroned, but his President Yoweri Museveni that many call the Sabagabe.</span></span></p> <table class="EC_MsoNormalTable" align="right" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"> <tbody><tr> <td style="padding: 3.75pt;"> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p> </td> </tr> </tbody></table> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now if a Museveni story is not the stuff a Hollywood thriller is made of, then I will contact my Nollywood friends of Ekinigeria. It will begin during the 1980 election period where our film star was the Abed Bwanika of that time - getting an inconsequential number of votes. Surprisingly, he cries more than the bereaved - Paul Kawanga Ssemwogere whose votes have been rigged and goes to the bush to fight.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Depending on who has financed the production of the movie, the bush war story could be told differently. We could follow President Museveni's account in Sowing the Mustard Seed or the Besigye Series that ran in Daily Monitor a while ago. If Museveni finances it, we could portray him as a great commander like his recently unveiled statue.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Besigye character is what every movie needs - a supporting actor. And don't say that I copied The Last King Of Scotland, which has Dr. Garrigan as Amin's doctor to give the supporting role to a doctor. It is just a coincidence that the two characters are presidential doctors.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I hope the president will lend me his army and Mambas, like he did for the people who made the Last King Of Scotland. But unlike the Last King Of Scotland where the directors had to recreate Uganda in the 1970s, it won't be difficult for me to recreate the Uganda of 1986 when the NRA stormed Kampala and promised a fundamental change.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The pot-holed roads they found in 1986 are back. The only person I cannot recreate is Mzee. I will need two actors because the lean man of 1986 looks bigger after more than 20 years in State House.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> I won't give away the whole story just in case Ashraf Ssimogerere who did a movie about the Dr. Kiyingi murder case and was later kidnapped 'kidnaps' my storyline and comes out with a mediocre movie.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But just like the movie trailers that tease you but don't give you the whole story, I will also tease you a bit. Expect things about the ADF and LRA wars, land and forest giveaways plus making a Constitution and changing it a few years later so that our film star stays in State House.</span></span><span style="font-family:Tahoma;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Tahoma;"></span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Expect the personal doctor (Besigye) to turn against his boss for several reasons. There will also be Black Mambas storming high court commando style plus lots of teargas. Plus light moments just like in The Last King Of Scotland where Amin who loved sports was seen swimming. Here, our lead actor will wear shirt number seven for a soccer game in Namboole.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And I hope his Excellency will also honour my movie's premier with his presence when it begins showing at Cineplex Cinema. To entice him, I will include scenes of the main actor looking after cattle and the weddings of his children and their progress.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We could end it after Chogm with the main actor seeing off the Queen of England, saying , "I will be back," just like Schwarzenegger to advertise part two.</span></span></p> <p class="EC_MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></span></p>Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1156801638934305962006-08-28T22:45:00.000+01:002006-08-28T22:47:18.946+01:00Love, Marriage and learning how to drive.By Geoffrey Muhoozi<br /><br />Love, marriage and learning how to drive are things that have refused to mix over time. It is strange but true that a man can never teach their spouse how to drive and the reverse is true.<br /><br />You may say NO to my finding but this has proved more than true. Some ladies have told their friends that the best person to choose for a driving instructor should never be a spouse or someone who you are or may get interested in or sexually attracted to because Love and driving do not mix and when they do so the result is always kind of disastrous.<br /><br />One thing for sure is that driving needs a lot of patience but whoever is instructing should at times be hard on the learner and that is where the learner tends to lose it and the two almost come to blows.<br /><br />Learners especially women want to be handled with kid gloves when learning to drive but tend to take things for granted and with that kind of treatment with kid gloves, they may take forever to get onto the road by themselves. They tend to insist not being shouted at as they are being instructed but however much you are soft and patient but keep saying the same thing over and over again to an adult, you will eventually lose it and outburst.<br /><br />Driving calls for concentration, patience, thinking fast and being able to act almost spontaneously which many people lack. That eventually leads to bickering about what to tell certain people to do while they take their driving lessons.<br /><br />One thing people have failed to understand is that the way a trained driving instructor will handle a learner is not the way a spouse will handle a wife/ girlfriend during lessons. The level of closeness is different even given the fact that the driving instructor is doing his job and is being paid for it while your spouse is just helping you to acquire that very important skill that could save a life.