I spent most of yesterday in rural Bushenyi. Actually I spent most of he day travelling to and from Bushenyi (680km round trip). The purpose of the visit was to attend the burial of a distant relative. This was after heavy doses of emotional blackmail from my mum, which involved her telling me how important it was to always attend burials as a show of solidarity and how keeping aloof would result in nobody caring about me when I died. The part about solidarity I got 100% but the part about nobody coming for my burial just beat me. I wouldn’t care less who came for my burial because I will be dead.
Yesterday’s experience gave me an interesting insight into village burials. I have been to maybe 3 burials my whole life and I have always, with the exception of my old man’s eons ago, been no more than a distant observer at these functions.
First, the burial was like a major social event that brought all the people out in their good clothes, although the old lady we were burying was not a major community figure from what I could gather. The villagers came streaming in at around 1pm because it seems that there is some unwritten law that says all burials should start at 2pm.
People were then called for lunch and I started getting the feeling that the punctuality had more to do with the free meal than with time consciousness. In true village spirit, everybody was invited to lunch, even some chaps who struck me as just being curious onlookers.
During lunch I was surprised by the quantities these chaps can put down. I was passed a plate and at first I assumed they had served for 3 people due to lack of plates until I saw everybody around get served with similar heaps. I got the lady serving to give a smaller amount, which she did begrudgingly because she didn’t believe me when I said I had been given too much food (she probably thought I was passing a negative judgement on her culinary skills).
After everybody was sufficiently stuffed with a high carbohydrate lunch, the main business began. The old lady had to be laid to rest after a “few” speeches. This is where things got pretty interesting. It seemed to me that everyone was going to give a short speech. There was the widower, the kids, a brother, a sister, the LC chairman, the head of some village women’s burial cooperative (whose role I couldn’t quite get) and finally the two clergymen (our family is protestant and the old lady had been married to a catholic).
Most of the speeches were short and full of the expected pleasantries but some were not. One of the dearly departed’s siblings gave a speech about how she had taken care of the old lady until her dying day. The other siblings felt that they were being made to look like they had neglected the late sister and they let their displeasure be known. The clergymen also just couldn’t help the urge to participate in a subtle game of one-upmanship- continuously throwing barbs at the “other” group.
Even that ended and the coffin had to be lowered. I figured this would be quite routine and we would soon be on our way. But it was not to be. After the prayers and the hymns had been sung and the coffin was about to be lowered some elderly man said that the head of the coffin was facing the wrong way. A spontaneous and lively debate started over where the head of the coffin should face. Half the mourners soon entered the fray and I kept hoping nobody would throw a punch. The elder lost the debate and the coffin was lowered into the grave as earlier intended. The soil was poured over the coffin and that was that.
Something struck me about the whole experience. I wonder if all the villagers are schooled in what hymns to sing at burials or has everybody attended so many burials that they have all memorised the hymns. Every time the reverend started a song, everybody quickly stepped in to sing along.
We soon made a hasty exit after promising to come by again under more cheerful circumstances.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
Jay's Eye View-Part Trois. Green Kampala
A kampalan in Nairobi: The Re-run
I was going through my old posts and I thought I would rerun my maiden post. It is not entirely because I have nothing better to post. I just thought I would share my experience again since none of you was reading this third rate blog at the time.
This is just a once off. I promise not to make reruns a habit.
A Kampalan in Nairobi
The cold, chilly Nairobi dawn air greeted me as I stepped off the bus on my maiden voyage to this city I had heard so much about. I looked around as the city woke up for a new day and I wondered how the next four days would play themselves out. I was in town with some Ugandans to attend a conference but enjoying the evening life was way up on my priorities list.
Everything started off quite well with cocktail party at The Hilton Hotel on the evening of my arrival. I rubbed shoulders with some of the region’s most loaded people and after an evening of mingling and engaging conversations I felt rich by association (or was it the tusker beer giving me ideas?).
However, since these loaded people became loaded by sleeping early, the cocktail ended while the night was young and that all-important Liverpool-AC Milan champions league final was pending so I had to hit a real bar. Luckily some of my hosts were thinking likewise and decide to take me and some other Ugandans to a pub called Tropeez. At Tropeez I guzzled draught Tusker by the pitchers and generally had fun-until the match began.
I am not a traditional Liverpool supporter but I have always had a soft spot for that team. So when the match appeared like it was turning into a one-sided goal-fest I decided that I was not going to risk the wrath of Nairobi’s thugs (and cops who I had been told could be as nasty as the thugs) by moving to the hotel late after losing a match. I quickly sped off to my hotel after the first half, not because I expected much out of the match but because I wanted to chill closer to “home”. I had hardly settled before I started witnessing one of the most amazing comebacks in football history.
The euphoria was only marred by the barman refusing to keep the pints flowing after 11pm. I had to beg his pardon because he was not making any sense to me since this was only 3 or 4 minutes past the hour. The man was adamant and said his licence would be revoked if he sold me anything (apparently there were some city council spies around masquerading as customers). No beer past 11pm, how do these people survive?
I later learnt that there were different licences for different establishments, which dictated how long one could sell alcohol because before long I would be leaving the club straight for the bus as the sun crept up. But I am getting ahead of myself.
The following evening, we visitors were hosted to a dinner at Carnivore. I had heard so much about this place and its exotic roast meat and that I could not wait to partake of what it had to offer. Suffice it to say I did not turn down anything, beef, lamb, ostrich, crocodile, camel- the works. I was also enjoying the share of the Ugandan chick next to me. She said she could not eat that "weird" meat (chicks...hmm, never to adventure).
After the dinner and speeches we were told to board the official bus back to the hotel. Our Kenyan friends had told us that that there was a wicked disco on the premises, which we had not seen since we had been in tents outside. A few like-minded Ugandans and myself decided to let the bus go and chose find our own way home.
First, a crucial point. Two words every linguistically impaired (Swahili-wise, that is) Ugandan beer lover visiting Nairobi has to learn are baridi (cold) and moto (warm/hot). Because I had earlier been taking draught, which was by default cold, I had not realised that the Kenyans actually liked their beer warm. While in Uganda the warm beer is the exception, back in Nairobi one has to specifically ask for baridi.
Anyway, being a Thursday, the disco was not happening so we were relocated to another place called Choices (or choi as those chaps called it). The place is a cross between Fat Boyz and Al's bar; therefore it was happening. After a while in the place, our hosts got tired andthey had to leave us on the dance floor after we assured them that we would be fine as long as we knew the fare for a cab back to the hotel.
Every thing went on fine until some drunk fellow nearly started a fight with us. Probably he was not amused by the fact that the foreigners were outdancing everybody and drinking the bar dry. The issue was sorted before any bottles flew and we saw this as a warning to flee the scene.
With heavy heads, me and my pals woke up to another day whose evening highlight was a home hospitality. Our hosts were some lovely ladies who hosted us to a night of Kenyan cuisine and some fun and games. The githeri, kachumbari and most of the other food was superb except for some mixture of fermented milk and mashed vegetables-that would take some getting used to.
We later ended up in a club called Casablanca, which was full of white, Indian and Arab guys. I felt that this was the place to be and was all geared up to have a blast until I realised from the bill that a beer was 200Kshs, which did not bother me (I might have still been high on that bubbly, hot and flavoured Morrocan steam pipe I had just smoked) until some quick arithmetic told me I was drinking a beer at Ushs 4,600. I then realised two things: why there were hardly any locals in the bar and why I had to get the hell out very fast.
