Piggin’ Out
i have successfully gone through no less than 3 pork variations in 2 days and confidently say, pigs are a versatile species. There’s much to be learnt from them.
Happy boxing day
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where i write my wrongs
6 keys from the edge…
The new place. Month 01
Finally experienced loadshedding Ntinda style. That’s right, I’m still calling my area Ntinda. I have been told it’s actually called Kigowa, but my mind won’t process the word. Understandable really, you don’t want to be jumping into a cab after hanging out and slurring that you are going to Kigoowa. It sounds like a haven for thieves and ladies of the night… or thieving ladies of the night.
So anyway, the black out…
When I was moving in, I carried the notion that this side of town had ministers and such, so I wouldn’t have to worry about the forces of darkness striking. I was wrong.
The reach of Minister’s Village is limited…and ministers have generators and inverters.
I relied on the light from my phone, as it kept dropping hints, suggesting its calling did not extend to illuminating my life. It’s battery was not so charitable. Where my phone merely implied that it didn’t want to help me, the battery realised what was going on and chose right then and there to quit.
Fortunately, I found candles. Long blue, icky-feeling candles . . . that smelt oba-how. They also had an annoying habit of blacking out after a while. The housemate later told me that they are insect-repelling candles. I guess candle lit dinners have got that going for them.
Speaking of…
The housemate does exist, just not often enough. It’s been suggested that I might have actually fabricated the whole thing. That I have a beautiful mind and he is a figment of my imagination. The thing is, it is sort of true. I do have a beautiful mind, but I know he exists and intend to issue proof of some sort as soon as he gets back.
Evil in diapers has since taken a sabbatical and won’t be bothering me for a while. I really don’t know where he went, but I’m not one to question a good thing. I now know the meaning of peace and quiet…and it’s no thanks to the new pillow. I’ve tried to break it in, but it seems to be having the upper hand in this fight.
My neck can’t take this stuff anymore.
Not because I can’t do it myself, but because I don’t have the time, I had someone bring some cleaners over. They did a so-so job with the clothes {I suspect if I’d left them out for a couple of days, the combined effort of the rain and the wind would have done a better job ridding them of Friday’s sweat (no one sweats before that. FACT)
Also, I think the cleaners used my toothpaste. Scratch that, the thought conjures up images of some random person using my toothbrush as well.
Let’s say they ATE my toothpaste.
Meanwhile, I’m in the market for cheap food. Cheap as in, ‘inexpensive’. I’m tired of contributing towards the take-away next door’s paint job, I need something else. Their food is not bad..as such, but my fries seem to be going through a rough patch or generally react badly to cooking oil.
Does anyone in the Ntinda massive know a kikumi-kikumi joint I can put on retainer?
I’ve briefly considered fluking meals at my friends’ place in Ministers’ Village, but getting a hold of them is just too much work. I miss the old days, when people walked to school and showed up unannounced at your doorstep during mealtimes.
Man, I miss the 90s.
The new place. Week 01
Done with the first week at the new place. How was it? Well. . .
My housemate has not been in since I got there. I think he was picked up and taken to the home for crazy people. I thought it might have been a business trip, but let’s be honest, which business trips go on for more than 3 days? A pleasure trip, maybe? Nuh, not likely. In these harsh economic times you can’t even enjoy pleasure trips that go on for the whole night… I mean nights out on the town…
There’s {'there are'… stupid autocorrect} other things that suggest that he might have been crazy. Like the sim card. There’s an abandoned sim card lying somewhere in the kitchen. That’s not the part that worries me. Sim cards are abandoned all the time. Thing is, this particular one is shaded blue…violently.
At first glance I thought maybe he was trying to save a contact’s number with considerable difficulty, but as I tried to make out name and digit, the truth came at faster and harder than a Ugandan pothole; he was trying to switch to another network!
I suppose I would have felt betrayed if I didn’t feel sorry for him. Maybe that’s why the people in the uniforms came and took him away…wait, do Butabika staff wear uniforms? Do they have a little van that goes weeeewoooooweeeewoooo as it comes to pick up people? Can we afford stuff like that?
The gatekeeper is extremely helpful and eager to please… too diligent even. When I was moving in, I made the mistake of leaving the movers (read; rogues) with my ‘balance’ or ‘change’ as I went round back to lock up the house. When I came back, gate dude had oh-so-helpfully let them out. Leaving me in a very Uganda government situation a’la No change. Guess who will not make it to my facebook friends list.
