SPOTLIGHT ON THE USA!

Living as we do in the age of empiricism, it is not hard for people to quickly jump on to and trust their lives to a stack of data, statistics and supposed deductions by science. If science is a religion, it certainly has managed to convert the globe. Education systems, fiscal policies and governments are run on some scientific this or that. Look around you and you will fill this list faster than you thought.

To think that the biggest things we wager our lives on might be merely illusory and what we consider illusions might be the real deal; is extremely scary. What if all those statistics you have based on to make your career decisions, run your country or build an empire are just a lie, what then?

On the flip side, what if we were as good at reading transcendent phenomena as we are in dissecting mortal jamboree. Before your best weather channel was set up, someone rebuked a group of experts on how easily they could read the wind and skies; tell when it would rain but could not equally discern matters of eternal substance. That’s my challenge to those who do not wish to denounce their faith in, well you know what! What if the picture being too big for the quality of lens you are using; would you expand your vision?

At the close of last year, a heated Presidential race between Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton was one of the biggest stories out there. Riveting eyeballs from all over the globe, there seemed to be battles not just for the oval, but wars of ideology, feminism, immigration, racism and pretty much every ism! Whoever cared to follow, knew who the mainstream media and the pattern of this age were backing. The prophets and evangelists of pop culture were scampering to endorse Hilary and denounce Trump for religious, chauvinistic and other reasons. We all know how that chapter ended, but was it just so another page or book would open into even something bigger? Why didn’t the election go as obviously as George Clooney and Barrack Obama predicted? Was there a Russian or supra Russian hand? Beyond living in denial, impeachment and twitter jazz; Obamacare and bla bla care, what does the Trump era mean for the eagle?

The Tsunami alert rate across the US seems to be heightening by the month. Is there a tectonic plate riot or is a school master swinging the whip? That shooting in Las Vegas, why was it not by a black “gang” member or a Muslim “terrorist”. Would the fact that the shooter was a middle-aged Caucasian “guy next door” mean the end of the American dream as we know it? Or are we still operating in the realm of coincidence and peradventure?

Allow me though to go to the spark that ignited this rhetoric. At the beginning of the year, Prophet Elvis Mbonye stood in a small East African country called Uganda, and in what some might call pre-cognition, listed several outcomes of the Oscars 2017. If you are not into movies, the Oscars is one of the biggest movie academy awards in the world. By this time, you know that I will not delve into a discussion on transcendence vs science. But why a Ugandan seeing something in the USA? Why the Oscars? Why would a portal open in the sky upon Malibu, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, West Wood and Bel Air when these are the places that have somewhat succeeded in pushing out the need for God? Why would the “pious God” who dwells in holy unapproachable light be interested in the affairs of the Caitlyn Jenners and Ryan Seacrests? The debate continues.

A few weeks back, a certain death rattled the internet. The pictures showed a very old man that I had never heard of. I scoured the ether to see what was so special about Hugh Hefner. I realized that I at least had stumbled on his brand name somewhere, the mansion is in a few motion pictures. But guess what, was this the man behind explicit publication and amorous expression? Did he fight through a legal system to make this lifestyle the future? Maybe the business is already entrenched, but I have learnt not to take lightly such signs as when lighting strikes the tip of the mountain.

Only yesterday, another unfamiliar name broke the internet. Another sex scandal bigger than the legend of Cosby. I have seen Miramax before, as I have Tristar, Sony, Columbia, Meltro Goldwin Meyer and Universal pictures but seldom do I know the names of movie producers and screen writers. A man so powerful to threaten the careers of Angelina Jolie, Gwyneth Paltrow if they dared speak about what happened behind closed doors. What had happened in the dark for decades has been brought to light, dragging in names like Matt Daemon, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lawrence. The trail of Harvey’s influence stretches to Obama’s check book, motion picture elitism and the whole entertainment industry as is known. Another one bites the dust but is there more than meets the eye?

As they ate and drunk, just as in the days of Noah; sudden calamity struck and the ark sashayed on the floods that were drowning the multitudes below. Today is not a day I talk about North Korea, but this and many telltale signs should awake the 7000 in America.

OF CHARLIE PUTH AND PERFECT PITCH

Let's Marvin Gaye and gerriron.

Part 1.