<br /><br />When it comes to what not to do when taking lessons with a helper of the opposite sex, the first rule should always be to always fight the temptation of getting sexually attracted to them because that may mark the end of the helping with the driving. It may sound false or even far fetched but many people especially women will agree with me.<br /><br />Second rule; if he is already your lover, forget about the bedroom matters and be submissive by listening to what he tells you to do however rude he may sound. He may sound rude but he is doing it for your own good and saving you lots of money that would have gone to the driving school instructors. For an hour or two act the fool and believe me, you will learn to drive.<br /><br /><br />I know you can find love in the strangest of places, teaching how to drive being one of them but, for both the instructor and the learner, if you can avoid falling of reach other in the course of the lessons and wait till the learner is through with the learning, has passed their test and acquired a drivers’ licence then you can take it from there.<br /><br />That would be a perfect way to have met and would be memorable and always cherished rather than stopping the lessons, falling into love, breaking up later only for the former learner to regret having met you and allowed you to instruct them and later shatter their dream of learning to drive in the name of love.<br /><br />For those who have met their spouses through teaching how to drive and these ladies haven’t mastered the art yet, put the love aside for a while and teach them how to drive. I know it may be so heard given all that comes with Love and driving but helping this lady how to drive is the best skill you can ever give her and she will always cherish you for that.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1156778232416723862006-08-28T16:16:00.000+01:002006-08-29T10:00:28.426+01:00Mastering the Art of ComplainingBy Geoffrey Muhoozi<br /><br />If there is any nationality or people who complain like the English, they should stand up to be counted!!<br /><br />The art of complaining as I choose to call it is where people get to complain about anything. To make it worse, they even complain about having nothing to complain about. At times it is a genuine complaint but better to have let pass.<br /><br />The Naturalised British or Ugandans who eventually become British and swear allegiance to the Queen, have also picked up the annoying habit and are actually more catholic than the Pope.<br /><br />With every complaint made, an investigation is instituted and a report to that effect made. Good enough, but not satisfactory and at times just a wastage of money and time that would have been used for other constructive things.<br /><br />A while ago, an HIV positive Briton went to a Traditional Healer in Manchester and was promised medicine that would cure the disease. Later he later came to learn that he had actually been taken for a ride and lost a lot of money in the HIV healing scam.<br /><br />He later complained a complaints commission which promised to look into the matter and investigate the case. The findings of the investigation have never been made public but we are eagerly waiting to know what really happened.<br /><br />Another annoying scenario was at Heathrow Airport in the wake of the foiled terrorist attack that was meant to blow up several passenger planes. When it was announced that there was no one to take any hand luggage onto any flight and anything any passenger needed was to be put into the cargo hold. Anything needed for health issues or otherwise was to be put into a clear plastic bag.<br /><br />Now comes this woman looking really smart and carrying an expensive bag. She goes up to the Check – in – agent and says; ‘I can’t let my bag go into the hold because of its value. It is an expensive bag and I can’t risk losing it in the hold.’<br /><br />It is like all airport staff had been told to be rude and arrogant. The Agent had this to say to the complaining woman.<br /><br />‘Madam, I refuse to talk to you unless you do as told. Next please.’ He beckoned the next passenger. That was a classic for me because personally I wouldnt have wasted any more time with that woman given the number of people that were in the queue that waited to be attended to.<br /><br />There is what the British call statutory rights. This also comes with anything bought from a shop provided one has a receipt for the product bought. So the complaining British take it to their advantage to even use and return stuff to where they bought them from.<br /><br />Just walk into a shop buy something, take it home or compare its price with other stores and then return it and say, you didn’t like it. You will now be entitled to a refund or another item of your choice worth that money.<br /><br />Racism and discrimination have become intricate issues in society. Anything you say or do to any one may be taken for one of the above given the colour, race, religion or gender of one of the parties involved. Managers or any other people who directly deal with other people are so wary of what they say or may do by way of implication. But all this is always made an issue by blacks who think they are discriminated against. Labour tribunals have so many cases involving Blacks being racially abused and Ladies complaining against being discriminated against.<br /><br />Imagine you have a Birthday Party, but you have to inform you neighbour about it and ask them to come if they so wish. If your relationship with your neighbour isn’t that good you may have the Police knocking at your door at 12 midnight telling you to turn down the volume of the music or go to bed.