A few calls later, the guys and me were being driven to Klub House 2 (K2), which is a much larger version of Wagadugu in Kamwokya. This was my kind of place. Here was cheap beer, music and pool. The party went on until the very wee hours of the morning of our last day in Nairobi.
By the last day, the body was weak and I felt I could not push it any more. Thankfully the conference closed at mid-day, which left me a few hours to chill before the banquet later in the evening after which I thought I would have my first full night’s sleep since hitting this town.The banquet was a tame affair at the Stanley Hotel, which I later discovered is the oldest hotel in East Africa (103 years old). Being a 5-star hotel one had to be wary about how one dealt with the cash bar. We had been told that the hotel had given a discount and beers would be Kshs150 (UShs3500) as opposed to the usual Kshs200 (prices like this made me rethink my opinion on Rhino Pub). I had to be easy on the beers, which was made hard by the waiters ever hovering above my head asking if I needed a refill (as if they were the ones buying the beer).
As soon as the banquet ended the Kenyans were suggesting a proper send-off at Florida 2000 nightclub. All the plans for an early night immediately disappeared. Since we were all leaving on the same bus early the next morning my Ugandan chaps and I reasoned that we would hang out in the club until late, head straight for the hotel, shower and board the bus.
Having sorted that out, we hit the club. We shook, watched dancers that would have made the former Shadow’s Angel’s appear as tame as Sunday school kids, and generally made merry until the sun was about to come up.
As I settled my sleep deprived body in the bus I could not help thinking how much of a blast I had had. I promised myself to come back next time and get to see what the city looks like outside the bars and nightclubs. I was also feeling a conspicuous lightness in my wallet. But that would be a worry for another day. Right then all I wanted to do was sleep for all the 13 hours to Kampala.
This is just a once off. I promise not to make reruns a habit.
A Kampalan in Nairobi
The cold, chilly Nairobi dawn air greeted me as I stepped off the bus on my maiden voyage to this city I had heard so much about. I looked around as the city woke up for a new day and I wondered how the next four days would play themselves out. I was in town with some Ugandans to attend a conference but enjoying the evening life was way up on my priorities list.
Everything started off quite well with cocktail party at The Hilton Hotel on the evening of my arrival. I rubbed shoulders with some of the region’s most loaded people and after an evening of mingling and engaging conversations I felt rich by association (or was it the tusker beer giving me ideas?).
However, since these loaded people became loaded by sleeping early, the cocktail ended while the night was young and that all-important Liverpool-AC Milan champions league final was pending so I had to hit a real bar. Luckily some of my hosts were thinking likewise and decide to take me and some other Ugandans to a pub called Tropeez. At Tropeez I guzzled draught Tusker by the pitchers and generally had fun-until the match began.
I am not a traditional Liverpool supporter but I have always had a soft spot for that team. So when the match appeared like it was turning into a one-sided goal-fest I decided that I was not going to risk the wrath of Nairobi’s thugs (and cops who I had been told could be as nasty as the thugs) by moving to the hotel late after losing a match. I quickly sped off to my hotel after the first half, not because I expected much out of the match but because I wanted to chill closer to “home”. I had hardly settled before I started witnessing one of the most amazing comebacks in football history.
The euphoria was only marred by the barman refusing to keep the pints flowing after 11pm. I had to beg his pardon because he was not making any sense to me since this was only 3 or 4 minutes past the hour. The man was adamant and said his licence would be revoked if he sold me anything (apparently there were some city council spies around masquerading as customers). No beer past 11pm, how do these people survive?
I later learnt that there were different licences for different establishments, which dictated how long one could sell alcohol because before long I would be leaving the club straight for the bus as the sun crept up. But I am getting ahead of myself.
The following evening, we visitors were hosted to a dinner at Carnivore. I had heard so much about this place and its exotic roast meat and that I could not wait to partake of what it had to offer. Suffice it to say I did not turn down anything, beef, lamb, ostrich, crocodile, camel- the works. I was also enjoying the share of the Ugandan chick next to me. She said she could not eat that "weird" meat (chicks...hmm, never to adventure).
After the dinner and speeches we were told to board the official bus back to the hotel. Our Kenyan friends had told us that that there was a wicked disco on the premises, which we had not seen since we had been in tents outside. A few like-minded Ugandans and myself decided to let the bus go and chose find our own way home.
First, a crucial point. Two words every linguistically impaired (Swahili-wise, that is) Ugandan beer lover visiting Nairobi has to learn are baridi (cold) and moto (warm/hot). Because I had earlier been taking draught, which was by default cold, I had not realised that the Kenyans actually liked their beer warm. While in Uganda the warm beer is the exception, back in Nairobi one has to specifically ask for baridi.
Anyway, being a Thursday, the disco was not happening so we were relocated to another place called Choices (or choi as those chaps called it). The place is a cross between Fat Boyz and Al's bar; therefore it was happening. After a while in the place, our hosts got tired andthey had to leave us on the dance floor after we assured them that we would be fine as long as we knew the fare for a cab back to the hotel.
Every thing went on fine until some drunk fellow nearly started a fight with us. Probably he was not amused by the fact that the foreigners were outdancing everybody and drinking the bar dry. The issue was sorted before any bottles flew and we saw this as a warning to flee the scene.
With heavy heads, me and my pals woke up to another day whose evening highlight was a home hospitality. Our hosts were some lovely ladies who hosted us to a night of Kenyan cuisine and some fun and games. The githeri, kachumbari and most of the other food was superb except for some mixture of fermented milk and mashed vegetables-that would take some getting used to.
We later ended up in a club called Casablanca, which was full of white, Indian and Arab guys. I felt that this was the place to be and was all geared up to have a blast until I realised from the bill that a beer was 200Kshs, which did not bother me (I might have still been high on that bubbly, hot and flavoured Morrocan steam pipe I had just smoked) until some quick arithmetic told me I was drinking a beer at Ushs 4,600. I then realised two things: why there were hardly any locals in the bar and why I had to get the hell out very fast.
A few calls later, the guys and me were being driven to Klub House 2 (K2), which is a much larger version of Wagadugu in Kamwokya. This was my kind of place. Here was cheap beer, music and pool. The party went on until the very wee hours of the morning of our last day in Nairobi.
By the last day, the body was weak and I felt I could not push it any more. Thankfully the conference closed at mid-day, which left me a few hours to chill before the banquet later in the evening after which I thought I would have my first full night’s sleep since hitting this town.The banquet was a tame affair at the Stanley Hotel, which I later discovered is the oldest hotel in East Africa (103 years old). Being a 5-star hotel one had to be wary about how one dealt with the cash bar. We had been told that the hotel had given a discount and beers would be Kshs150 (UShs3500) as opposed to the usual Kshs200 (prices like this made me rethink my opinion on Rhino Pub). I had to be easy on the beers, which was made hard by the waiters ever hovering above my head asking if I needed a refill (as if they were the ones buying the beer).
As soon as the banquet ended the Kenyans were suggesting a proper send-off at Florida 2000 nightclub. All the plans for an early night immediately disappeared. Since we were all leaving on the same bus early the next morning my Ugandan chaps and I reasoned that we would hang out in the club until late, head straight for the hotel, shower and board the bus.
