Vicious creatures wear stiletto.

Innocence is over assumed, style is overrated and sense and sensibility have never graduated the novelty class. Once upon a time I was a hen, and in hen- land (if you like) we had a lot of fun. The guys would compete at who woke up earliest and who made the loudest crow. This was always about 4.00am. Those guy-games were no short of amusement. Sometimes they would walk through the countryside poising their red crowns against the sun like it was a fire steeple. You should have been there to see all the other creatures recoil in paranoia.

The promiscuity amongst us which you ridicule was not as perverted as you would want to believe.  The thrill of a lad chasing a babe around the barn, over the roof of the huts and sometimes in the trees was the adrenaline rush in it. He had to earn his right to get laid; by stride, chase and sweat; coupled with a perfect silhouette at the end of the relay. Charm had never been so riveting!

We were already domesticated by then actually. Our servitude to mankind has been a phenomenon of epic civility. As fate would have it, once in a while one of us would be picked, axed and served to visitors, or perhaps it would be one of those Armageddon seasons which people called: Easter, Christmas, public holidays, thanksgiving and the like. We dreaded such moments but it was a more predictable fortitude. They often picked an old guy with a string of conquests to his name, one that was drooling through his evening years anyway.

You of course asked me about how all this changed and I must indulge your impatience right away. What they now do is that that they cage us up in tight barns and stacks of tiny structures. They pack us up in hundreds, force tasteless mash up our beaks; pump us up with hormones and chemicals until we can barely walk because our flesh is literally gorging the bones from their sockets. We all limp around writhing with pain all our days. At two weeks old, one looks like a flabby pumped up mattress but I guess they prefer to have us that way. They determine who lays eggs and who is raised purely to please the butcher’s knife.

They kill us in hundreds, and this time they are seldom selective on who sees the axe. They just herd us out; load us on to trucks which are painted with artistic adverts of our holocaust to the ravenous carnivores. These days they chop our heads off, throw us into boiling water until our feathers are vomited out of our skins. They stuff us up with all those green things they refused to feed us on and fry us in revolving Television like structures.

 When the menu is read, the shock is bred. The little girls that once played with us and fed us on grain, those pure things that begged on our behalf to be spared are now our biggest enemies.  They have upgraded to dripping lips of all colours, sometimes red, sometimes black; and sometimes plain, shinny cooking oil-soaked twins; pasted slightly below the scent tunnels. They all ask for the same food, Chips-chicken, chips-chicken…The y will actually ask for a fork and knife but will still not resist the temptation to throw those hindrances aside and dig in. They will wipe the plate clean of our bones and all. Of course they never pay, there is always one sorry looking son of Adam stranded in those blood stained claws. While the lady enjoys her meal, he will probably be sipping on some bitter portion out of a glass as he stares into space and painstakingly nodding to her endless chatter about nails, hairstyles and shoes. Then he will have to reach for his wallet, pull out his hard earned savings, pay the bill and of course put in a tip for good measure and that my friend, is his hunger problem solved!

Un luckily for them chaps recently out of school, he will then have to drop her home with probably another take-out / take away, pack of chips and chicken for her young sister (if of course it is not her campus boyfriend with less appealing means). He will drop her off at NANA or AKAMWESI if you like, or maybe VICTORY HOSTEL all the way in Namboze’s mailo. He will return his friend’s car and will board a taku to his empty pad in Kalerwe. That, my friend, is the benevolence of those alluring daughters of Eve.

If Sharon O. indeed left Ronnie Mulindwa for Ivan S., the menu will probably be chips and chicken tonight; but perhaps in a Range Rover or better still in Madibaland. Hope that old man regains his health and Obama promises something he can actually deliver to Africa. Did you check out their feet? Your guess is as good as mine; they do not have claws like we do. They were stiletto. Who walks in those nails anyway? Not my call.

Peace out.