<br /><br />Not so long ago, we had a funeral or call it a night vigil on the loss of our grannie but at 3am, a neighbour had the courtesy to knock on the door, and inform us she had been trying to catch some sleep but we were too loud and if we didnt cut down the shouting she would call the police. The look I gave her seemed to have sent some message to her and we didnt hear the police knock on the door despite we carrying on with the talking.<br /><br />The other day a Lady called the Police and complained that she had caught her Boyfriend with another woman in their bed. The Police was so good, drove to the address and all they could say was; ‘this is a domestic matter and we can’t get involved.’<br /><br />A parking ticket, Clamp on your car or towing it away are some of the most annoying things. Most of theses fines are really genuine for the drivers are totally wrong but 90% of drivers who get parking fines appeal against the fines and claim to be innocent. Some of them get away with it and some get to pay.<br /><br />I thought it was really silly to always complain but I have also got into the habit of always whinging at any opportunity and returning stuff I find not good for my liking. Reason is it saves you money in fines and you finally get what you want.Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1135508305699045972005-12-25T10:58:00.000+00:002007-03-30T07:32:49.214+01:00Pictures of the writer.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2Wyfi9WhciVKrhgvZK0wrt0xxsEJRhTCAb3JWXc_7ACi_iUAnosiL0HnWfDZeYRWich9APPlMeEhdxByxqWPsWvLGHPvULu0avbI9_6pSsZMoDcHHPvqzotMp3IzkNBp_urCHQ/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2Wyfi9WhciVKrhgvZK0wrt0xxsEJRhTCAb3JWXc_7ACi_iUAnosiL0HnWfDZeYRWich9APPlMeEhdxByxqWPsWvLGHPvULu0avbI9_6pSsZMoDcHHPvqzotMp3IzkNBp_urCHQ/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047601365489021890" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXrjwTZo21iiZeFBYVahUEmz7rsO-mq5by-QhEbp8SibHY9N2KkMKPubKLnLqwcmwpfc5fb23sQc3T_mZeVIyuDtY9BX0AjHDb0_h6xly8LNrpNfDwsQd1qH18UCJv-qpsT9eOQ/s1600-h/PC050025.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021632930456114466" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXrjwTZo21iiZeFBYVahUEmz7rsO-mq5by-QhEbp8SibHY9N2KkMKPubKLnLqwcmwpfc5fb23sQc3T_mZeVIyuDtY9BX0AjHDb0_h6xly8LNrpNfDwsQd1qH18UCJv-qpsT9eOQ/s320/PC050025.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-F9lo_zk7qUTaB_QfB13zlJDo6pjnoFAB6dFkYKq_p0_w8xW9D6p8Dt_vEu-K5jOVhvfdqdj-4UVG0GSrn9Q0UnmmKR4J8ojqt9TRwUSWgtVsS1YEGL1sJGP9QHdMdko_FB-Xg/s1600-h/PC050027.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021632921866179858" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-F9lo_zk7qUTaB_QfB13zlJDo6pjnoFAB6dFkYKq_p0_w8xW9D6p8Dt_vEu-K5jOVhvfdqdj-4UVG0GSrn9Q0UnmmKR4J8ojqt9TRwUSWgtVsS1YEGL1sJGP9QHdMdko_FB-Xg/s320/PC050027.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVOOFwAa0196XECiMAkWR7f1vZOqlpL8B65DBd-SYu-55ty2hgYqmEUKR5b-oehl_um04i63imCxKPnNY5JE96680_GmhRt5GBd5Yj23HH1iu56hD6InKY9FSyZ_L9YF4KTLGvJw/s1600-h/PC050042.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021632939046049074" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVOOFwAa0196XECiMAkWR7f1vZOqlpL8B65DBd-SYu-55ty2hgYqmEUKR5b-oehl_um04i63imCxKPnNY5JE96680_GmhRt5GBd5Yj23HH1iu56hD6InKY9FSyZ_L9YF4KTLGvJw/s320/PC050042.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSavczz-KT7hURLgSLJdkXcKeB8ReXGqlRSjoZZ7WBdUZwsact9_TYIjQfB4Th6oqc9KBuKNpkdLY8g9iwpbmqbrGUY2mHzo-qV6VrbXr_NHp0Z14kYUa-C38Nkovu59eaRQGeag/s1600-h/PC050046.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5021632947635983682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSavczz-KT7hURLgSLJdkXcKeB8ReXGqlRSjoZZ7WBdUZwsact9_TYIjQfB4Th6oqc9KBuKNpkdLY8g9iwpbmqbrGUY2mHzo-qV6VrbXr_NHp0Z14kYUa-C38Nkovu59eaRQGeag/s320/PC050046.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5645/611/1600/PICT2074.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5645/611/320/PICT2074.0.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5645/611/1600/PICT2087.0.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5645/611/320/PICT2087.0.jpg" border="0" /></a></div>Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1135508249270402252005-12-25T10:57:00.000+00:002005-12-25T10:57:29.310+00:00Jeph's thoughts<a href="http://jephrey.blogspot.com/">Jeph's thoughts</a>Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1101655424185029662004-11-28T15:21:00.000+00:002004-11-28T15:23:44.186+00:00DIY haircuts in the UK Vs traditional culture.By Geoffrey Muhoozi in London
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<br />Does any one remember that taboo to do with shaving one’s own hair? If not, in those days before we came to the UK, many cultures or tribes in Uganda considered shaving one’s own head a taboo and had lots of stories associated to it.
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<br />Ever heard about the DIY hair cut? If not it is the ‘Do It Yourself’ haircut. Here in the UK, many have gone against the taboo in the name of saving an extra penny that would have gone towards having to visit the barber. The cost of a shave is between £5 and £15 [15.000- 45.000] depending on which barber you go to. If it were back home in Uganda that would be shave at Mugisha’s barber shop at Workers’ House, where big shots in Government have their hair cuts.
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<br />The first time I saw a person shave their own head, I was mesmerised and couldn’t believe it because the guy had mastered the art of the DIY haircut and did it perfectly well. Owing to the fact that I worked with this guy, the next morning while at work, he was complimented by a fellow workmate about the nice and clean shave he had got. He was even asked at which barber shop he had had the haircut.