We'll get to that in a bit but hear me out. You do not have to believe this part of the post. I have done and do a few things but I do not think I am yet as invested as I was in the only four years that I did formal music training at Ntare Sch school. Now, I've tried soccer, basketball, lawn and table tennis and volleyball. From very obvious dribble attempts, mosquito weight to late challenges I was a good student of, "if you miss the ball, don't miss the leg". Super telle had more realistic weight than the real ball when hit by Ndahagire Angel... Kinda like Roberto Carlos. Butter fingers and mountaineering height made sure that though I was a good shooter in the D (why is it called that?) I always avoided layups. Most guys on the baco were like Norman Blick and Ring Acuil Banggol. 

Aside from the esoteric slang they spewed, every time I marked one, he shouted "mismatch" and dunked miles above my head like I didn't exist. My biggest trick is I'd put my hand under the ball if you tried to dribble show off. I thought it was clever but the umps cried fowl. I still carry the volley ball when I try to set and my Barcelona service is not as fast as Izara Ambrose's. I tried cricket for a day and all my bowl attempts were stones. I think Carbon Davis is a witch. The one time I tried rugby, Zeno Othieno Owora broke all my joints and then I noticed Ken Ken Mwebembezi and Karanganwa Michael with their chubby cheeks and one pack could format and reboot my dental formula in one scrum gone bad. I tried athletics and Kakeeto Martin doubled me before the second round and I was discontinued. So lame (the rules) ikr!

But I was a beast in the treble clef. I was a constant fixture in the story of Ntare school MDD from 2002 to 2005 in which years we made national rounds for the first time and I don't know if they've managed an appearance since. These were the years of Ganzi Muhanguzi Isharaza and the epic Tonix Allan.

Till I see you again.

Part 2

So as I was saying. It was more fun to harmonize 16 bars in two inversions without worrying about consecutive fifths and overlapping notes. How cool is transcribing an aural tape with pin point accuracy of all the intervals and cadences. Forget about boring valences, nothing beats being able to decode hundreds of pages of a Mozart or Haydn score and being able to recite all the developments in classical, romantic and baroque periods. (Too bad I couldn't use such skill to recite Napoleon Bonaparte and Mansa Musa).

But those skeleton sticks with short feet are not everyone's cup of tea. Sijui quiver, crotchet, minim (I think this was Oidu Simon Peter's name)! The Julliards and Berkley of this world are set up to train people in the weird language called music but training is one thing and genius another. Look at Messi and Bendtner or Antonio Valencia then you'll get the point.

Maybe it's true for everybody but I can effortlessly memorize any melodic EP in perfect sequence with one listen. It is second nature to replay hundreds of thousands of songs from as far back as 1994 but I don't even know what the valency of carbon monoxide is. I think my prowess though was even far from relative pitch. The one time I won an award for conducting a choir, we sang off key. I knew the time signatures alright but I confused the harmonies. In my early years of worship leading, I always transposed a semitone higher than the keyboard; it is possible I still mix tenor and alto notes. Anyhow, my voice broke, Uganda happened, we all chased other dreams. (still glad I didn't have to do maths and chemistry though!) Shurrupz to ma pips Joshua Storm and Muhumuza Trevor Peter. You kept the music thing going. 

Yet when we talk of Charlie Puth, we mean 1 in 10,000 people alive. We mean Mariah Carley, Stevie Wonder, Freddy Mercury and Beethoven.

We don't talk anymore

Part 3.

My coitus with music has been largely limited to expression of faith and that's my chosen monogamy. Yet having picked a few syllables in the dialect, every so often I eavesdrop on warrup. So this boy was trained by his mother a music teacher to play piano at 4 years, he broke his first teeth on the middle C (maybe playing "pressure on the G string" ) and the rest is his story. He turned weirdo when he would come home saying, "mummy, the wind is blowing in F sharp". This earned him a free bed in a psychiatric procedure.

From classical training, to jazz gigs, you tube frenzy; he landed on the Ellen show with a more seasoned friend who had enlisted him to cover Adele. Years down the road, the friend is auditioning for an 100K USD recording contract at the voice, while Charlie is churning out multi platinum hits and scoring sound tracks for the biggest movie franchises.

Hardly anybody talks about his beat boxing. In the wake of Pentatonix and the several capella acts out there, you know that beat boxing is not that easy. But this beast of vocal producer belts out over four layers of vocal arrangements in one breath to entertain ladies at a bar. It's so good that the likes of Ariana Grande use his vocal twist clap as an intro to their hits and he doesn't care for credit.