MINI-SKIRT VERSION

I heard Right Honourable Most Reverend Father Ethics and Integrity Minister Lokudu, ( that is my short form for his name) on radio this morning saying that the Anti-Pornography Bill was a decade long over due. Before I take leave of the aside about titles, what's this thing of Kanyeihamba insisting on being called, Honourable, Dr. Professor, Retired Justice.... Emeritus blah blah. ( We get it, and I like your books by the way, but surely the higher you go the better you should become at simplicity, or at least learn how to retire...just saying). I hope you find your P.C soon enough to appear before your juniors in Court.

Anyway so mini-skirt stuff it is we are talking about. Is it the love for precision that orchestrated this bitter-sweet design? The lack of patience to weave through the layers of gomesi or Victorian dresses as and when the impulse requires? Was it a concession to amorous expediency, or was it a genuine effort to advance the fashion revolution. If you've watched that comedy last God-father movie (now check this review pane telling me that the word movie doesn't exist),  it was probably a result of some moron wanton son trying to distort a lady's wardrobe.

In the age of instant coffee, instant (sorry, fast foods), instant cash; talk of ATM's, e banking( most of us reading this haven't yet used this but it is forgiveable), mobile money(do I here an Amen?); do we need micro skirts to expedite instant bedroom? Not to say that I am one given to rumour, but word on the street is that the way to justify world record extra marital world cup qualifiers among the corporate is because they don't have to wait for night time. That a guy drops his wife at work at maybe 8.00am, at 10.00a.m she has a corporate meeting at Serena with her boss; she is back in office by 1.00pm in case the hapless romantic would like to call in for lunchtime sweet some-things.

Believe me, no one is hoodwinked into thinking that most people are holier than thou, and that is the reason why they probably oppose certain parameters. You minimise your browser when someone walks in, we get it, your phone downloads a lot of VIP photos ( kim Kardashian and Salvado), we get it; you don't forward certain movie parts (let alone why you are watching it in the first place); we get it. No one is even asking about the wall paper or screen-savers to your comp n stuff. When your eyes linger a bit longer than is reflex when something vibrates across your retina, is that questionable?, and what if your mind gets volatile every one-two seconds about what we should not rather see you see? You are probably one of the few ugandans who love BBA so much that you subscribe to a you-tube version of shower hour - we get it. Just tell me this one thing, do you think your are the worst homo-sapien in this Great Trek? Possibly, maybe not, but does it really matter? Maybe so but so what? LK4 Welcome back, make sure Koketso passes by.

I don't know who owns those posh cars which park near female-only hostels in the evenings. Logically, apart from a few Zaris and Bad Blacks, only people older than our independence drive such cars. (Of-course Zari and Bad gal don't count coz they probably were in such hostels and then butted the whole class to earn their place, right?). I bet some such people have a say in our land so I doubt they will let the bill be made law because the breathalyser is already causing mayhem. The Indians don't count but anyway most of them are on scooters, (Where does all their dime go? saving for another AMIN?). Even you who drive your parents' cars don't count! (kidding, so why are you sulking?).

If you have perv issues, we all do to some extent and we are working on it; so do your part, sort  yourself our okay? It is possibly self consciousness and you need some attention, we are just saying you should deal with your insecurity. Just show us what we need to see to transact with you.( Depending on what it is you are selling and I hope it is appropriation we are all talking about). Someone said that even bad boys want to take a gomesi clad lady to their parents, just so you know how far you get. I understand he might not tell you this but that is probably there is not noble ultimate intention.

If we have to talk about mini anything, taxis should get off the road ASAP. I need brief campaigns, because then we save tax payers money, brief speeches, because then politicians do not have to sleep on TV without paying lodge fees. I need brief red-tape because then stuff could be done, I need brief queues in banks because then I can pay my fees. I need an earlier retirement age because then we can fill vacant positions. I don't know if I need brief presidential terms because then I might end up in Luzira. One thing is for sure, I don't own a mini-skirt and it is REALLY IMPORTANT that I dictate someone's wardrobe. Really important.

Let me call this, Exploitation 101

ADAPTED, Just thought it was worth sharing.