Having sorted that out, we hit the club. We shook, watched dancers that would have made the former Shadow’s Angel’s appear as tame as Sunday school kids, and generally made merry until the sun was about to come up.
As I settled my sleep deprived body in the bus I could not help thinking how much of a blast I had had. I promised myself to come back next time and get to see what the city looks like outside the bars and nightclubs. I was also feeling a conspicuous lightness in my wallet. But that would be a worry for another day. Right then all I wanted to do was sleep for all the 13 hours to Kampala.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Confessions of a lapsed blogger
Forgive me blog friends for I have sinned. It has been many days since my last post. I accuse myself of suffering from not being interested in anything strongly enough to want to write about it.I have been suffering a mental blockage for a while now and I have been incapable of thinking straight for more than a few seconds at a time. My brain seems to sever the connection it has with my fingers everytime I get close to a keyboard.
My batteries are being recharged for a comeback.
Now guys you can proceed and do whatever it is the priest does at this point in a real confession booth.
Absolve a brother.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Upgrades. Bloody Upgrades
I have only barely gotten over the inconvenience of the additional “2” that all mobile phone companies told us to add to our usual 071, 077 and 075 numbers (having to edit every number in the phonebook was not the most enjoyable of tasks) and now I have to suffer with another upgrade at Nile Bank.
Nile bank decided to change all the PIN numbers in use by all ATM cardholders recently. All customers were told to go to their various branches and apply for their new PINs because the old Pin numbers were to become ineffective after 25 February. To effect this change all the bank’s branches (ATM machines included) were closed from Wednesday 22-Saturday 25.
Everybody assumed that the Pin code change was to be easy. Present your name account and card number and there would be a new PIN code waiting. The reality has turned begin out to be totally different.
To begin with, all new PINs are being issued at the main branch on Spear House and the they only started issuing them today yet they have been collecting and turning down applications for nearly two weeks.
I had to stand in line for 3 hours to get my new Pin number after which I stood in line at the ATM for close to 30 minutes. Like myself, everybody must have woken up with the nearest ATM on their minds. Anyway when I get to the ATM I find the same measly minimum balance I had left on Tuesday evening. My money hadn’t been posted because the banks were closed. An right now I am checking on the Online machines in the city centre via their website and they are only four of the furthest from my current location.
Everyone else started the Monday in high spirits, because the ATM checks had produced good news, except yours truly who had the bad luck of being a Nile Bank Customer.
Makes me want to kick something.
Nile bank decided to change all the PIN numbers in use by all ATM cardholders recently. All customers were told to go to their various branches and apply for their new PINs because the old Pin numbers were to become ineffective after 25 February. To effect this change all the bank’s branches (ATM machines included) were closed from Wednesday 22-Saturday 25.
Everybody assumed that the Pin code change was to be easy. Present your name account and card number and there would be a new PIN code waiting. The reality has turned begin out to be totally different.
To begin with, all new PINs are being issued at the main branch on Spear House and the they only started issuing them today yet they have been collecting and turning down applications for nearly two weeks.
I had to stand in line for 3 hours to get my new Pin number after which I stood in line at the ATM for close to 30 minutes. Like myself, everybody must have woken up with the nearest ATM on their minds. Anyway when I get to the ATM I find the same measly minimum balance I had left on Tuesday evening. My money hadn’t been posted because the banks were closed. An right now I am checking on the Online machines in the city centre via their website and they are only four of the furthest from my current location.
Everyone else started the Monday in high spirits, because the ATM checks had produced good news, except yours truly who had the bad luck of being a Nile Bank Customer.
Makes me want to kick something.
5 more years of M7
I am settling down to the first week of Musevni’s next five years as president. I can’t say I was surprised by the presidential election results but I am still disappointed by the results of the parliamentary elections. The opposition MPs are less than they were previously.
This means the next parliament will be full of the people ready to accept anything Museveni asks them to. The only difference is that now, under the multiparty system, it will be called the party line.
I only hope the great drop in overall support for the movement will act as a wake-up call to Museveni. There might a certain number of people he can always count on for votes but its getting smaller. 40% of the electorate do not feel Museveni and thats telling.
Thats done and we must all move on. Back to everyday problems and hopefully more meaningful involvement in trying to change the status quo if we find it not to our liking instead of only crying ourselves hoarse in the weeks running up to, and just after, the elections.
Time to seat back and listen to The Best of Seal:1991-2004 (currently listening to Fly like an Eagle).
Later y'all. No more politics for a while.
This means the next parliament will be full of the people ready to accept anything Museveni asks them to. The only difference is that now, under the multiparty system, it will be called the party line.
I only hope the great drop in overall support for the movement will act as a wake-up call to Museveni. There might a certain number of people he can always count on for votes but its getting smaller. 40% of the electorate do not feel Museveni and thats telling.
Thats done and we must all move on. Back to everyday problems and hopefully more meaningful involvement in trying to change the status quo if we find it not to our liking instead of only crying ourselves hoarse in the weeks running up to, and just after, the elections.
Time to seat back and listen to The Best of Seal:1991-2004 (currently listening to Fly like an Eagle).
Later y'all. No more politics for a while.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Waiting for a result
Like I expected elections in Mpigi were very calm and uneventful. I spent the whole of yesterday travelling all over Mawokota and Butambala seeing people vote.One thing I noticed was that this time people were serious about voting and they turned up in large numbers, not even the rain could deter them.
People voted and hang around to watch the counting. Its funny that even when it was raining some people who had voted chose to hang around. They probably didn't want somebody to take advantage of people scampering for shelter to slip in a few ballots.
When I got back to Kampala it was excitement and V signs everywhere (at least in those places which had supported Besigye) as the early results showed that Besigye was sweeping most of Kampala.
I am quite happy that sanity has prevailed and the town is calm. Driving in Kampala has been very easy today considering many people stayed home. I am looking forward to a nice weekend and I don't want anybody to spoilt it.
Some dreamers are talking of a runoff and I feel sorry for them. Somehow I do not see Museveni letting himself be put in a runoff situation. That 51% just has to be realised somehow. In any case no conclusive results have come out of Museveni's strongholds yet.
I am going to have myself a merry old time tonight and wait for the final results at 5pm tomorrow and hopefully later have cause to have a merrier time while toasting to a new President.
People voted and hang around to watch the counting. Its funny that even when it was raining some people who had voted chose to hang around. They probably didn't want somebody to take advantage of people scampering for shelter to slip in a few ballots.
When I got back to Kampala it was excitement and V signs everywhere (at least in those places which had supported Besigye) as the early results showed that Besigye was sweeping most of Kampala.
I am quite happy that sanity has prevailed and the town is calm. Driving in Kampala has been very easy today considering many people stayed home. I am looking forward to a nice weekend and I don't want anybody to spoilt it.
Some dreamers are talking of a runoff and I feel sorry for them. Somehow I do not see Museveni letting himself be put in a runoff situation. That 51% just has to be realised somehow. In any case no conclusive results have come out of Museveni's strongholds yet.
I am going to have myself a merry old time tonight and wait for the final results at 5pm tomorrow and hopefully later have cause to have a merrier time while toasting to a new President.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Gearing up for Elections
I have just received accreditation as a local elections observer. Armed with my letter, Observer ID card and a folder of numerous documents I haven’t gone through yet I am ready top to point out anybody up to no good come Thursday.