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<br />Asked why he went against the Buganda culture of not shaving one’s own head and if he had been a barber in Uganda, Tony told me he even had no idea how to hold the shaving machine but learnt it after spending too much on haircuts and could spend no more. He was also quick to tell me that one day, I would be doing it too and I am glad to report that I am slowly but surely picking up on the DIY haircuts because a shaving machine costs the same price for a haircut.
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<br />The only problem with this DIY thing is that you can’t have any other shave apart from the Kaguta cut or call it the clean shave. You can not have the famous 90’s french cut and if you are really a master of the art you get something close to that. Because of the increasing DIY cuts, one may think that there are no saloons or if any, then the business is not lucrative. Well, its may be true because most saloons that work on men’s hair specialise in white people’s hair and at times only have one person who deals with ‘our’ type of hair.
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<br />To confirm this, I tried visiting various saloons owned by Indians and Britons and several of them told me to try the one at the end of the street, another locality or told me that the barber who can handle my type of hair works a different shift. One particular saloon in Tooting had ‘our’ hair section upstairs and this was run by Ghanians.
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<br />I always wondered why so many black men had adopted the culture of plaiting their hair and even at one point swore never to plait my hair but when it hit me so hard that a hair cut was damn expensive, I reconsidered my position and at one stage almost plaited it because it had over grown. Not that I didn’t have the money to shave it, but the time to do it was also not there. When the going gets tough, the tough get going so they say. So I tried the DIY and fairly scored and had to wear a cap for a week until my hair grew even.
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<br />When it comes to the female species, like Harry Sagara calls them, not so different from our kind of hair lifestyle. Few take time off to visit the saloon. They just buy the hot combs and the DIY starts. If not ‘DIYing’, friends are there to help. Then, in comes the ‘mobile saloons’. These come in form of ladies on call to plait customers’ hair. All it takes is a phone call, an appointment and directions to your place and they will be there to do it for between £30 - £50 [Shs90.000-150.000].
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<br />Actually almost every household has a saloon in it and who knows, within years none of us may have to visit the saloon except for a nice shave a day before getting onto that British Airways flight to Entebbe. No one cares about your haircut style; they are busy chasing buses to get to work because time is money.
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<br /><em> <strong>Ps. Published by the Sunday Vision, Nov 28, 2004</strong>
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<br />Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1098105856507234112004-10-18T14:18:00.000+01:002004-10-18T14:24:16.506+01:00TWO WEEK INDEPENDENCE CELEBRATIONS FOR UK UGANDAN COMMUNITYBy Geoffrey Muhoozi in London
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<br />IT has been a two week Independence celebration by the Ugandan Community in London and the final verdict is: They really know how to party, Afrigo Band is as good as ever and PAM awards artist and song of the year winner Jose Chameleon is a real crowd puller, show maker and knows how to do his thing thus deserved the award.
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<br />The 42nd anniversary celebrations started in Stratford at East London’s Rex Club on Independence Day after lots of speculations based on a rumour that the Uganda’s favourite band had been denied entry clearance to the UK. Many didn’t believe the group was in London until when the show had started.
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<br />The 9th October show was marred by poor sound but never-the-less the stressed nkuba kyeyos could not sit back in their seats when Afrigo’s Joanita Kawalya of the Jim fame took to the stage. It was also a night of reunion with former band member Rachael Magoola of the Obangaina fame. When the intro to Obangaina played, the crowd just went ecstatic and the seats fell vacant.
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<br />It was time for the old good times to return and the crowd sang along as the Band played some of their best tracks over years. But like it is always the case, 9the October show had shortfalls as well. Time management and some Ugandans have always been incompatible and so was it that night. The show slated for 9.00pm didn’t kick off till past 11.00pm and when it kicked of the machines were really disappointing and at one stage the show came to a stop so that the machines could be sorted.
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<br />Midnight crawled in and the show maker without whom the show would have been a flop, strolled in clad in his trademark white American Marines uniform-complete with a hat. As he limped onto the stage, thanks to new phone camera technology, every one was scrambling to have his photo and surely they did a couple of them.
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<br />By 3am, the £20 fee paid to celebrate the day the guys the nkuba kyeyos work for granted Uganda Independence had come to an end but the celebration were just starting with only one week gone and one left.
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<br />Having taken lessons about time management and poor sound output in the first show, the organisers, ACP records wanted by all odds to be a little different in the next show at Tooting Bec’s Classic club. Time management had been worked on and the show kicked off shortly after 9pm. Afrigo band were at it again and sent the crowd into a frenzy which seemed like the right prescription for a stressed Ugandan.
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<br />As the case has always been, Jim and Obangaina seemed to be the crowd’s favourites and saw scores of both the young and old throng the seemingly tiny dance floor to shake those bones to those memorable tracks. The band played non stop till midnight when Jose Chameleon who had been playing hide and seek finally came onto stage. He wanted to do it like a celebrity by not being near the crowd and kept organiser guessing which side of the tiny hall he would come in from.