I was once privileged to be with some older members of the legal profession sometime ago. These men were called to the Nigerian bar a couple of years before I was born. They talked with so much mirth about the remuneration of junior counsel. They criticized the perspective of new wigs and said all that they always thought about was money and not building a solid career. After chattering about this, they talked about their next trip to the US and how they intended to toss their cases to their juniors to handle while they are away. The men were three thick men clad in the traditional buba and sokoto. It was a Friday afternoon and they had decided to give their expensive suits a well deserved break. Their potbelly protruded from all dimensions in their attire. I loved it! “If these men could have potbellies, then there’s hope for the skinny me,” I thought to myself. However, once I took my leave, I began to think seriously about everything that had happened. 

In the practice of law in Nigeria, the remuneration of junior counsel has been an issue of debate again and yet again. The new wigs argue from the stand point of sheer exploitation while the principals use the defence of pupilage. Principals argue that because the new wigs learn to be “real” lawyer using their resources – clients, cases, resources etc, they don’t deserve a fat remuneration. They argue that what the new wigs/junior counsel need is focus on building a solid knowledge base of the practice of law. This is always their defence for victimization too. Their definition of hardwork is, you, a junior counsel, staying up till 11pm or even doing a sleep-over at the office to ensure that the multi-million dollar briefs are cashed-in. actually, they wouldn’t mind if you came in on weekends too. To these principals, that is the definition of hard-work. They don’t particularly care if you learn, just get the job done. Period! 

I am not against hard-work; in fact, my mantra is “destiny demands diligence”. However, I believe things should be put in perspective. If you are going to run me like a beast of burden by making me work long horrid hours, the least you can do is to remunerate me well enough to make me want to feel my being used is justified. I am talking about a commensurate remuneration but remuneration enough to make me smile as I work. The junior loses his beauty sleep for weeks because of a brief and at the end of it, the principal smiles to the bank with cheques of millions of dollars and then the junior is offered a pay-packet less than $400 with a pep talk about how fortunate he should consider himself. In my honest opinion, that is nothing short of slavery – a modern form of slavery. 

I once interned with a firm where lawyers were being N25,000 while the principal acquires cars and travels every summer. On one of the briefs I worked on at the time, we made a profit of $1.6million dollars for the firm and that was all in one transaction! It was a case of contract between a Nigerian company and a German company. Several briefs worth millions of naira were under the arms of the Principal. Just as you may have thought, it was a sole proprietorship. Though he drives his junior counsel so hard to help him rake in his millions, he believes that all they deserve is less than $200 per month. In my own opinion, I believe that the theory of pupilage is overused and barely makes sense. Doctors on housemanship are so green on the job and that is why their licenses are temporary till the housemanship is over. Yet for the one year of housemanship, they earn nothing less than $1000 per month. 

Law is glamourous because we make it look so. The first generation lawyers set a high social profile for the profession and today we all struggle to fit in even though the decorum and civility associated with the profession is fast fading away. Lawyers are perceived to be cash-carriers. Lawyers are always rich; many people believe that. My in-laws hear their daughter is engaged to a lawyer and they beam with smiles and I heard my father-in-law heaved a sigh of relief: “at least she’s going to be in safe hands,” he must have thought to himself. Safe in that context means “he can provide all she will need”. How safe will she be when the pay is just $250 per month. Principals seem to forget that junior counsel have their own lives, dreams and challenges too. My in-law’s family awaits my official visit, perhaps they await my show of affluence; who knows. They don’t know that law practice isn’t always what seems on the outside. I am sad I might disappointment them. 

Following this issue of poor remuneration, many junior counsel focus more on private practice than their bosses’  briefs: it’s the only way they truly survive. Many junior counsel plan to get out of their current firms to set up their own firms and they swear to replicate this harsh treatment on their junior counsel. They call it paying one’s dues. I guess the vicious cycle has just begun. With this remuneration issue still this poor, I doubt if I will ever add more flesh let alone get a potbelly. I can only try.*sighs* In all, whether I earn $150 per month or I earn $1,500 per month, I have learnt to abase and abound. 