My being an observer is also a way of atoning for my not registering to vote (considering the flak I got when I let that fact slip). At least now I am taking on some kind of civic responsibility.
Unfortunately I am going to be in boring Mpigi where it’s unlikely that there will be anything interesting to observe. Silly me. I should be lucky if the elections all over Uganda were as unexciting as they are bound to be in Mpigi. No violence, no stuffing of ballot boxes and other malpractices that have been witnessed in previous elections in Uganda. But since I know having a clean election in Uganda now is just about as likely as Museveni growing an Afro, I’d like to be where the nasty stuff is more likely to go down, like Rukungiri.
I should also check my manual and see what it says about cameras because I’d like to take some pictures to put up here.
On a related topic, I wonder why everybody is engaging panic mode like all hell is about to break loose. Some people I know are filling up their fuel tanks and stocking up on groceries as if an apocalypse is nigh.
If 2001 is anything to go by, these elections will go on with minimal violence. In 2001, there were daily reports of election related beatings, shootings, campaign disruptions etc. The elections came round and there was no widescale violence that had been predicted.
This year's election campaigns have been tame (I am not ignoring the deaths that have occured, I'm just comparing with the last two elections) and I don't see any reason why the post election period should be violent.
My being an observer is also a way of atoning for my not registering to vote (considering the flak I got when I let that fact slip). At least now I am taking on some kind of civic responsibility.
Unfortunately I am going to be in boring Mpigi where it’s unlikely that there will be anything interesting to observe. Silly me. I should be lucky if the elections all over Uganda were as unexciting as they are bound to be in Mpigi. No violence, no stuffing of ballot boxes and other malpractices that have been witnessed in previous elections in Uganda. But since I know having a clean election in Uganda now is just about as likely as Museveni growing an Afro, I’d like to be where the nasty stuff is more likely to go down, like Rukungiri.
I should also check my manual and see what it says about cameras because I’d like to take some pictures to put up here.
On a related topic, I wonder why everybody is engaging panic mode like all hell is about to break loose. Some people I know are filling up their fuel tanks and stocking up on groceries as if an apocalypse is nigh.
If 2001 is anything to go by, these elections will go on with minimal violence. In 2001, there were daily reports of election related beatings, shootings, campaign disruptions etc. The elections came round and there was no widescale violence that had been predicted.
This year's election campaigns have been tame (I am not ignoring the deaths that have occured, I'm just comparing with the last two elections) and I don't see any reason why the post election period should be violent.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Radio Katwe takes to the blogosphere
Radiokatwe.com, a website that has been publishing anti-government gossip, was disabled last week by the government in a move to censor the potentially damaging stories (mostly about Museveni and his family) that could cost the movement government votes in the upcoming elections.
The fact that the Ugandan government has started censoring websites is cause for concern and should be the subject for further analysis. However, the thing that has struck me in all this is how quickly the editors of radiokatwe.com have embraced blogging as a countermeasure to the government's moves. This week the Radio Katwe editors moved all their stories to their new blog and they have been posting new stuff since.
Personally I think most of radio katwe’s stories are untrue and some are simply outrageous. However, content and motive aside, the move by Radio Katwe to the blogosphere shows that blogging is becoming a tool of choice for people with views that might not go down well with their governments.
I wonder if the government is going to pursue the gossip-mongers into the blogosphere
The fact that the Ugandan government has started censoring websites is cause for concern and should be the subject for further analysis. However, the thing that has struck me in all this is how quickly the editors of radiokatwe.com have embraced blogging as a countermeasure to the government's moves. This week the Radio Katwe editors moved all their stories to their new blog and they have been posting new stuff since.
Personally I think most of radio katwe’s stories are untrue and some are simply outrageous. However, content and motive aside, the move by Radio Katwe to the blogosphere shows that blogging is becoming a tool of choice for people with views that might not go down well with their governments.
I wonder if the government is going to pursue the gossip-mongers into the blogosphere
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Idle and disorderly?
Sometimes my fellow Kampalans surprise me with their prudish nature. Yesterday 11 young ladies were arrested by the police and detained for 5 hours.
Their crime: Causing public excitement.
How: By looking hot
The poor girls were part of a publicity campaign for a new FM station in Kampala. The campaign has been authorised by the city authorities and it had been running for one day already.
While talking to the press, the man who ordered their arrest, CID Chief Rashid Obbo, said "...their dressing was improper. They were idle and disorderly. They were dressed in an indecent way that could excite the public..."
I mean come on. Of course they wanted to excite the public. To excite them about the new station. Everybody I know who saw them didnt mind the excitement, least of all my self. They were not idle and certainly not disorderly. They were doing something they had been hired for that had already been approved.
Its not like the girls were passing out brochures while wearing thongs.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Cette Langue Francaise
Carlo’s comment about the correct way to write my blog's address got me thinking of the whole torturous process of learning to write and speak French.
I started studying French on a whim some years back. I had to attend a wedding meeting at the National Theatre gardens and since I was early I decided to walk around. While I was walking I saw a banner announcing the beginning of a new term at L’Alliance Francaise. I decided to go upstairs and check out this alliance place. I got into a conversation with the cute receptinist and walked out 20 minutes later having signed up for a beginner’s course and a number of headaches.
I soon discovered that English and French were oceans apart. The first headache was learning the gender of everything from a house (female) through to a wall (male) down to a stone (female). I tried to discover a formula to getting these genders and I couldn’t. The whole gender business complicates other issues too. For example, the adjective describing a noun is spelt according to the gender of the noun. Black is either noir or noire depending on the gender of the noun it is describing. None of that one-spelling-fits all for those guys.
There are so many silent letters in French that I believe the french pronounce only a third of what they write. The pronounciation is not helped by having to learn the meaning of all those frilly thingies that are balancing on top of letters or hanging on for dear life below them with names like accent circonflexe, cedille etc
Then there are all those tenses, some of which you will readily be told are not used in real life but you have to learn them anyway (passé simple, being an example). You either speak perfect French or none at all. There is also all that dilemma of when to use vous or tu while addressing somebody (tutoyer ou ne pas tutoyer, c'est la question). They are both the same as “you” in English, but usage differs depending on how you relate to the person you are talking to.
The lessons I really enjoyed were the ones on civilisation (never became comfortable with the word though), which were mostly about French culture. You can’t learn French without having a healthy dollop of culture and history thrown into the lessons. Although I just didn’t see how the heroics of Vercengentorix and his brave Gauls would help me when I wanted to ask for directions.
In all fairness, I must say I was learning French as a hobby and I dedicated only 1 hour a day to classes. I did eventually become OK at reading, but writing and speaking (especially speaking) just seemed to elude me. I hardly ever practiced speech outside class but I tried and gave up on listening to RFI or watching TV5 (those guys spoke to damn fast). The odd thing is that when I would meet frech speaking Rwandese or Congolese guys here in Kampala, I found it easier to understand them.
I hang in there long enough to get my Certificat d’Etudes de Français Pratique. This basically means I can read signposts, order in restaurants and do simple haggling in a flea market, but I can’t blog in French or engage in a discourse on the discontent of the French youth in the banlieues (suburbs).
Having said all that, I developed interest in the language and I do always try to read articles and listen to news in French when I can. I will go back to class soon, I just don't know when.