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<br />When he finally came in from the main entrance, the crowd just went rapturous. He jumped onto the tiny stage and did what he does best for a whooping two hours with out a break. Cameras of all types snooping around for a nice shot of the PAM award winner were visible in the air as the crowd sang along to his famous tracks like Mama mia, Dolotia, Nekolera mali among others though the machines would misbehave as he sang but with his creativity, he could do the hamming himself and continue singing. He couldn’t believe the ecstasy level of the crowd given the £20 entrance fee they had paid and at one stage he said if the crowds in Uganda had been like the crowd at the show and paying that amount of money, he would always be smiling all the way to the bank.
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<br />Signing off the stage at some point really became hard for Chameleon because the crowd kept on asking for more and demanding that he plays certain songs from his long list of songs accredited to him. Finally, show maker Chameleon without whom the show would have been a flop and broad day robbery had to leave the stage but before he limped off, he did his Song of the year Jamila to a an already satisfied audience and didn’t forget to thank the Ugandan community in London for supporting Ugandan music, which they surely do given the scores of people who attended.
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<br />Finally the two week celebrations wound up and it was time back to serious work. They were a celebration worth £20 each and there were no complaints about having been fleeced.
<br />Ends..../
<br />Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1098114969007977832004-10-17T16:48:00.000+01:002004-10-18T16:56:09.040+01:00OKUHINGIRA ACROSS OCEANS.<p>By Geoffrey Muhoozi in London
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<br />VERY tired on a train home from College to register for the new Semester, I received a text message or call it an SMS from an old family friend in Uganda, with what I would call instructions to call him.
<br />Still wondering how the old man got my number in spite of giving strict instructions to my siblings and parents not to give away my cell number, the first thing that came to my mind was that maybe something had happened to his daughter Chloe, a good old school friend and that the daughter had demanded to talk to me and maybe had lost her phone. Since I was on a train and it would be too expensive to call him using my cell phone, I ‘texted’ him back and promised to call him in about an hour.
<br />On calling him, he asked the same questions other people usually ask me: Is UK like heaven, is there a lot of money and do you intend to come back after your studies, to which I said; ‘yes, why not?’ causing him to protest asking me why I would return to Uganda with the kisanja project looming as if I had told him that I was to stand for election or about to join the opposition. What followed was a question that I almost failed to answer. The old man asked me, how does Chloe get to the UK?
<br />My answer was concise and precise. She has to get a Visa from the High Commission! The old man ranted and almost used an ‘F’ word saying he knew all one was supposed to do but wanted to know how easy it was. I almost told him that I don’t work for the High Commission but just had the decency to tell him that I have spent some time out of the country and was not able to tell how easy or hard it would be to get entry clearance to the Britain, prompting him to ask what entry clearance was. ‘That is the Visa I am talking about.’ I explained.
<br />Funny thing, the old man didn’t seem to know that Visas were classified as student, visitor, prospective student and many others including one for spouses. I then asked; ‘how do you want her to get to the UK, is it on a student visa or a visitors’ visa?’ He had no answer which prompted me to explain.
<br />‘For a Student Visa, you have to part with at least £1000 which is close to shs3 million as tuition deposit if you are to get an admission letter to enable you process entry clearance to the Queen’s land. Accommodation will cost between £280[shs840,000] and £300[shs900,000] excluding bills and meals unless Chloe is to live with relative or friend until she settles in so well to cater for herself.’ I explained.
<br />For a visitor’s visa, I told him that if Chloe wasn’t coming to visit as she will purport but to seek ‘greener pastures’, that would amount to giving her away to the streets and let her live like stray dog being hunted because after sometime she would be an illegal immigrant. I advised him to instead marry her off if she can not get a decent job in Uganda after several years of study including the three years she spent at University.
<br />I thought I had tried to enlighten the old man and pumped some little sense into his head through his phone ear piece but it wasn’t near to that. He had another idea which I think could have been awoken by my advice to marry Chloe off.
<br />‘You talked about something like a spouse or marriage visa, cant students invite their spouses?’ he inquired. I told him they can but it would take lots of effort, time and money if they are fake spouses prompting him to ask what it would take, how and where it would be done from.
<br />I told him it would require a marriage certificate from a church or the Registrar of Marriages and may be some more evidence but I was quick to ask the old man how all this would work yet we were not spouses or anywhere near intimate.
<br />Here was the old man doing okuhingira or giving away his daughter to me on phone. What was not clear to me was if Chloe was seated next her Dad as she was being given away to me on phone. I protested saying that in this day and age that wasn’t the way things were done only to be told to relax and take it easy. Little did I know that Chloe harboured the same thoughts as her Dad thus raising my suspicions that she may have been there as she was being given away to me.
<br /> After about half an hour talking to Chloe’s old man, I decide to call Chloe and with the journalism training I have, I try to find out if she is aware of a conspiracy to give her way to me and to my surprise; she is and very willing to be given way though denies conspiring with the old man. She tells me she has always had a thing for me but being the lady she was, she could not pour her heart out and tell me how she felt.
