Note A Minute Too Soon

Note A Minute Too Soon

Time check: 5pm

I’ve been staring at my watch like I expect it to entice me with a strip tease of sorts. The seconds barely moving, outpaced only by my anxiety. I need to leave the office. I glance outside, squinting at the clouds as though to say, “don’t you dare!”. It’s been rainy these past couple of days and today is not the day I will accept Cumulo Nimbus’ ice bucket challenge.

I’m just not in the mood.

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A ‘taxi-turvy’ tale

A ‘taxi-turvy’ tale

I appreciate convenience as much as the next guy.

Really. For some reason, I think this has factored heavily on my reliance on boda bodas over your regular run of the mill-striped can of sardines that the transport sector now and then tries to pass off as a legit form of transportation. Read more

My Neck, My Back Hurts JUST LIKE THAT

Let’s just dive right in shall we.

I have Spinal Spondylosis…the condition, not the movie. It is not the reason I walk with a, er, bounce. But it sure as hell is the reason it feels like my ribs are not held together and are engaged in a playful game of poke the lung every time the vehicle I am using goes over the humps that litter our roads. It is also the reason my back hurts like a bitch. Yeah, there is no colorful way of describing my back pain.

It took a while to arrive at this diagnosis by the way. In typical Ugandan fashion, the first doctor I saw said it was Malaria. Let’s think about this for a second. I have a sudden back pain, a dull ache in my right hand and the ribs in my chest feel like they are trying to have forced intercourse with my lungs and somehow this is supposed to be a strain of malaria?

How is this even remotely possible? Have the anopheles Mosquitoes enrolled in some Military school? Did the Italian Mosquitoes send some Mafia Enforcer; Don Squito? Has the virus had enough diseases like Ebola and AIDS taking its shine and decided “Screw this. You don’t know who the **** you are ****ing with!” (I don’t even know why I bothered censoring those words, what else could it be?)

So anyway, I told the doctor I didn’t think it was Malaria, but he insisted that I take the test. No lie, I hate needles, but if they will reveal what’s going on, so be it.

Results came in and….. NO FLIPPIN MALARIA!!!

However, the doctor is not buying this. “It could be hidden, take these pills.” Hidden? What the hell? Are the White Blood Cells and the Malaria parasites working together? From whence did this solidarity come?

So I took the drugs for the first day and surprise, surprise, I was still in pain! So I sought a second opinion.

I won’t name names, but this doctor is notorious for deriding our local doctors and their Malaria prescriptions. For once I was on the same page with him.

His diagnosis, “You have a long thin neck!”

Er, okay.

“Actually, you are tall and thin.”

Shit, I could have stayed at home, looked at myself in the mirror and saved myself the consultation money!

“So, your spine *something something* nerves *something something* pain”


“Let’s run some blood tests just so we can be sure we did not leave anything out”

Oh Crap, Mister! You don’t wanna do that! I have this Malaria Parasite in there that will break the friggin needle before you can get a sample!

The results; NEGATIVE for anything of significance.

So I’m told to stick with painkillers for the rest of my life. EXCITING! This brings me a step closer to being like that grouchy doctor on TV.


The pain refused to go away!
It just stayed and stayed,
Stayed like it wanted to play!

So I got a third opinion! And that’s how I found out that I have Spinal Spondylosis! In as few words as possible; Spine, Bone, Poor Posture, Nerves Pressed.



The doctor has this little gadget that has these funny pad thingies that distribute jolts of electricity through my body. It’s an odd sensation, and I’m sure the doctor knows this.  So I don’t understand why he thinks I can sleep through the whole 30 minute ordeal. It took some getting used to, but when I finally accepted it as a friend (not on Facebook, Erique!) I just had to know its name. What do they call you, oh buzzing gizmo! Who shall I say cured me of my malady?

The doctor was only too willing to offer, “It’s called a Digital Therapy Machine!”

Are you kidding me? I was offended! You might as well slap a sticker on its side that says “Sylvia”

The doctor was on a roll. During the second session of physiotherapy, a belt like thingy was strapped around my waist.

“It will produce some heat!”

I was comfortable with that, what pissed me off was its name.

“This one is called a hot belt…”

Catch you on the other side

Other Side
I think there’s a boda boda guy trying to off me. I’m not sure but it could be for this Human Sacrifice thing that has swept the country. Everytime I jump onto his bike, I give him specific instructions… and directions. I tell him exactly where I want to go. Then I wait.

Sure as rain, he always tries to branch off to some dark place, until I tap him and say, “Boss!”