I started studying French on a whim some years back. I had to attend a wedding meeting at the National Theatre gardens and since I was early I decided to walk around. While I was walking I saw a banner announcing the beginning of a new term at L’Alliance Francaise. I decided to go upstairs and check out this alliance place. I got into a conversation with the cute receptinist and walked out 20 minutes later having signed up for a beginner’s course and a number of headaches.
I soon discovered that English and French were oceans apart. The first headache was learning the gender of everything from a house (female) through to a wall (male) down to a stone (female). I tried to discover a formula to getting these genders and I couldn’t. The whole gender business complicates other issues too. For example, the adjective describing a noun is spelt according to the gender of the noun. Black is either noir or noire depending on the gender of the noun it is describing. None of that one-spelling-fits all for those guys.
There are so many silent letters in French that I believe the french pronounce only a third of what they write. The pronounciation is not helped by having to learn the meaning of all those frilly thingies that are balancing on top of letters or hanging on for dear life below them with names like accent circonflexe, cedille etc
Then there are all those tenses, some of which you will readily be told are not used in real life but you have to learn them anyway (passé simple, being an example). You either speak perfect French or none at all. There is also all that dilemma of when to use vous or tu while addressing somebody (tutoyer ou ne pas tutoyer, c'est la question). They are both the same as “you” in English, but usage differs depending on how you relate to the person you are talking to.
The lessons I really enjoyed were the ones on civilisation (never became comfortable with the word though), which were mostly about French culture. You can’t learn French without having a healthy dollop of culture and history thrown into the lessons. Although I just didn’t see how the heroics of Vercengentorix and his brave Gauls would help me when I wanted to ask for directions.
In all fairness, I must say I was learning French as a hobby and I dedicated only 1 hour a day to classes. I did eventually become OK at reading, but writing and speaking (especially speaking) just seemed to elude me. I hardly ever practiced speech outside class but I tried and gave up on listening to RFI or watching TV5 (those guys spoke to damn fast). The odd thing is that when I would meet frech speaking Rwandese or Congolese guys here in Kampala, I found it easier to understand them.
I hang in there long enough to get my Certificat d’Etudes de Français Pratique. This basically means I can read signposts, order in restaurants and do simple haggling in a flea market, but I can’t blog in French or engage in a discourse on the discontent of the French youth in the banlieues (suburbs).
Having said all that, I developed interest in the language and I do always try to read articles and listen to news in French when I can. I will go back to class soon, I just don't know when.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Yap Yap Yap........
Why do some people feel they always have to be talking. Why do some people feel that being in close proximity to somebody calls for engaging them in conversation.
Cases in point
In a waiting room, bus, etc..say hi, comment about the weather or anything, after that you will have fulfilled your friendly duty and if I want to engage in more conversation I will let you know. Do not go on and on because you feel you have to. Do not worry about me I can stay quiet for 3 hours quite comfortably.
At work, do not give me a running commentary on everything that goes through your office (or head). You are in accounts and I am in communications, my job does not require me to know every anomaly you have discovered (I don’t understand most of it anyway). When we entered office in the morning you asked me if I had watched last evening’s African Nations cup match and I said yes, why then take me through the entire match again.
When I am engaged in any of these 2, reading and watching movies, the less verbal interaction I have with other people the better.
I pay money to watch a movie in the cinema because I really want to experience it intensely, otherwise I will wait for the DVD (thanks to our Asian friends, this might be before the movie comes to the cinema) so please let me be; we shall discuss it over drinks later. I don’t know about you, but I can’t read and talk at the same time.
Yes I have seen you on TV and yes your show is off the hook (so i've heard) but I really don’t care if the bad roads are messing up the shocks of your new sports car, or how nobody seems to know how to mix a martini and especially how you just can’t seem to keep all those adoring bimbettes away from you. I came to the club to have a drink, dance a bit and unwind, and you are getting on my nerves.
Enough said. Ranting wears me out.
Cases in point
In a waiting room, bus, etc..say hi, comment about the weather or anything, after that you will have fulfilled your friendly duty and if I want to engage in more conversation I will let you know. Do not go on and on because you feel you have to. Do not worry about me I can stay quiet for 3 hours quite comfortably.
At work, do not give me a running commentary on everything that goes through your office (or head). You are in accounts and I am in communications, my job does not require me to know every anomaly you have discovered (I don’t understand most of it anyway). When we entered office in the morning you asked me if I had watched last evening’s African Nations cup match and I said yes, why then take me through the entire match again.
When I am engaged in any of these 2, reading and watching movies, the less verbal interaction I have with other people the better.
I pay money to watch a movie in the cinema because I really want to experience it intensely, otherwise I will wait for the DVD (thanks to our Asian friends, this might be before the movie comes to the cinema) so please let me be; we shall discuss it over drinks later. I don’t know about you, but I can’t read and talk at the same time.
Yes I have seen you on TV and yes your show is off the hook (so i've heard) but I really don’t care if the bad roads are messing up the shocks of your new sports car, or how nobody seems to know how to mix a martini and especially how you just can’t seem to keep all those adoring bimbettes away from you. I came to the club to have a drink, dance a bit and unwind, and you are getting on my nerves.
Enough said. Ranting wears me out.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Uganda heading towards dark days.
Has anyone seen the latest loadshedding schedules effective February 1st. They are crazy. Some of us can expect not to see a lit bulb in our houses for days on end. The schedule is alternating between daylight (6am-6pm) and peak hours (6pm- 2am) rationing. What this means is that for one month or so, your area will be under the evening schedule and for the next month it will be under the daytime schedule. Absolute madness.
The thing that really pisses me off with all this is that the justification for the privatisation of the generation and distribution arms of what was then the Uganda Electricity Board was that the services would improve. Given the state of affairs at the time people assumed that privatisation could only make things better. Who could image worse loadshedding.
Eskom (going under the name of Umeme) has since raised the tariffs, saying more competitive tariffs would lead to better service. In true Ugandan style, the public made the obligatory noise for all of a week and gave themselves up to paying these tariffs.
Do we have better electricity supply. Hell no.
In their defence, Umeme claims that the water levels in lake Victoria have gone down so drastically that they cannot supply enough power for everybody. There is also talk of shutting down the Kiira hydropower dam. Hopefully it won't get to that because the consequences are tremendous.
In my pedestrian thinking, here is how it ought to be right now. If five years ago we had terrible infrastructure and inefficient mangement, but we had loadshedding a lot less than we do now (considering that this is not the lowest the lake waters have been). Then we should be having at least the same amount of loadshedding now (given the lakes levels and all) as we did back then considering all the improvements that privatisation has brought (efficient supply, getting rid of illegal connections, better service due to competitive tariffs etc).
I need somebody out there to soothe me with an explanation that makes sense to a simpleton like myself before I lose it and go medieval on those Umeme chaps at Rwenzori Courts.
The thing that really pisses me off with all this is that the justification for the privatisation of the generation and distribution arms of what was then the Uganda Electricity Board was that the services would improve. Given the state of affairs at the time people assumed that privatisation could only make things better. Who could image worse loadshedding.
Eskom (going under the name of Umeme) has since raised the tariffs, saying more competitive tariffs would lead to better service. In true Ugandan style, the public made the obligatory noise for all of a week and gave themselves up to paying these tariffs.
Do we have better electricity supply. Hell no.
In their defence, Umeme claims that the water levels in lake Victoria have gone down so drastically that they cannot supply enough power for everybody. There is also talk of shutting down the Kiira hydropower dam. Hopefully it won't get to that because the consequences are tremendous.