<br />‘Was it a blessing in disguise that your old man decided to give you away?’ I ask. It is now that she starts telling me about all those times when I visited her in Africa Hall while at University but she could not get to utter a word but waited for me to set the ball rolling but never did. I remind her that we were not only friends but family friends and that nonsense would not be tolerated. She tells me of several people who have made it yet they were family friends.
<br />At the back of my mind, I know how Ugandans can do anything to get what they want and with so many examples of guys who have brought their supposed girl friends or spouses to the UK only to be left in the cold. I decide to highlight the whole thing as crap because I actually just have to start nurturing those would be feelings.
<br />I had got a hustle free babe in the name of helping her get to the UK as if I am the British High Commissioner, but that would leave holes in my pockets and my heart would be so vulnerable for a heart break like many Ugandans in the UK and there would be no one to blame except me, myself and I.
<br />As I prepare to end the call I say, Chloe dear, I am out of that circus. Actually katemba or drama would be a misused word. Gone are the days and that is not how things are done. Besides I know what Ugandans are capable of doing. Have a splendid night!!!
<br />Having hanged up on her with that line, I don’t know what is running through her mind but will find out soon and see what she is up to lately. Neither have I had from the old man too. Ugandans can really be so silly at times. Imagine giving away your daughter to a man just to have her travel to the UK. Total insanity!
<br /> </p><p>NOTE: ALL STORIES HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED BY UGANDA'S LEADING DAILY, THE NEW VISION OR THE SUNDAY VISION.</p><p>
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<br />Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1098111727755718082004-09-10T15:55:00.000+01:002004-10-18T16:02:07.756+01:00LEARNING JOGGING AND TIME MANAGEMENT THE HARD WAY.
<br />By Geoffrey Muhoozi in London
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<br />I once heard a saying that for everything you do, do in haste or better translated in Luganda as, buli kyokola, kola ngoyanguwa. Well, the saying is true to nkuba kyeyos and not adhering to it is the start of a long day of running after buses. Leave alone back home in Uganda where you do everything at your own pace and can catch a taxi every other time if one has just left. Not here in England or The UK as the British would like it called.
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<br />However obese or lazy you are you will have to learn running after buses and eating like the food is not yours or you’ve been starved for so long. A typical bad day begins with a bus chase in order to try and not miss it since it operates on a schedule and not like the matatus at home. It’s a Monday morning and as you wake up, you realise you overslept by about 10 minutes and may miss the 5.45am bus which could get you to the next stop where you are going to catch the 6.00am bus to Croydon bus station for the 6.30am bus which will drop you off at the Purley Way for your 7am to 4pm work shift.
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<br />Trouble has now begun! Since you have missed your first bus, you are going to miss all of them or you have to run for most of your journey chasing them. The bad news is seeing it just a few meters away from approaching the stop you are supposed to get on at and since there are traffic lights that may slim your chances of catching it, you ‘think’ fast and decide to get off the bus and run before it leaves. As you get there it takes of and you wave the driver but he ignores you and moves on. You have to wait for 15-30 minutes for the next one meaning you will be 15 or 30 minutes late for your shift.
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<br />My entire life, I remember only running or jogging as part of my P.E classes in the nursery school and the lower primary school but now I am regretting why I always laughed at people I always saw jogging whom I thought lacked what to do. Many nkuba kyeyos and I now have to learn it the hard way, on the streets of London. Good thing no one laughs at you as you chase the bus because almost every public means user does it and it is not funny at all.
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<br />The bus chasing besides, and having eventually gotten to work late and lost a 30 minutes pay yet you are only 15 minutes late, you are yet to accomplish a certain assignment which will entitle you to a certain wage and once accomplished on time do some overtime to earn more.
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<br />Break time is just a mere 30 minutes but in two 15 minutes instalments. Imagine running to a fast food joint at lunch time queuing up to get served and washing the Fish and Chips down your throat in just 15 minutes. That is record breaking, isn’t it? Usually the solutions to breaking this 15 minutes wash down record is to go back to work eating along the streets or hold a burger in one hand and a can of Pepsi in the other and walk gently on the street or get onto a bus chewing away your burger. This earned us a good beating at home
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<br />Mama always beat me saying eating on the move or along the road home was bad manners but I would bet she would do exactly the same thing. Time is money but the problem here is that once you are used to this thing of eating on the move or eating in record time is that you actually still do it at home even if there is no need to hurry and at times it can be humiliating because people may think you are glutton.
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<br />Talk about walking along the street even in your free time or from a bus stop to a train station, its like someone is after you. Reason: You have become accustomed to the fact that time is money and buli kyokola okikola oyanguwa or else you may be late and miss out on a lifetime opportunity just by seconds. This has many lessons to teach the Ugandans who even have what they call ‘Ugandan time’, where you set an appointment for 11.30am and one turns up an hour later giving silly excuses like ‘I thought you meant African time, which is an hour later than the said time.’ What a silly way to reason!