Then he goes back the way he is supposed to.

I feel compelled to tell him that I am probably not the witchdoctor’s type. I am tainted. The witchdoctor wants virgins. I’ve had sex before and I’ll be damned if I don’t have it again!

I am trying to understand what’s going on in his mind at these points, “I think he is sleeping, I can take him the other way…” Shit, speaking of ‘the other way’, maybe it’s not Human Sacrifice this guy is after…

In other NEWS

The president loves himself some ‘TOOKE‘ biscuits. Would it have killed the geniuses behind this product to sit down and think of a more awesome name… I don’t know about you, but if a kid walked up to me and said he wants money for Tooke, I’d slap him for being so obscene…

skirting on petty issues

It’s old news. Nsaba Buturo has gone and opened his trap yet again. This time round, because he realised he’d simply be repeating himself ( and thereby boring himself as well) he avoided Big Brother and went after short skirts.  click dis!    and dis one coz its new

I am not one to claim that I know the inner workings of parliament, but don’t we usually send these guys in to represent us. To discuss issues that really really count. I mean, come on, miniskirts?? 

The vibe I’m picking up here is that this dude was bullied as a kid and he views this as an opportunity for payback. 

I seriously wanted to go into the whole Big Brother issue, but I can’t see what his angle there is/was. “I never got to hang out with the cool kids, I won’t let Uganda see others” ? That’s a possible angle. But the thing is, the last lot of contestants were not the cool kids. Well, not entirely.

According to the web,

“Minister Nsaba Buturo told journalists in the capital Kampala that wearing a miniskirt was like walking naked in the streets.”

I beg to differ Mr. Minister. Walking Naked is like WALKING NAKED in the streets, wearing a miniskirt is nothing like that. Not even the kind that are as thick as a belt, or a handkerchief. We have seen naked people walk around the streets and I assure you, seeing someone in a miniskirt is tonnes better and does not really provoke a gag reflex. It may provoke an entirely different reflex, but shit. It IS NOT LIKE WALKING NAKED!!

“You can cause an accident because some of our people are weak mentally.”

Dude! I know as the minister of Ethics and such you are supposed to be the custodian of all things sacred and pure, but don’t bloody make generalisations like that. “Some of our people”…”Our people”? WTF? We had to deal with the whole Amin thing, now you’re giving us that? 

A guy logs into a chat room and introduces himself…

-” I’m from Uganda and I am hot for you, I wanna slide my”

-“Hang on… Uganda? I’ve heard about you. Sorry sweetie, I don’t think you can handle this jelly. I’m way too bootylicious for you.”


-“I know your type, you’re weak mentally.  Bye sugar” 

– “Shit! That’s the 6th one this week.  I will never be able to get a visa! Damn You Nsaba Buturo”

“If you find a naked person you begin to concentrate on the make-up of that person and yet you are driving.”

Okay, that’s all kinds of wrong. If I found a naked person, the last thing I’d be concentrating on is the make up. No matter what kind of eye-liner or masacara or whatever she’s got. Even if it was Beyonce’s Bleaching Cream… unless of course you meant to say concentrating on the “anatomy”…and even then, I really doubt anyone that found a naked person would find this person whilst behind the wheel of a car.  I mean, dayummm that’s some friggin ambition right there. 

But let’s compromise. How about this, if a person is driving and chances upon a naked being, let him drive to the side of the road, park and kill the engine and then “concentrate on the make up of the person” that is naked at the time. Naked people do not last forever. So, after said naked person has left the line of vision of the driver, he can get into his car and drive away. Thus, no accidents. 

“These days you hardly know who is a mother from a daughter, they are all naked”
I wasn’t going to say this, but, Sir…are you married? Do you have kids?… are you trying to tell us something?
Would I be right to say that some of our politicians are weak mentally? That they cause accidents by not debating the issues that matter… that these days you hardly know a kid from a minister of ethics  

How many accidents are caused by drivers fighting to switch off the car radio when Nsaba speaks?

Should they ban him?