Of course, I felt the need to share this bit of misery with someone. All I got for my efforts was a Ugandan interpretation of the philosophy, “Karma’s a bitch”. Thanks. Two more strikes and you too will be unfriended. This time I will go easy on you, I won’t give you a Christmas card. {Hey, neat, Microsoft Word knows to turn the ‘c’ in Christmas into an uppercase letter. Does that work with eid…nope. Damn thing doesn’t even recognize the word. Infidel! You will pay for your deceit}
{Hang on, Ngoni are still around? I’ve just noticed that Luzinda Desire was tagged in a poster for their zouk performance at club 9 degrees… Zouk? 9 Degrees? Why don’t they just go over to Congo and put a nail in that career’s coffin. And yes, Luzinda Desire and I are Facebook friends. This was way before I realized that she was friends with at least 5000 other people. She probably won’t even read this}
So anyway…
New place has a kitchen, but the landlord’s either a cheapskate or has a morbid fear of electricians if the dead ‘bulb holder’ is anything to go by. Housemate told me that the landlord has vowed to get that fixed…along with the shower handle…and the doors and the other sockets, but for some reason he hasn’t gotten round to it. I don’t get how you can possibly mess up a ‘bulb-holder’ with this level of precision.
It actually looks like someone took some time to **** this up. We are talking, buy a ladder and a metallic file kinda time. Your best bet with the state this thing is in would be to employ someone to hold the bulb in place as you walk on by or invest in some electro-friendly superglue. It beats my understanding that Word has no issues with the word Electro-friendly, but it will dare throw ugly red-death squiggly lines under Eid.
On the day I moved, the neighbor’s kid came over to help me carry things into the house. In hindsight I think the little devil may have schemed with the movers to make off with my change, but I digress. Evil In Diapers must have thought that this made him and I buddies and that if he was willing to help out with grown up stuff, I would reciprocate and pitch in with kiddie games such as, throw dirt into the washing water as adult did his laundry. This is clearly a relationship that’s got no future.
Especially if his grammar does not expand to allow more words into his life. How long can a person live on ‘look at this one’ as conversation fodder? I should trade words with his teachers or whoever it is that gifted him with these almost patronizing and entirely annoying four words.
During the day time, I noticed it, but it took coming back home late to fully appreciate just how annoying it is to have a gate door ‘this’ small. No, really. I could kneel in an attempt to go through and still manage to bump my head. Granted I have a big head, but THAT’S a small gate! Only Evil in Diapers can walk through unharmed. I suspect even the gate can’t be arsed to deal with him.
There are two routes to my place, both with their share of potholes. When I’m asked to give directions I go with the more scenic hunger inducing route, “It’s near two pork selling joints. Call me when you get to either. It’s advisable that you order some pork as you wait for me. Pork”
The Boda-boda guys haven’t gotten with the program yet and still think that they can get away with charging me like I’m going upcountry yet all I’m doing is going up the road…then down, then up the road again. Its like a bad Chaka Demus and Pliers song/experience.
of primary importance
You may not believe this, but I went to Primary School once. I think it’s what people on the other side of the ocean call Elementary School, but, moving on. I went to primary school and I too had the privilege of sitting for my Primary Leaving Examinations…and, as it is now, my generation of candidates also had the system fuss over them. Looking back one question looms in the recesses of my steadily greying grey matter.
It’s not so much, why did I need to learn how to arrange stuff in Alphabetical order. I really think that may come in handy some time. It’s not even, ‘why exactly did I run away from that girl when all she wanted was for us to hold hands?’ And it is not, believe it or not, “were they real?”
Far from it. My question, my bane of contention is, ‘what was the big deal?’
If you have had the opportunity to traverse through this great nation’s education system, you know that on the days that ‘candidates’ sit to do their Primary Leaving Examinations a strange thing happens. It’s probably not a big deal, but on those two days, time.stands.still. Everyone else is barred from going to school.
Well, they would be barred if they really gave a shit about studying. So let’s call it what it is, a holiday.
It’s also an anomaly, but that’s a story for another day.
So for two days out of the whole year, P.7 candidates run the show. They are given the keys to the… whatever you want to be given the keys to when you’ve got all that power in your hands. In their case, to the DH/Lunchbox?
