A sophisticated and very classy young lady, the sort who walks on glass heels even when she is in flat shoes; the sort who insults you and leaves you feeling that perhaps she is right; the sort who inspires admiration and confidence; she had this little run-in with a noble and honourable older man; the sort who is strong of spirit, gallant and earthy; evidently a stern but dependable father; probably a possessive and jealous but loving and worthy husband; a man of character; the sort you would be proud to call your brother, father or son.
She was an office executive. He was a toilet cleaner.
I should tell you before we get too far into the story, that it is not THAT sort of story. I am not Red Pepper.
Anyway, there was a lot in the office that required executing that day and she had to work until after eight. After eight is usually the time the toilets are cleaned.
She took a break to … well, with such gentlepeople as herself, you do not name the process.
The stage was set for the encounter.
She was washing her hands at the sink of the ladies, when the door swung open and in he popped, dragging his mops and buckets and other janitorial paraphernalia.
She looked up and her eyes paused upon the sight: a man in the ladies’ loos.
He noticed her there and was a bit flustered. He did not expect to find anyone in the loo at the time.
Silence. Pause. Then he spoke.
As Ganda gentlemen are wont to, he greeted her with a polite and respectful word. “Mugyebale.”
Only trouble is, probably daunted by her evident schooling and education, and the fact that she does not look like a Muganda, he said it in English.
And this is why I love this story so much and am probably telling it for the fiftieth time. A lot of Baganda translate Mugyebale as
“Well done.”
Thank you. It is good to be back.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
A popular musician came to the newspaper office in which I work for her scheduled press interviews.
Tindatiine herself! She walked right into this office. In person! She perambulated upon the premises aboard her own duopoly of personal feet. Lord love us, I was in her presence.
I would have liked to be my usual cool, calm and unflappable self. You know, the cat who meets all these so-called celebs with a cold smirk and perhaps the words, “So what? I’m talented, too, you know.”
Like the time Bebe Cool was all up in my spacial and I had to assure him.
But then Tindatiine walks in and out walks my dignity. My knees turned to jelly, my jaw dropped. My beard was moistened by drool.
“Oh. My. Good. Fucking. Ness. I cannot believe it’s you. Tindatiine! I Looooove your song. Oh my gorrrrsh! I like totally can’t believe it’s actually you. In person. Wheeeeekkk! Wheeekk!” I said, the last two words being me screaming.
I was shaking and shivering and jumping up and down and flapping my hands like those black boys who were acting as white girls in that movie. I may have been splashing sweat and spit on her because she slapped me.
Hard.
She’s a little woman, but she packs a wallop.
She said, “Get a hold of yourself, man! What is the meaning of this outrageous behaviour?!”
It didn’t work. I was still jumping and shrieking. Now I was on, “Oh My Goodness. Tindatiine TOUCHED ME!”
So she hit me with another one.
“Control yourself. Pull yourself together. Cut this nonsense out. You’re acting like the Wayans Brothers in White Chicks, that movie that sucked!”
“That movie didn’t suck…” I started to say, but she slapped me again.
“It sucked! Shut up. Now sit down and stay still. I’m a star, okay?”
My sense began their journey back. “Whatever you say, madam.”
“Now, who is the guy who is going to interview me? I don’t have all day. I have a show at Club Vision Empire this weekend and I need to rehearse.”
While Intrepid Reporter whisked her off to the cocktails/interview room my senses finished their trip and finally returned. I was able to remember that I don’t even like her song anymore. I was able to remember, then, that I am actually getting kind of sick of it. I mean it is everywhere. You can’t escape it.
What I really want to listen to is Angela Kalule’s other song that is as sweet as a mother’s love mixed with chocolate. It is called Oyo Mwana (this is an approximate spelling) and if she would give the internet an mp3, I would put up a link that you, too, may fall for it.
And when I met Angela Kalule, I didn’t turn into whateverthenameoftheguy/girlinwhitechicks. I was dignified, and greeted her with poise and class, informing her that I enjoyed her work, accepting her gracious response and moving on.