Attention.

Part 4

He didn't get me until the buzz about voice notes . There are Sia, Ed Sheeran, Clean Bandit and Adele in the hierarchy of contemporary songwriting. But this kid moves around with an iPhone arranging progressions for instruments he can't play in real life. No wonder as a kid, he once played a one hour mass from memory when the organist boycotted ash Wednesday. I always wondered how lady Gaga could write poker face, just dance and Alejandro under ten minutes in a world of one hit wonders.
It reminds me of the first time I saw Prophet Elvis Mbonye. Mind you, I had been around pentecostal charismatic circles for a good decade or so, so Brother Jero and the gimmicks of the penitent had nothing on me. I knew that in Africa, we believed that the dark forces could pull a few rabbits out of the hat but we preferred a cold snack on Sunday morning in a lifeless pew. Some prefer the old hymnal procession and others the loud kiwempe three chord antecedent and consequent choruses. For some, it is the old black clap clap frenzy and for others the rock over produced Australian vibe with a projector and in accents they can't repeat.

Being the keen observer, I saw a genuineness I had never encountered, I saw originality and authenticity incarnate. He seemed not to audition for anything or smile for that fish eye shot. He walked like a man on a pilgrimage skirting through a slight detour on a foreign island. Then he started picking names, birthdays and phone numbers and I was like wt*?! But there was no fear or condemnation and such creepy feelings around jaja stuffs. Then he seemed to love everyone, and then..... Okay this might not end. Point is, wonders never cease and my idea of church was rearranged like a Wandegeya rolex.

So back to Charlie, guy drops a salt shaker on the table and says that the resultant sound is between A and B#. Like whas goinon? I took a seat. These days I seat faster than someone wearing a pair of torn trousers. In fact, I carry some seats in my wallet in case I meet that one person who dwarfs the status quo and shows me something I thought inhumanly possible.
END

WHY RUKUNGIRI IS NOT JUST A FOOTNOTE IN UGANDAN POLITICS

Today is the first time I have seen Rukungiri top the twitter trends but it comes as no surprise in times like these.

It probably has the most exotic sounding name of all Ugandan districts and I am not even sure what the proper accent for pronouncing it is yet. As part of the original Kigezi or rather Rukiga geography, Rukungiri is a land of mixed farmers herded on hilly slopes of arable land.

Though the weather is not much different from that in Kabale, the people in Rukungiri particularly in Rujumbura speak more of the Nkore language rather than Rukiga. There is a debate on whether they are Bahororo or were ruled by the Bahororo hence the mix up.

The history is littered with chiefdom, resistances, expansionism and connection with the greater Rwanda and Ituri people. The real economic cash cow remained with Kanungu in the form of Bwindi and Queen Elizabeth National parks. That in my opinion is perhaps why the town does not seem to change much in decades. There is not much going on in terms of development.

But this often forgotten district has stamped its mark on Ugandan politics,perhaps owing to the resilient nature of its people. Aside from key army generals from this place, there is a trail of fodder on the President's own links to the district. In the late 90's there was a club of political elites from the district which disbanded with the advent of opposition politics.

In 1996, I witnessed first hand how a young boy from our school fell from a rally truck and broke his leg under the ensuing traffic of a political motorcade. In 2001, we were restrained indoors as we heard the shootout of police near the district stadium during another rally. Today, another young man died in no different circumstances. Someone's son, someone I might know; millennial Ugandan blood irrigating the soil in ideological differences way above his pay grade.

The stark difference between municipality and "district" appreciation of politics and consensus has meant that even if Rukungiri is the place where the FDC leader hails from, cohesion has been far from reality. The municipality has however remained a vocal hub of opposition politics if its representation is anything to go by. The script of Ugandan politics is a confusing tapestry, some actors take on jester roles and others are worse off- mere props. Sometimes, it is hard to tell who is fooling who? Sometimes, nobody knows who is playing for what team or what the marching orders are. Marxism and the Communism offshoot have been a forlorn relic of the cold war. The cycle to nirvana is seldom completed and the idea of a lumpen proletariat one that did not formidably survive Bonarparte. Occasionally, some buds flirt with the warm rays before the inevitable nip.

Economically, Rukungiri is probably one of the districts that suffers most from the stratification and micro-decentralization. If as is; to scratch from the dregs of a transparent glass; it cannot be faulted for being apolitical.