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<br />Here [the UK] 10.00am is that and nothing later than that and you can not be attended to before that scheduled time. That is why many Ugandans miss the buses and end up running the whole day because they have that stupid notion of Ugandan time yet for a bus 5.45am is that or earlier by a minute or two and its you to wait for it not the bus waiting for you like the taxi men do in Uganda to the extent of even driving back to ask a 10 year old going to fetch water, and wearing slippers if he is going.
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<br />So if any of you ardent readers is thinking of getting that most sought for item or that print in your passport that will allow you get here for some quick buck, learn time management and in case it is too late for you to take the lessons in time management, do some jogging to acquaint yourself with the skills because without time management you may always have to jog to work in a bid to chase the missed bus and not get to work late and always lose 30 minutes pay. But it isn’t good either to be branded a serial late comer or a poor time manager.
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<br />NOTE: ALL STORIES HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED BY UGANDA’S LEADING DAILY, THE NEW VISION OR THE SUNDAY VISION.
<br />Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1098110244360462862004-08-14T15:33:00.000+01:002004-10-18T16:39:27.146+01:00FORCED FAMILY PLANNING AND ABSTINENCE FOR NKUBA KYEYOS<span >By Geoffrey Muhoozi in London
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<br />WHOEVER came up with the adage, THERE IS NEVER A ROSE WITHOUT A THORN may have known much about the aspirations of many ‘nkuba kyeyos’ in the Queen’s land. Staying in the United Kingdom has lots of things tagged to it.
<br />When I came to the Queen’s land just like any other foreigners have always thought and wanted, one of my priorities was having a child or children here so that they could automatically acquire British citizenship and get to reap Tony Blair’s government of thousands of pounds in child benefit allowances and all those other handouts that come with the baby making business by ‘nkuba kyeyos’. These days it is an un taxable business where one may instead gain.
<br />It is then that reality struck me so hard and woke up to the fact that having children and bringing them up in the United Kingdom was not a bed of roses but a free ticket to ‘stress-land’. Being a student here and all the benefits that come along that long sought for privilege, made me think that I was heading for heaven on earth, with a preconception of linking up with someone’s daughter, who would eventually mother my child or children but when this hard hitting reality struck me, I thought twice and almost swore never to play with anyone’s daughter even if it guaranteed me British citizenship.
<br />It is common here for ‘nkuba kyeyos’ to bear children in the hope of acquiring the long sought for ticket to heaven which is usually that red passport with the emblem bearing the Queen’s throne. I always wondered why white British people never have children or if they do, only one or two, but the answer came in handy. STRESS!
<br />Bringing up a child in Britain is like a nightmare given the stress levels that it carries with it and the fact that that little things does not belong to you but to the state and can be taken away anytime. The two consenting adults must have known each other for quite long, are fully compatible and willing to sacrifice lots of time and money to bring up the child with out the social services authorities having to come in and take custody of the child.
<br />Lack of all this has led to some legal and illegal ‘nkuba kyeyos’ dumping the children in hospitals or giving them up for adoption. Recently some Ugandan lady had to dump her child at London Hospital since it had been established that she didn’t satisfactorily look after this ‘state child’ and not a single health visitor had visited the child since birth. When they called in the police, she had no option but to run for dear life or face the law for child neglect and abuse.
<br />Then there are these illegal ‘nkuba kyeyos’ who even go to the extent of getting pregnant and when the time for delivery comes they go to hospital under another person’s identity meaning the child’s birth certificate will bear not her mother’s name, but the identity owner’s name because she is entitled to free medical care. Total insanity in the name of having British children!
<br />Now, this little one has been born to dance to the tunes of the hard and cruel ‘underground life’ of the ‘nkuba kyeyos’ and the suffering begins. The stress now rises to pitch level. As if the couple are their own employers, they have to find shifts that will make it possible for both of them to look after the child, not like back in Uganda where the mum will have to look after the little one and is a full time house wife. One has to work at night and the other during the day so that there is someone to look after this little one born to cruelty. If the couple decides that only one partner should work and the other nurtures the child, heaven knows how the family will survive given the cost of living.
<br />If there is no family car and winter creeps in, then the little one will have to suffer for the poor family planning of its parents. You find one little one being pushed in a buggy, wrapped up but still shivering like it has been sat in a bucket of ice. A bus comes and there is no space for the buggy and the only option is to wait for another 30 minutes for another bus which might have space for the buggy. All along this little thing is suffering because of poor family planning.
<br />The worst of it all happens now when the little one falls sick yet the mum and dad are illegal ‘nkuba kyeyos’ and cant access any free medical services. Reason: the identity owner whose name appears on the birth certificate does not approve of using her name to acquire treatment for the child and can not offer the couple her medical card. I recently visited one household where the couple are illegal ‘nkuba kyeyos’ here and the child had developed some strange ailment but could not get treatment because of a similar problem. What the parents did was to make their diagnosis and prescription as if they were trained medics. The situation just got worse as little thing cried in agony due to wrong medication.