In my pedestrian thinking, here is how it ought to be right now. If five years ago we had terrible infrastructure and inefficient mangement, but we had loadshedding a lot less than we do now (considering that this is not the lowest the lake waters have been). Then we should be having at least the same amount of loadshedding now (given the lakes levels and all) as we did back then considering all the improvements that privatisation has brought (efficient supply, getting rid of illegal connections, better service due to competitive tariffs etc).
I need somebody out there to soothe me with an explanation that makes sense to a simpleton like myself before I lose it and go medieval on those Umeme chaps at Rwenzori Courts.
Monday, January 23, 2006
The whining class
I have just read an article on how middle class Ugandans love nothing better than whine about how messed up everything is and yet they can't be bothered to do something to change the situation. The author, Martin Lwanga, says
"One of the favourite past times of the African middle class in general, and Uganda in particular, is the love to sit down and whine and moan about the plight of their nation. Many of us in the middle class love nothing more than lambasting politicians and distancing ourselves from the evil circle. "
This article article made a lot of sense because I have noticed, over the years, that the people that make the most noise about Uganda's problems, corruption, bad roads, lousy education system, etc are also the least proactive lot. I leave in a housing estate and everytime I am whiling the evening away at the neighbourhood pub, somebody is bound to be complaining that something or the other is not right in the estate. Yet when the regular weekend tenants or LC meetings are held, to discuss some of the complaints, the attendance is so poor they are often called off. Everybody is either indoors nursing a hangover, digesting that fine Sunday lunch, waiting for the rerun of Smallville that they missed earlier in the week or out somewhere.
At the national level it is the same, as Mr. Lwanga put it,
"Right now Uganda is going through an election exercise but a great many of us in the educated class are not registered voters and on election day will casually sit back to watch CNN and wait for the results late in the evening to filter in from shamba boys. "
We (alas, truth be told I belong to this group) are mostly the same chaps who complain no end about how the current government is killing us with taxes, high fuel prices.... You'd think we would be the most eager to change things. And some of us have the audacity to complain about Museveni being kept in power by votes from "ignorant" peasants that have no knowledge of the country's "real" problems.
I found this rather interesting too
"Somehow many of our friends in the diaspora, having taken their skills to the developed world, expect to visit and find things miraculously running just as well in the nation which they robbed of their talent and skills."
It reminded me of this post , which would be just as meaningful if it were about Ugandans in the diaspora.
Enough said, I am going to vote for Ssematimba as Mayor.
..ooops.. I didn't register to vote.
Damn!!!!!
"One of the favourite past times of the African middle class in general, and Uganda in particular, is the love to sit down and whine and moan about the plight of their nation. Many of us in the middle class love nothing more than lambasting politicians and distancing ourselves from the evil circle. "
This article article made a lot of sense because I have noticed, over the years, that the people that make the most noise about Uganda's problems, corruption, bad roads, lousy education system, etc are also the least proactive lot. I leave in a housing estate and everytime I am whiling the evening away at the neighbourhood pub, somebody is bound to be complaining that something or the other is not right in the estate. Yet when the regular weekend tenants or LC meetings are held, to discuss some of the complaints, the attendance is so poor they are often called off. Everybody is either indoors nursing a hangover, digesting that fine Sunday lunch, waiting for the rerun of Smallville that they missed earlier in the week or out somewhere.
At the national level it is the same, as Mr. Lwanga put it,
"Right now Uganda is going through an election exercise but a great many of us in the educated class are not registered voters and on election day will casually sit back to watch CNN and wait for the results late in the evening to filter in from shamba boys. "
We (alas, truth be told I belong to this group) are mostly the same chaps who complain no end about how the current government is killing us with taxes, high fuel prices.... You'd think we would be the most eager to change things. And some of us have the audacity to complain about Museveni being kept in power by votes from "ignorant" peasants that have no knowledge of the country's "real" problems.
I found this rather interesting too
"Somehow many of our friends in the diaspora, having taken their skills to the developed world, expect to visit and find things miraculously running just as well in the nation which they robbed of their talent and skills."
It reminded me of this post , which would be just as meaningful if it were about Ugandans in the diaspora.
Enough said, I am going to vote for Ssematimba as Mayor.
..ooops.. I didn't register to vote.
Damn!!!!!
Musings on online banking
I have been expecting some money to be wired to my Nile Bank account since Friday and today I decided to go and find out if I was rich. I made the way to the bank with the sun beating down on me mercilessly, only to find my account balance was as meagre as it was thje last time I had checked.
I got to thinking and I remembered I had seen an ad that said I could get a pin number from the bank, which could enable me to access my bank credit from my mobile phone., I figured it was about time I got one of those so as to avoid useless journeys to the bank like the one I had just taken. Anyway, I entered the bank, filled in a brief application form and I had a pin number in no time. The young lady then went on to ask if I needed a pin number to enable me to do my banking from my computer. I figured why not and like that I had joined the online banking community. I can now check my account balance, pay a few bills and buy airtime from any computer with internet access.
However, after trying out the process I started thinking about a few things.
The first one is the access bank people have to our banking information. I say this because I gave the young lady only my account number and account type and when she was giving me the pin numbers she addressed me by my name. I figured that she was probably checking out the state of my account. I was reminded of how a while back a friend of mine had jokingly said that the easiest way of having all the female yuppies in Kampala know how much money you had was by opening an account with Standard Chartered Bank. For some reason most bank tellers and customer service people in Uganda’s major banks are 20-something females.
It is also advisable to immediately change the password/Pin number that the bank gives you to one you are more comfortable with ( this option is available on the site) because the person who gives you the details knows your account number and the pin number you have just been given.
I am in no way saying that it is common practice for bank employees to go digging about other people’s finances or secretly cataloguing customers bank accounts and pin numbers, but we have to wary of the bad apples.
I also thought about somebody hacking into my account. I have a personal (purely academic) interest in hacking and over the years I have come to learn how easy it can be to get hacking tools like password grabbers and keyloggers from the internet. If hackers installed any of these programmes on a computer in a café it would be easy for them to get a list of Usernames and Passwords of all the people that would have used a specific computer. If that computer had been used for online banking then the dangers become obvious.
In my experience Ugandans can sometimes be careless with their passwords and usernames. I don’t how many times I have tried to log onto a password-protected site only be immediately taken to the account of somebody who had carelessly accepted the option of having his/her username and password memorised by the computer for direct future access. I have had cheeky fun chatting under some other person’s Yahoo ID, for example.
I am hoping that the banks that have introduced online banking do take the necessary precautions to protect their clients from the dangers above.
I got to thinking and I remembered I had seen an ad that said I could get a pin number from the bank, which could enable me to access my bank credit from my mobile phone., I figured it was about time I got one of those so as to avoid useless journeys to the bank like the one I had just taken. Anyway, I entered the bank, filled in a brief application form and I had a pin number in no time. The young lady then went on to ask if I needed a pin number to enable me to do my banking from my computer. I figured why not and like that I had joined the online banking community. I can now check my account balance, pay a few bills and buy airtime from any computer with internet access.
However, after trying out the process I started thinking about a few things.