In closing, conversation between colleagues 

-Nothing onscreen has more getting laid than sex and the city

-Clearly you don’t know about porn


The strange case of L'il Jim

I wrote a story a while back, it was of a watchman drunk,
Drunk as hell, was the story of he, but nonetheless, just a story it seemed to be,
But a lot of truth is told in jest, so now compelled I feel, compelled to tell the story behind the story,
The tale if you must, of the watchman who now I fear has ceased to see,
Ceased to see life as we know it be
Really, there’s no way to tell a tale, without some background,
A narrative of a life past, a sort of origin
If you know what I mean,
His name doesn’t matter,
The odds that you’ll meet him,
The possibility that you’ll feel obliged to greet him,
Are nil, null, zilch or nada…
In all fairness, I don`t think I`m treating this with the level of seriousness it deserves, so I suppose I should take this from the top…
So this guy, we called him L’il Jim. Sure he was kinda lanky and skinny, but the reason we called him L’il Jim was cause we thought it was a nice spin to Kagimu, for that was his name. Any way, Lil Jim has worked for the family in varying capacities for as long as I can remember. During the course of his tenure, (and I use the word tenure ever so liberally) he was a go-for guy… you know, go for this, go for that. I suppose it was as good a way to earn his keep as any. He certainly helped me treat a couple of hangovers with a packet of OJ (orange Juice)… the thing is, human nature is flawed. . . Lil Jim manifested that in a series of ways, countless are the times he was asked to go to the market to pick up food required for the lunch time meal only to show up close to supper time.
What was particularly interesting is the fact that he could not understand why he was being yelled at, why people were pissed off with him. You may call it being care-free, that is possible…but there was the alcohol.
Lil Jim loved his alcohol, and the worst bit is that it came really cheap. 200 shillings was more than enough to get him higher than a kite…
Lord knows the number of times he was fired… greater still are the number of times he came walking through the gate with no recollection that he had had his employment terminated earlier. I had a dream once where I came home, found him waiting for me and then got stabbed in the gut by him. Suffice to say, I avoided him a lot more.
The story goes that recently some guys were moving around with some public address system thing, reading out the names of some people who were thieves, threatening to come down upon them and throw them in jail.
Lil Jim was on that list.
I would be telling a lie if I said that he did not deserve to be there, I lost a couple of shirts to him, but the reasons cited for his appearance on the list were asinine to say the least. Word going around has it that he was definitely a thief because he could afford to buy Newspapers every day. It is worth mentioning that one of the things he did for the house was buy the paper for the day. So efficient was he, the neighbours had also enlisted his services.
The other proof, if ever such a word was so unjustly used, was the fact that he could afford liquor… add to that the fact that he was well dressed all the time and you have yourself a case against an innocent albeit, occasionally inebriated soul.
It’s amazing what it takes to rip the strands that come together to form the fabric of sanity, the list achieved what the alcohol and other substances had failed. It put him down.
Such was its effect, Lil Jim decided the only way around this was by leaving the house and going far far away.., for good!
For the first time, he was not making sense without the assistance of a toxic substance swimming through his veins. He was off his rocker…gone.
When I got back home the other night, ( I reckon it does not matter when exactly), I was informed that the madness of Lil Jim had taken a new direction with him saying that I had paid him to leave. The accusation went thus; I said he was a thief, paid him and said i did not want to see him when i got back. I have not seen him in about a week, so this is clearly, untrue.
Yesterday, he donned his best clothes, said goodbye saying he was going to meet up with someone who would pay his fare for the journey back home, and be on his way. Said person did not see him until this morning when he turned up at theirs and said he could not come home to his room, because someone at ours had asked him to leave.
He was not wearing his shoes.
Some of the people at home saw him off this morning, wishing him a safe journey. I could not bring myself to face him. The nasty case of food poisoning I seem to have picked up not being the cause. It felt pretty depressing to see someone who had once been carefree, reduced to this. Paranoid and convinced he was alone.

There you have it, the story of a man,
A man who carried himself without a plan,
Without a care in the world,
A man whose life in moments few,
Has come undone,
This is the other story,
Of the drunken watchman.

One Afternoon, not too long ago. . .

“when I was growing up as a child. . .”

-Patience Rwabogo

So there I was, chillin’ out at a pal’s video lib. Conversating as we are wont to, when suddenly…

Vacist: Man, you guy, your stuff is dope! Do you have Sopranos?

Mr. E: Yeah, what season?

Vacist: Okay, what. Gene (generally), I can’t click what season it was. Oba (perhaps) it was 2 or 3. First play and I scan

After a few moments of “scanning”

Vacist: Yeah, mob! That’s the one. Man! But I am going to pay 1500 instead of 2500, shit is tight ehn, you click?

Mr. E: But borrowing is Two grand.

Vacist: Eh..Okay.. heh

Then he sees me…

Vacist: You guy, you’re a blogger, what!

Me: Er…

Vacist: Man, don’t deny, what! You’re the chief blogger, yeah. I read about you somewhere!