Above all, I have learnt to be grateful.

Masked by Queen Bee

Risk is everything, but you tell me this. Why would you build an anthill in my compound?, why would you carry your wasp nest to my roof? “a beg”(I beg, in Nigerian style); keep off my pad. In fact if you have some grey matter somewhere above your neck, just steer clear of my animal (sic). After all when I was busy killing “my animal” you were somewhere in the States having sausage and omelets.

Bees work hard, and they do all they can to keep their hives spick and span; all they can to make sure it is well supplied and that the main woman is in perfect serenity. Just across the yard, you will also find an anthill with a rather rough exterior but that is just because you as all humans are; are blind to the intricacies of alien architecture. You lazy homo sapiens insist on using machines to build something as simple as a road. Inside this anthill, you will realize that nothing is as haphazard as you imagined it to be. Rain or shine we do not worry about food because guess what? We don’t waste our summers at Lido beach basking away only to be surprised when the wintry winds beckon. By then we will have stored ourselves some kikomando to buy us some mortality antidote.

Laziness is possibly not much of a choice. Some would say, you need to work smart but I tell you aint nothing harder to do. In our hive, we have only one queen and that is clearly as should be. So all that we drones do, is donate a few proteins for the main event but that’s just about it. You probably know a bit of that from your balaalo friends with their saying that, “There can only be one bull in a Kraal”. It is the order of nature, nurture or something along those lines. In this world, you had better not try to be clever because that will be to no good. We are wired to show you the exit once your wit protrudes your scalp like a petticoat beyond a skirt. (I doubt ladies still do this combination but I clearly know less better). You have your work cut out for you pretty much like we know who eats the chalk and who actually drinks the coke in your world (teachers v OPM). I tell you, it is unlikely the same person.

There is that department whose duty is to make sure that we do not have unwanted sojourners. These workers sting, bite (literally) and poison (sometimes with piripiri in your eyes); anything to make sure the crown is in perfect order. I tell you, honey is good, but as long as we are alive, you stick your hand in our house at the risk of having it return to you as a sausage. Smoke us off if you want, or perhaps dress like Chameleon on his Badilisha show, but otherwise we are not giving you what you have not earned.

We heard that Denzel was jettisoned from the BB house, but all the bees in Ug and SA rallied behind him because you know what?, he gave us a NAKED impression of what entertainment was. Ingenuous x rated avatars and nevertheless  Africa thought otherwise so we let our tails bow to gravity like a humiliated “man’s best friend”. Seriously, Ug could have used the 300k dollars to finance some serious surplus budgets and we the bees in SA thought this was one good way of giving aid to a poor friend who sometime back inspired us to fight HIV. I hear even LK4 is on the chopping block this week but you can count on us to come up with a human rights related reason to vote your boy.

Ya, we do have a Parliament of sorts, and ya, miniskirts do rank high on our agenda. Did you say, cars and I-pads? Of course, even though I can’t use a tablet, my Mukono voters would love to see me with one. Yes we do actually also have teenage MPS, and oh my rebels are all over, but our Kadaga is not as powerful so it is not an issue.

We are actually considering increasing the salaries of those wig adorning bees, because in case we need to have an election, they need sufficient facilitation to dispense justice without undue regard to technicalities and believe me you that sort of work is more tedious than working in a Mulago theater.

Anyway, so you asked what we do if the Queen feels like retiring; for starters, that is hardly an option, and being the loyalists that we have become, the only option we have is in case we get a princess, we just fly her to Kalangala and build another hive. Kinda like looking for your own animal in the forest. Otherwise, if you are in this hive, you have one code; you are a eunuch, because you know what? You have been MASKED BY QUEEN BEE!

Kisanja? Me too!

 It is just survival, surprise me.

Been thinking about lots of things lately, well let me not be arrogant I might not have been thinking as much ( I have blonde genes). So much is always spoken about elephants in the room and how everyone knows it's there but no one really wants to talk about it. Of brewing opposition, tear gas, horse water, chilli sauce for eye soup and pink paint/water or something like that. Of zealous opposition leaders who do daily shopping in Nairobi and own cribs and malls but still care enough to know what the wanainchi go through (oba?)