The first one is the access bank people have to our banking information. I say this because I gave the young lady only my account number and account type and when she was giving me the pin numbers she addressed me by my name. I figured that she was probably checking out the state of my account. I was reminded of how a while back a friend of mine had jokingly said that the easiest way of having all the female yuppies in Kampala know how much money you had was by opening an account with Standard Chartered Bank. For some reason most bank tellers and customer service people in Uganda’s major banks are 20-something females.
It is also advisable to immediately change the password/Pin number that the bank gives you to one you are more comfortable with ( this option is available on the site) because the person who gives you the details knows your account number and the pin number you have just been given.
I am in no way saying that it is common practice for bank employees to go digging about other people’s finances or secretly cataloguing customers bank accounts and pin numbers, but we have to wary of the bad apples.
I also thought about somebody hacking into my account. I have a personal (purely academic) interest in hacking and over the years I have come to learn how easy it can be to get hacking tools like password grabbers and keyloggers from the internet. If hackers installed any of these programmes on a computer in a café it would be easy for them to get a list of Usernames and Passwords of all the people that would have used a specific computer. If that computer had been used for online banking then the dangers become obvious.
In my experience Ugandans can sometimes be careless with their passwords and usernames. I don’t how many times I have tried to log onto a password-protected site only be immediately taken to the account of somebody who had carelessly accepted the option of having his/her username and password memorised by the computer for direct future access. I have had cheeky fun chatting under some other person’s Yahoo ID, for example.
I am hoping that the banks that have introduced online banking do take the necessary precautions to protect their clients from the dangers above.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Of a friend's wedding and matchmaking aunties
Over the weekend I attended a wedding of an old friend, with whom I had suffered the terrors of high school. He has been in “outside countries” for a while and he decided to come back for a bit and do the needful via his sweetheart.
The wedding was alright and I got to meet a number of friends I hadn’t seen in a while. In the process of exchanging war stories, the conversation steered to the topic of marriage.
It all started when the groom dropped by briefly and started waxing on endlessly about how it was such a great feeling to finally get married, joining the ranks of men…. etc etc. Then everybody got to agreeing fully with him and generally picked up on the whole topic when he had left. All of a sudden everybody wanted to show just how soon they would be inviting us to their receptions. I got the feeling that everybody wanted to outdo each other on how soon they would make honest women of their girlfriends.
Somebody soon realised one Jay was not contributing as enthusiastically as the rest and the attention soon turned to me. When asked why the disinterest, I answered that marriage was something that I just didn’t think about at the moment. Soon I was being told that I was just lying to myself, still holding on unrealistically to past years of youthful abandon (this I thought was a load of bollocks) and that at our ages (most of people present were just over 25) marriage ought to be somewhere up there among the priorities.
For a while I failed to recognise these guys because they started to sound a lot like a certain auntie of mine. Most of the time she is good company except when she is matchmaking. These days it happens more often because many of my slightly older cousins (and a few younger ones, all female) are getting married with such frequency it appears there must be some inheritance from some unknown rich relative for whoever throws down the most grandkids before a certain date.
Anyway my auntie prides herself with being responsible for hooking up a number of these guys and bringing in line one or two that were beginning to have doubts. Since the older guys are all but done she has me in her matchmaking crosshairs. No visit or phone call goes without the lunch invitation for me and my girlfriend (an invitation I wouldn’t want to inflict on anyone I happen to be going out with).
I have unfortunately not been a good candidate and she doesn’t tire of lecturing me on my lifestyle, and on the fact that I don’t seem to take anything seriously or plan ahead. I do not know how many times I have been told how important it is to “settle” and start developing myself etcetera. Most of the advise makes sense, what I resent is that she sometimes gives the impression that I am wastrel who is heading for nowhere unless I get hitched.
I gave up on telling her that, like most things in my life, it will happen when it does. I am not one of those people who have a five-year plan at all times where certain things have to be achieved by year X. I am mostly a here and now kind of person and right now certain things just haven’t crossed my mind. But she will probably keep at it hoping to wear me down.
I now why I don’t like weddings, but I will be watching my friends' progress towards the matrimonial altar with interest. Who knows cupid might do a major number on me and before you know I could beat them there.....naaaaah.
The wedding was alright and I got to meet a number of friends I hadn’t seen in a while. In the process of exchanging war stories, the conversation steered to the topic of marriage.
It all started when the groom dropped by briefly and started waxing on endlessly about how it was such a great feeling to finally get married, joining the ranks of men…. etc etc. Then everybody got to agreeing fully with him and generally picked up on the whole topic when he had left. All of a sudden everybody wanted to show just how soon they would be inviting us to their receptions. I got the feeling that everybody wanted to outdo each other on how soon they would make honest women of their girlfriends.
Somebody soon realised one Jay was not contributing as enthusiastically as the rest and the attention soon turned to me. When asked why the disinterest, I answered that marriage was something that I just didn’t think about at the moment. Soon I was being told that I was just lying to myself, still holding on unrealistically to past years of youthful abandon (this I thought was a load of bollocks) and that at our ages (most of people present were just over 25) marriage ought to be somewhere up there among the priorities.
For a while I failed to recognise these guys because they started to sound a lot like a certain auntie of mine. Most of the time she is good company except when she is matchmaking. These days it happens more often because many of my slightly older cousins (and a few younger ones, all female) are getting married with such frequency it appears there must be some inheritance from some unknown rich relative for whoever throws down the most grandkids before a certain date.
Anyway my auntie prides herself with being responsible for hooking up a number of these guys and bringing in line one or two that were beginning to have doubts. Since the older guys are all but done she has me in her matchmaking crosshairs. No visit or phone call goes without the lunch invitation for me and my girlfriend (an invitation I wouldn’t want to inflict on anyone I happen to be going out with).
I have unfortunately not been a good candidate and she doesn’t tire of lecturing me on my lifestyle, and on the fact that I don’t seem to take anything seriously or plan ahead. I do not know how many times I have been told how important it is to “settle” and start developing myself etcetera. Most of the advise makes sense, what I resent is that she sometimes gives the impression that I am wastrel who is heading for nowhere unless I get hitched.
I gave up on telling her that, like most things in my life, it will happen when it does. I am not one of those people who have a five-year plan at all times where certain things have to be achieved by year X. I am mostly a here and now kind of person and right now certain things just haven’t crossed my mind. But she will probably keep at it hoping to wear me down.
I now why I don’t like weddings, but I will be watching my friends' progress towards the matrimonial altar with interest. Who knows cupid might do a major number on me and before you know I could beat them there.....naaaaah.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Its an anniversary
I have just realised that it is exactly one year since I stumbled upon blogger, opened an account and made my first post on this third rate blog. Why I chose Inzikuru as the subject of my first post and not some “hi I’m Jay and welcome to my new blog” kind of post, I can’t recall.
Blogging has since become a major part of my life and checking out my blogroll everyday has become a near addiction. It’s amazing how something that I knew nothing about before 10/8/2005 has quickly become a part of regular activities.
At first I thought I was a lone Ugandan sailing the vast sea that is the blogosphere until another sail picked up my message in a bottle and responded with urls of other blogs that had been around longer. Thanks Ivan.
Now I have a whole lot of blog friends and acquaintances, many of whom I probably pass on the streets many times without knowing (probably just as well for them). Some of the bloggers I have met have been philosophical, poetic, analytic, lyrical, angry, soulful, scandalous, odd, clinically insane etc.