<br />The whole idea of having children born and raised in this foreign land is so stressing that a number of people hardly think about children given the fact that these children wield enormous rights and can even tie you up to a chair and beat you up. Unlike back home where you may threaten a child with a thrashing and denying him or her this or that, try it in the UK and this little thing who has no idea what you have gone through bringing it up to that stage will either threaten calling the police or even actually call 999 and claim you are harassing it.
<br />Well I am not about or even thinking about having children in this foreign land but, I may think twice and have not more than one. Isn’t this stressful forced family planning and abstinence even given the fact that family planning methods like condoms are hard to come by and expensive. </span>
<br />Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8772547.post-1098114149680053262004-07-07T16:39:00.000+01:002004-10-18T16:42:29.690+01:00UGANDANS, HYPOCRICY AND VILLAINY.
<br />By Geoffrey Muhoozi in London
<br />HARDLY does a week go by without Radio Katwe UK frequency broadcasts the names of Ugandans deported in that week. And one always wonders why it is mostly Ugandans who are so often deported. Before I get an answer to why it is always so, I remember some bits of advice given to me on arrival to The UK.
<br /> Just like people in England say that all Nigerians are crooks, thieves and conmen and should never be trusted, ‘NEVER TRUST ANY UGANDAN’, was the warning sounded to me on my day of arrival and as a journalist I vowed to find out why Ugandans can never be trusted. Few weeks later, before I even set out on my fact finding mission, an Indian with whom I was working assures me how he can never trust any Ugandan and his reason for not trusting us is because of hypocrisy and betrayal.
<br />The findings about why Ugandans behaved the way they did where shocking because of the trivial issues that let Ugandans betray each other thus even other nationalities loosing trust in them. The most common cause of mistrust and betrayal is men eloping with other men’s wives or girl friends. One injects all his savings for several months into arranging travel for his wife to the UK and all he gets as a reward for getting the woman here is an elopement with some illegal immigrant.
<br />The disappointed man will then do anything to see that one of them or even both of them is deported and so the cat and mouse game begin as the mistrust grows into betrayal. Recently some illegal immigrant who had done all he could to bring his wife here together with the man who had stolen his wife were deported because this villain of a wife who had eloped with another man, got pregnant and had been dumped by the adulterous man she had eloped with, got fed up of seeing both men every other day because all the three worked in one place.
<br />Owing to the fact she had lost out on both men though the husband was willing to take her back, she decided to call David Blankett’s men [immigration officials and police] informing them of the fact that many Illegal immigrants, most of them Ugandans were working at some Cinema in West London. Since she had sought asylum and could not be deported, she also worked on that fateful morning to see to it that both men were arrested and bundled into the police Van. What really hurt so many people is the fact that about fifteen innocent illegal immigrants who had not been involved in the betrayal of one married man were also bundled and deported.
<br />The other reason why many Ugandans are deported stems from some Ugandans fleecing people who work in there identities of there hard earned cash and then reporting them that they are illegal immigrants. This usually happens in such a way that these mischievous Ugandans purport to be good hearted and nationalists in all they do, to the extent of getting the illegal immigrant a job though the wages are paid into the name owner’s account who later uses all the money and the illegal immigrant who has been working about 12 hours a day ends up not getting a penny for his hard work.
<br />What happens is that this illegal immigrant realises that he has been fleeced and starts demanding his wages from not his employer but the real name owner. This African gets fed up of the constant bugging by the immigrant and ends up tipping immigration officials about where the immigrant lives and works thus his work place or address where he lives being stormed. Surviving these guys is really hard because now that they have both your home and work address they will just lay an ambush and get you unless some one tips you off and you find another home, place of work and definitely a new identity.
<br />Then there is conflict with a shift supervisor springing from struggle for power yet the supervisor is an illegal immigrant. The betrayer wants the job too and yet the illegal immigrant supervisor also feels threatened and has to act so swiftly. In turn he has his opponent sacked and what the opponent decides to do well knowing that this Ugandan supervisor is an illegal immigrant is to tip the immigration officials who end up raiding the premises searching everyone’s details and bundling all illegal immigrants into waiting vans to the airport to catch the next flight back to their home countries.
<br />Much as all this is done in the name of hypocrisy and villainy, what really hurts is the way these illegal immigrants are treated by immigration officials. It is really humiliating because the way you are dressed is how you go, and if lucky you may make one last phone call to a relative or friend though at times it does not happen. Actually if the deported person has not been so keen on sending his savings back home to have some project started by a close relative, he or she may never get back onto his/her feet and may have to rent a muzigo and beg for handouts because unless the account one has been using is for a person so close to him or her, they may never get that money. That is how Ugandans can be villains and if the immigration officers employed them, they would have them betray all their close friends and have them nicked and deported.
<br />NOTE: ALL STORIES HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED BY UGANDA’S LEADING DAILY, THE NEW VISION OR THE SUNDAY VISION.
<br />Jephreyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14284400874269538265noreply@blogger.com0