I seriously don’t understand why life has to come to a standstill just because kids have exams. Don’t get me wrong, before P.7, I was grateful for the two days off (less grateful for the stupid homework, what’s the longest river in Uganda? Are you kidding me? That ain’t mental stimulation, that’s bar talk!) But looking back, what the hell was that about?
Let’s be honest, P.7 kids no matter how old they are (and they can be pretty old) are not that important. They are not going to fight for world peace, they certainly won’t pioneer stem cell research in Uganda and they will not lead this country…neither will a couple of 40 year olds, no matter what stage of their academic journey they happen to be traversing.
This stuff’s a recipe for disaster. You hand over such self-important sentiments, there’s no way a person won’t move around with an oversized ego. Shit, business doesn’t come to a standstill when he releases an album, but look at Kanye.
At this age, the biggest concern falls along the lines of, “where will I find a Nintendo PS3 or Xbox 360”. Is this really all it takes to earn people their freedom? Going to the bush doesn’t even get the rest of the country a day off. A day!!! And here we are celebrating TWO days?!
These are the guys that will absolutely eat-up a trans-day disco (my understanding of this is that it’s basically a party that goes on from 11am deep into the early hours of the afternoon) so clearly, they can’t be accused of being that old.
Is it because these guys are the most susceptible to ‘cheating’? Is that why the whole school is cleared? We wouldn’t want junior to be told what the longest river in the world is, would we? Come on! I know grown-ups that have a hard time helping kids out with their homework. It’s absolutely safe to leave them lurking around in class. Heck, I’d sooner clear the schools for O’level and A’level exams.
You can’t claim there’s suddenly a need to give people some time out. Anyone can attest to this, holidays just keep getting shorter. So clearly it’s not an act of benevolence… the crappy homework you’re sent away with on your little holiday proves this.
If you’re going to make them feel this important you might as well give them all the protection they need when they cross over to secondary school (or drop out) and start taking the piss just because they (think) they can.
We have an explanation for why cooked food should not be given to kids in school. We have very flimsy reasons for the whole ‘girls should not have long hair as they study’ thing, but no one has explained why P7’s can run the show during examination season and every other candidate has to make do with TERM X.
But Gaga, you ‘real’ wore a mouthful…
Dear Lady Gaga,
What the hell? I thought you were on those of ‘lwali’ when you were singing about your Bad Romance, but when I saw what you were wearing at the VMA’s, I thought to myself, “self, this woman has issues”. I’ve heard mbu you were trying to get attention. I also heard that you were trying out your outfit for Halloween. Is it true that you plan to masquerade as a ‘kanyama’?
But seriously Gaga, what were you thinking? I know PETA is all up in your face using words like; rancid, smelly, and riddled with maggots, but you chill them. They seem to have run out of fur-wearing celebrities to heckle and now they have come after you.
Even Eminem said he didn’t want to sit next to a pile of raw meat the whole night. I have ha-ha’d him. Everybody knows that no one has more beef than Eminem in the entertainment industry. They are the Bayuda Chameleone sang about.
But you know who aren’t? Vegetarians.
Man, I can only try to imagine how sucky it must have felt to be a vegetarian that night. Being there thinking, ‘they better have salads at the after party,” then you walk up to receive that award and it’s all over! Withdrawal kicks in, or worse, Pink weeps silently in her seat.
Katy Perry even had the chance to weigh in. Can you believe that? The world shouldn’t have to listen to Katy Perry sing, but now, because of you, now the world has to put up with her being deep, “the costumes are the bells and whistles and bells and whistles can be really fun, but you have to have the spine, and I think that with Gaga, she's got the spine and she's got the costume”. Do you see what you have done?
People have labeled you an attention seeker. In fact, I suspect you may have displaced Eva Mbabazi’s infamous fish net outfit from that spot it occupied in many a man’s fantasy. A thank you should be in order, but I don’t want to encourage you. I accidentally liked Just Dance and Poker Face, then what did you do? You went gaga (pun honestly and truly intended) on telephones. TWICE!
What if my gratitude this time round spurs you on to wear a whale?
I have to hand it to you though, you are brave. I could be wrong, but I’m almost certain the most pertinent questions running through anyone’s head would have to be; will this make me look fat? And ‘what if the Baha Men turn up, will they let the dogs out?… I really doubt anyone’s thinking, “can’t wait to have people sink their teeth into this” or, “tonight, I will finally get eaten”.