Me: Yeah, I blog, but I wouldn’t say I’m a chief blogger. Ernest blogs more than me. He even puts up pikicha of roco artis

Vacist: Ah, wah, so you write what!

Me: I write whatever comes to. . .

Vacist: I know. I was saying. So you write articles, words, those things, what!

Me: Uhm, yes… those things

Vacist: So how do I blog, begin writing,what! Who do I pay?

Me (suppressing urge to make money off this chap and his question tags): It’s easy, just go online, sign up and you’re set

Vacist: Its that easy what! Man those things of internet, www, what! Those things are tight mob man, when!

Me: What??

Vacist: Yeah, sorry, I meant what! You click these things ehn, man!

…and then

(I promised I wouldn’t include him in this post so in all fairness, we have only one side of the chat)

Vacist: Man. Do you want someone to work here with you.


Vacist: Its kawa, I don’t want money. Okay you can pay me a bit while I try out


Vacist: I like movies,what!

Me: You just want to hit on girls

Vacist: Uh, no man! You guy you are a spoiler, what!

Me: You haven’t got the job yet, I can spoil more for you.

Vacist: Man, be easy. Be kawa

So I shot him.

What Tha Funk?!

“I giggle outside the booth, but ain’t no joke inside”
Bubba Sparxxx (Ugly)

Ever had one of those days where everything just isn’t going well? Stuff won’t work right? Like whatever you do, whatever happens, you keep coming up against a wall. And then when you try to back up a little, there’s another wall? And then, slowly it seems the walls seem to be coming in together, trapping you in the middle?

Yeah? That’s me for the past couple of months. I’m just about done fighting this. I should have done this a while back, but I suppose better late than never, right?

You know what you’re doing. Your move God.

Another sick note…

So I had a cough and cold the other day… well to be perfectly honest it was over a series of days. I don’t know where this stuff comes from, but when it arrives it puts me down so bad. I can’t do a thing in that state. Except wallow.

I do a lot of wallowing at this point and then the hypochondria kicks in. I figure I have one of three thousand diseases or their close relatives and I have a sense of dread so bad.

It’s usually around this time that I go to the pharmacy and then ask them to hook me up.

Given the ridiculous number of times I’ve been to the pharmacy (and repeat viewings of House), I have a knack for prescribing my own drugs. Read more

a night's tale


Savannah… that place on your way to Muyenga… or from it. . .

Heineken brought to the table. Can is opened. . . a sip taken.

Water is ordered. Medicine swallowed. . . back to Heineken. . .

Change of venue suggested. Pangs of hunger manifest.

Pizza recommended…



She who shall not be mentioned is at pizza place. Still elicits a stare. Read more

A New Year, A week later

You’ve probably had the “happy new year” greeting more times than you care to remember so I’ll spare you.

As it stands there’s very little to be happy about. Our cousins across the border are going through the after effects of an election gone wrong. Its what we keep hoping won’t happen to us. We’ve been fortunate to survive that sort of thing. Whether this means we give up too soon, we are too sane or we just don’t have the balls to stand our ground is an entirely different issue. Heck, it shouldn’t matter.

There’s talk of how this makes Uganda look good. How exactly someone came up with this is beyond me. Maybe it does, but is it worth it? People are dying and somehow we should appreciate this? Its messed up, that’s what it is.

There’s a fuel crisis because of the situation next door. The annoying thing is the fact that even if I haven’t got a car, I am still affected. Its a classic case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t. For the first time in my life I heard the words “Only rich people can afford us” coming from a Boda Boda. A humbling experience? Nuh. I was pissed off.

Apparently we as a nation have issued a statement congratulating the “president” of Kenya. What does this say? As it stands (to the best of my knowledge) we are the only people that are okay with this. We as a nation backed this? Fine.  Realistically there’s not much we can do about this. We have to go with the flow and hope that our cousin’s across the border are aware that it was not a view that we all held.

I gather we have deployed across the border to prevent the violence from sipping over. Is there a chance that we may be paying attention to the wrong border?

Let’s pray that this thing is sorted out soon.

 In other news, my take on the Showbiz in 2007 can be found here

And finally, because friends know you better than you know yourself (yeah, sure), my pals figured they’d make my resolutions for me… One kind of implied that the CRAVE cologne I was wearing on that day was not as cool as I thought it was (go on, HATE), so, to end this, here are my pals’ NYRs for me…



So there you have ’em. Their Handwritings in plain view. Practice them and when they finally make it in life, rob ’em.