And when I met Iryn, I was all, “What’s up.” And she was “What’s up.” and then we were like, “Aight, Later.” And that was it.
Then this chick Tindatiine slaps me.
Surely.
and now our sponors have a word:
In case you have been wondering where Bikozulu is, we had him in a bunker in the Chinese deserts. We put a gun to his head and said, you have two choices: starting a blog is one…”
This is the result.
I would have liked to be my usual cool, calm and unflappable self. You know, the cat who meets all these so-called celebs with a cold smirk and perhaps the words, “So what? I’m talented, too, you know.”
Like the time Bebe Cool was all up in my spacial and I had to assure him.
But then Tindatiine walks in and out walks my dignity. My knees turned to jelly, my jaw dropped. My beard was moistened by drool.
“Oh. My. Good. Fucking. Ness. I cannot believe it’s you. Tindatiine! I Looooove your song. Oh my gorrrrsh! I like totally can’t believe it’s actually you. In person. Wheeeeekkk! Wheeekk!” I said, the last two words being me screaming.
I was shaking and shivering and jumping up and down and flapping my hands like those black boys who were acting as white girls in that movie. I may have been splashing sweat and spit on her because she slapped me.
Hard.
She’s a little woman, but she packs a wallop.
She said, “Get a hold of yourself, man! What is the meaning of this outrageous behaviour?!”
It didn’t work. I was still jumping and shrieking. Now I was on, “Oh My Goodness. Tindatiine TOUCHED ME!”
So she hit me with another one.
“Control yourself. Pull yourself together. Cut this nonsense out. You’re acting like the Wayans Brothers in White Chicks, that movie that sucked!”
“That movie didn’t suck…” I started to say, but she slapped me again.
“It sucked! Shut up. Now sit down and stay still. I’m a star, okay?”
My sense began their journey back. “Whatever you say, madam.”
“Now, who is the guy who is going to interview me? I don’t have all day. I have a show at Club Vision Empire this weekend and I need to rehearse.”
While Intrepid Reporter whisked her off to the cocktails/interview room my senses finished their trip and finally returned. I was able to remember that I don’t even like her song anymore. I was able to remember, then, that I am actually getting kind of sick of it. I mean it is everywhere. You can’t escape it.
What I really want to listen to is Angela Kalule’s other song that is as sweet as a mother’s love mixed with chocolate. It is called Oyo Mwana (this is an approximate spelling) and if she would give the internet an mp3, I would put up a link that you, too, may fall for it.
And when I met Angela Kalule, I didn’t turn into whateverthenameoftheguy/girlinwhitechicks. I was dignified, and greeted her with poise and class, informing her that I enjoyed her work, accepting her gracious response and moving on.
And when I met Iryn, I was all, “What’s up.” And she was “What’s up.” and then we were like, “Aight, Later.” And that was it.
Then this chick Tindatiine slaps me.
Surely.
and now our sponors have a word:
In case you have been wondering where Bikozulu is, we had him in a bunker in the Chinese deserts. We put a gun to his head and said, you have two choices: starting a blog is one…”
This is the result.
Friday, October 6, 2006
Too easy
It is way too easy to go and sound gay. I am not just talking about when a male person uses the word "fuschia" in a sentence. And reveals that he actually knows what it means.
(For the record, I wasn’t even sure how to spell it, okay?)
Now, I happen to know a few stellar constellations. Constellations as in those star groups with names. I know a lot of useless things and constellations is one of them. I don’t think I can offer a valid excuse or reason why. I was bored and young and stupid. Instead of using my time constructively I went and learnt where Taurus is in the sky.
I mentioned this to a friend of mine once, innocently and in passing, as one does. He mulled over it for a second then, evidently thinking “This shit might impress chicks” he asked me to show him some.