I like that you carried your food to the awards show, though. I understand how insane power bills can get, so if you can get your meat refrigerated by an air conditioner on the cheap, good on you.
Your justification, “…it's saying if we don't stand up for what we believe in, if we don't fight for our rights… we're going to have as much rights as the meat on our bones.” was not profound, Gaga. It was a lot of baloney!
The mouth’s an orifice,er, office
I don’t understand dentists. I’m not implying that they speak an entirely different language or whatever. I just don’t get what could possibly inspire someone to decide that they would absolutely love to pursue a career that involves looking into people’s mouths and poking around. It’s beyond me.
To a degree, you can sort of understand the motivation behind becoming a Gynaecologist (you know you can)…I mean you’ve got to get ‘some’ any which way you can, right? But to be a dentist… I don’t know.
I was at the dentist’s the other day and I was trying to figure it out.
I hoped to become a doctor when I was young, look at where I am now. In hindsight, I suspect I didn’t really give a shit about the field of medicine; I was freaked out by injections, when I flunked my examinations in the field of sciences I didn’t sit down and whine thinking my career was being compromised… I was put off by the number of years I’d have to sit behind a desk poring over questions glancing at me from the face of an examination sheet. I also had that niggling feeling that whatever examination dared cross paths with the examiners pen would come out on the losing end of things…
Then we have dentists.
When you see your dentist, consider this for a second; whilst you thought about waking up and going to your desk and playing touchy-feely with your keyboard, there was a guy or gal somewhere in the same class that couldn’t wait to dive into your mouth… well, not your necessarily.
Put another way, when you were checking out some lad or lass and thinking about placing your lips on their’s or, if you were the daring kind, playing hide and go seek with his or her tonsoles aided by your tongue, there was someone somewhere marveling at the delicate structure of teeth that stood between you and your ultimate prize (again, this is written with the deep seated belief that every young boy or girl attempted to play with a partner’s epiglottis)
When I think about occupational hazards, all that comes to mind is possibility that my PC will explode and the shrapnel will fly every which way and, if it so wishes, take abode somewhere in my body.
Sitting in the dentist’s chair, I couldn’t help but think, would it be so bad if I bit down really hard on his fingers? I mean, surely you get into this stuff knowing exactly what you are getting into. I suspect my eyes may have betrayed my intentions, because as that idea was starting to progress past a crawl and starting to get on its legs he stuffed a rubber something or other between my teeth.
Maybe it’s the power that comes with it. Face it. You can rig all the elections you want, go to the bush fire off a few shots, but ultimately, your dentist has you right where he wants you.
I don’t care that you may be Golola Moses or his idol, everyone is freaked out by the dentist. It’s probably all those tools on the tray next to you. Just lying there shining and glistening as if to say, ‘your teeth and I, we have a date. Some shit’s going to go down, but it won’t be consensual”. I was looking at them the other day and seriously weighed the merits of yanking out all my teeth and resigning myself to a life of soggy foodstuffs.
I went through a list of items that could be ‘soggified’ (no, it’s not a word) and was doing pretty well until I got to pizza. You just can’t do soggy pizza…or pork.
Is that it then?
When we are going through the motions and rigours of academia, is that what’s driving some of our peers, the prospect of clinging on to power without some annoying dude screaming AT YOU saying you have become corrupted by power?
The fact that you will hold such copious amounts of power and no one will bug you about fixing a road, building a school, destroying the school and then selling the land to investors? Is that what it’s all about?
Nuh, that ain’t it all… I think it comes down to trying to make a difference.
That’s right, you look around you at all the pain and injustice in the world and think, ‘man, people shouldn’t have to move around with their teeth looking like that’ and you decide right then and there that your mission in life is to uphold the tooth…teeth… it works better singularly anyway, so, yeah, uphold the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth, so help me…
It’s oft been suggested that there’s a great deal of money in dentistry. In essence, this is where the whole detoothing spiel kicks in… I think. But come on, there are other ways to make money.
Don’t get it twisted, I respect dentists. I admire the trade to a degree. As my dentist hacks and cracks in there, I can’t help but marvel over the finesse.
BUT
If I had to choose, I’d sooner be a gynecologist.
Then again, one man’s mouth is another man’s v…..
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