 Of rebel/prodigal sons/legislators, speakers ; of errant media and army officials at the echelons of democracy ( I'm not sure though that that is an accurate description of contemporary leadership but when has my opinion ever counted?)

Anyhow, of presumed dead or dying entertainers, drug trafficking (/scape goat) artistes hiding behind single hits that they did not pen themselves (We all know who writes all the songs, it is either Kyagulanyi or Nince Henry). Of  songs about rats (with amorous innuendos and triple en-tenders )and remixed nursery rhymes. Of Jamaican accents brewed up somewhere in Kivulu or something like that; don't forget Nigerian songs made in Uganda (kudos to Prof. Patience Izuako, Emeka Ike, Jackie Appiah and group). Of  fashion shows just doing an adulterated version of Amani and Phat Farm reverse engineered from a green shop somewhere in down town.

Of not so light skinned ladies on the street with babies (who never seem to grow older) stretching out their hands for UNCLE!!( I also don't know where the fathers are and I hope it is not Nakasero or Workers house!), beggars with mobile phones, hardworking teachers living on air for three months (or are they now five), of good and Bad Blue's ((or Black) since it is about colour nomenclature)showing wazungu pensioners wassup. Of Straka music shows and MTV base copycats on every screen; of splash weddings (Abagole ba week) being a more desirable Sunday plot than church). Honestly why would I care how much money Prince Wamen( Wassaja), spent on his wedding? Or Zari (am not sure of her status because  it changes as often as her cars for me to keep up with). Don't ask me about her feuds with Heard but I can give you a reference if you ask!

I will save you my bucket list of what is wrong or right with our society. I will jump on whichever bandwagon  suits my big break. Of course I am also waiting for mine, aren't you? It is sheer survival and you know it. Why else would I sing about a chicken disease hitting at another artiste if I had a million ideas and tunes playing in my studio. ( Of course if I don't use Paddy Man, Jah Live and  Bashir for everything)? Why would I allow to be beaten by two Hungarians in a row? I am actually a Golola disciple except am still working on impregnating a woman with just my eye b***s)

I am probably bored enough to leave my business empire just to show M7 how I don't approve of his long stay in power. Honestly I don't need to have a vision or whatever you call it for me to stand for presidency. The thing is, once I reach Entebbe or Okello house ( I hope Rwakitura and Kisozi will also be available) I will figure out what to do. It is not rocket science, all I need is a Bachelors degree and a few cows!!

I can just get a few sponsors and push on with Simon Cowell and Randy Jackson's X factor, American (Ugandan) idol, UBDC (American Best Dance Crew), do a Sakata, a Project Fame of some drink, be a tough judge like Ian, sweet Juliana and be cool like that. Throw in a Mario Lopez wanna be and we will be just fine. On the higher end of the incline, why not do a complete version of Donald Trump's apprentice?

I am the one holding the sharp end of the stick but oh yes I can translate Klint de Drunk's jokes ( I won't try Chris Rock coz that Luzungu nedda) and be a household name, host a talkshow like Oprah and Tyra Banks; ( don't forget her Next Top model) Bizzu say Amen. (no offense I am actually one of her genuine fans!)  

Ok, this is a bit touchy but believe me I can actually get Creflo Dollar's accent; (all I have to do is say Gad)......swiftly moving on, I can write an inspirational book; Just edit the Rich Dad series (what that means is that I put in some broken English and include words like Matooke and bodaboda). 

Why waste five years (or more these days (possibly)) trying to be a successful lawyer, Engineer (unless I can get enough Njawulo off cement and iron bars), a doctor (unless I can go outside countries or export medicines). I could have perhaps worked in KCCA but ....mungambile ku Jenny!!! 

  Enough of the intro....

I am just a Ugandan and you are welcome to this Banana Republic.  

 

I