Actually, he is a born again Christian, so his thoughts might have been more like, “This s**t might impress chicks”, but he asked me to teach him a couple of constellations and I did. I showed him Orion, Canis Major, Scorpio and The Pleiades. The exhibition was carried out in a stoically macho way, with no sentiment whatsoever. All I did was grunt and point. “That one is Orion, that one is Scorpio etc”.
The very next day, when this chap and I met in a populated area where there were very many people with ears, out of the blue, and with no provocation at all, he blurted out, “Baz, we should go and look at the stars again tonight.”
He leater explained that he just wanted to make sure the diagrams he had drawn in preparation for his chick-impressing activities were accurate. But I still had to spend the next few weeks fending off mean jokes and cruel cajolings.
Such as those you are thinking of right this minute.
(For the record, I wasn’t even sure how to spell it, okay?)
Now, I happen to know a few stellar constellations. Constellations as in those star groups with names. I know a lot of useless things and constellations is one of them. I don’t think I can offer a valid excuse or reason why. I was bored and young and stupid. Instead of using my time constructively I went and learnt where Taurus is in the sky.
I mentioned this to a friend of mine once, innocently and in passing, as one does. He mulled over it for a second then, evidently thinking “This shit might impress chicks” he asked me to show him some.
Actually, he is a born again Christian, so his thoughts might have been more like, “This s**t might impress chicks”, but he asked me to teach him a couple of constellations and I did. I showed him Orion, Canis Major, Scorpio and The Pleiades. The exhibition was carried out in a stoically macho way, with no sentiment whatsoever. All I did was grunt and point. “That one is Orion, that one is Scorpio etc”.
The very next day, when this chap and I met in a populated area where there were very many people with ears, out of the blue, and with no provocation at all, he blurted out, “Baz, we should go and look at the stars again tonight.”
He leater explained that he just wanted to make sure the diagrams he had drawn in preparation for his chick-impressing activities were accurate. But I still had to spend the next few weeks fending off mean jokes and cruel cajolings.
Such as those you are thinking of right this minute.
Tuesday, October 3, 2006
A break from our regularly scheduled programming for this word from our sponsor
High-quality stage names for upcoming local artistes at very good prices. You cannot, as they say when they don’t know the difference between a transitive verb and its intransitive cousin, afford to miss!
Dreddy Mac
@ Sh320,000
Perfect for ragga dancehall performers with eccentric hair who wish to use the Rastafarian religion to gain some appearance of spiritual depth even though all they do is smoke weed and sing about getting laid. For an extra sh50,000 we’ll throw in the title MC.
Stone P
@ Sh 220,000
For singers who wish to work with tribal songs fused with modern styles. Good for people with provincial roots. If you are from the east, you can claim that the name alludes to the Tororo rock. Or if you are from Jinja you can say the name alludes to the word Jinja translated into English. Works wherever you are from. (Allusions @ sh20,000)
Jam Dizz
Sh70,000
For the one hit wonder or curtain raiser who chants barely-decipherable non-rhyming party clichés over karaoke beats
Bustaman
Sh70,000
Are you a flunky, buttkissing henchman clinger-on? This is the name for you.
Come one come all to your one stop shopping thing for all your slogan needs. UBS-approved.
Dreddy Mac
@ Sh320,000
Perfect for ragga dancehall performers with eccentric hair who wish to use the Rastafarian religion to gain some appearance of spiritual depth even though all they do is smoke weed and sing about getting laid. For an extra sh50,000 we’ll throw in the title MC.
Stone P
@ Sh 220,000
For singers who wish to work with tribal songs fused with modern styles. Good for people with provincial roots. If you are from the east, you can claim that the name alludes to the Tororo rock. Or if you are from Jinja you can say the name alludes to the word Jinja translated into English. Works wherever you are from. (Allusions @ sh20,000)
Jam Dizz
Sh70,000
For the one hit wonder or curtain raiser who chants barely-decipherable non-rhyming party clichés over karaoke beats
Bustaman
Sh70,000
Are you a flunky, buttkissing henchman clinger-on? This is the name for you.
Come one come all to your one stop shopping thing for all your slogan needs. UBS-approved.
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