I now have my on nook of the net to put down whatever is on my mind and it is great. I get to write stuff in a way a like at my leisure while enjoying the experience before I sit back and wait to see how people respond.
Heck, this blogging business has even got me on the BBC site (looking around smugly).
Next stop: My Own Website. Though I don’t think my lazy ass can keep one going.
Blogging has since become a major part of my life and checking out my blogroll everyday has become a near addiction. It’s amazing how something that I knew nothing about before 10/8/2005 has quickly become a part of regular activities.
At first I thought I was a lone Ugandan sailing the vast sea that is the blogosphere until another sail picked up my message in a bottle and responded with urls of other blogs that had been around longer. Thanks Ivan.
Now I have a whole lot of blog friends and acquaintances, many of whom I probably pass on the streets many times without knowing (probably just as well for them). Some of the bloggers I have met have been philosophical, poetic, analytic, lyrical, angry, soulful, scandalous, odd, clinically insane etc.
I now have my on nook of the net to put down whatever is on my mind and it is great. I get to write stuff in a way a like at my leisure while enjoying the experience before I sit back and wait to see how people respond.
Heck, this blogging business has even got me on the BBC site (looking around smugly).
Next stop: My Own Website. Though I don’t think my lazy ass can keep one going.
High School Hell II
Nobody bothered me again that night. The next morning I started on what was to become my routine for a while. I would wake up early, go off to where my suitcase was, get everything I needed for the day and then move on to class. I wouldn't come back to the dormitory until the junior prep had ended, which was 1 hour before the seniors. I would pray that by the time the older guys came from prep they wouldn't feel like bugging me.
Of course this routine was not very effective. For one, almost every after prep the older guys would descend on us as a means of stress relief. Sometimes it was just lighthearted foolery-like when they would play a song and ask each of us to slowdance our pillows as if they were our girlfriends. Other times it could get quite nasty.
There was what was called "going to New York"and believe you me that was one trip to the Big Apple you didn't want to take. It involved a hapless S1 getting under a low bed with springs so loose that even without anybody on the bed, anybody under it would still be making contact with the springs. Then 2 or 3 boys would start jumping all over the bed. This meant the bed springs and wires would dig into the guy under the bed assisted by 80-100 kgs pressure exerted from above.
It was not rare to earn yourself a slap simply for looking straight (read menacingly) into the eyes of an older student. I was once sent by one of the guys in my room to collect a kettle from another dormitory. After being shown the bed of the person I was to get the kettle from I approached slowly and, in my gentlest voice, stated my business. The reply I got from the chap was a shove and an inquiry as to how I could venture into his space and demand for things he knew nothing about. I tried to explain that I was just carrying a message from someone. I was shoved into a locker kicked in the sides and told to get the f**k out of the room if I valued my life. Since I obviously valued my life, I made for the door with haste. But I wasn't hasty enough because a Reebok sneaker hit me in the back as I was making the last turn.
I later learnt that the fellow had messed the kettle up and he was still thinking of how he was going to get it fixed. At this time in comes Jay, perfect candidate for displaced aggression.
Once I was told to drink 3 litres of water at once for refusing to do something I had been told to do. My stomach has never bulged so much. I thought I would never drink water again after that. I threw it all up as soon as I had finished. It was actually more like someone tipping a jerry can that is full to the brim, because there were none of the typical heaves that characterise throwing up.
It was always better to have "punishment" dispensed immediately after "offending" because, if it was wasn't, it was likely something quite terrible was being cooked up for you. It was likely that the culprit didnt want to be identified lest he is reported to the authorities. This meant he was more likely to pay a midnight visit. These visits usually included around 5 guys, each with a role to play. One had to ensure that the lights were off and act as a look out. 2 guys would cover you with the blanket and make sure you were held down. The other 2 would go at you like military police on a Besigye supporter. The operations were meant to be short but intense, after which the culprits would scatter in different directions while the dazed victim figured out what had just happaned.
I could go on endlessly about the nightmare most of my S1 was, but there is simply to much to say. Thankfully I hear the school has changed and there is none of what we went through nowadays. On the flip side though, I have interacted with some of my younger Old Boys and I can't help feeling that they are not quite made of the same mettle as those that went through the school 10+ years ago.
The one thing I learnt was that bullies are usually weaklings hiding behind their mean acts, usually knowing that they have backup in case of anything. Seldom does a bully operate solo. The backup might be his friends or a position of authority he has. I despise them all.
I also got to speak my mother tongue fluently. Its ironic that I only learnt it as a means of preventing future asswhoopings.
Of course this routine was not very effective. For one, almost every after prep the older guys would descend on us as a means of stress relief. Sometimes it was just lighthearted foolery-like when they would play a song and ask each of us to slowdance our pillows as if they were our girlfriends. Other times it could get quite nasty.
There was what was called "going to New York"and believe you me that was one trip to the Big Apple you didn't want to take. It involved a hapless S1 getting under a low bed with springs so loose that even without anybody on the bed, anybody under it would still be making contact with the springs. Then 2 or 3 boys would start jumping all over the bed. This meant the bed springs and wires would dig into the guy under the bed assisted by 80-100 kgs pressure exerted from above.
It was not rare to earn yourself a slap simply for looking straight (read menacingly) into the eyes of an older student. I was once sent by one of the guys in my room to collect a kettle from another dormitory. After being shown the bed of the person I was to get the kettle from I approached slowly and, in my gentlest voice, stated my business. The reply I got from the chap was a shove and an inquiry as to how I could venture into his space and demand for things he knew nothing about. I tried to explain that I was just carrying a message from someone. I was shoved into a locker kicked in the sides and told to get the f**k out of the room if I valued my life. Since I obviously valued my life, I made for the door with haste. But I wasn't hasty enough because a Reebok sneaker hit me in the back as I was making the last turn.
I later learnt that the fellow had messed the kettle up and he was still thinking of how he was going to get it fixed. At this time in comes Jay, perfect candidate for displaced aggression.
Once I was told to drink 3 litres of water at once for refusing to do something I had been told to do. My stomach has never bulged so much. I thought I would never drink water again after that. I threw it all up as soon as I had finished. It was actually more like someone tipping a jerry can that is full to the brim, because there were none of the typical heaves that characterise throwing up.
It was always better to have "punishment" dispensed immediately after "offending" because, if it was wasn't, it was likely something quite terrible was being cooked up for you. It was likely that the culprit didnt want to be identified lest he is reported to the authorities. This meant he was more likely to pay a midnight visit. These visits usually included around 5 guys, each with a role to play. One had to ensure that the lights were off and act as a look out. 2 guys would cover you with the blanket and make sure you were held down. The other 2 would go at you like military police on a Besigye supporter. The operations were meant to be short but intense, after which the culprits would scatter in different directions while the dazed victim figured out what had just happaned.
I could go on endlessly about the nightmare most of my S1 was, but there is simply to much to say. Thankfully I hear the school has changed and there is none of what we went through nowadays. On the flip side though, I have interacted with some of my younger Old Boys and I can't help feeling that they are not quite made of the same mettle as those that went through the school 10+ years ago.
The one thing I learnt was that bullies are usually weaklings hiding behind their mean acts, usually knowing that they have backup in case of anything. Seldom does a bully operate solo. The backup might be his friends or a position of authority he has. I despise them all.
I also got to speak my mother tongue fluently. Its ironic that I only learnt it as a means of preventing future asswhoopings.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
