Monthly Archives: May 2014

 

I FAILED ON THIS

We are taught to work hard so we can go to heaven. We must watch our ways, be hurtles and harmless. We are taught of integrity sijui character and all those things; so we can be morally upright. Grooming begins from home and we are beaten for stealing those sugar crystals and though school and church. All stories rotate just about the same line; do and don’t.

At our work places, it even becomes clearer when we are taught (and forced to cram) company values so we can work within the limits but what do we do?

This morning my boss moved out, later my immediate supervisor followed (I don’t whether she left because he had left but all the same- left) at large I had all the liberty to do whatever I wanted. Picked my flash disk walked to the printer printed my stuff.

Company policy puts it clear; not to download material not connected to the company. This I didn’t but to explain that the downloaded material on my disk was not from company internet is harder than mashing a stone so I live it at that.

Secondly, printing material not required for the company is more offensive and criminal than treason. I broke it.

The question of consciousness and integrity is hard to explain when you are a person like me. In the absence of all and a solo presence of only self, I feel there is more noise than Kampala on riot. This is what I feel. This is the normal life we or I live; knowing the right but doing exactly the opposite. Then you wonder why did I do it?

ARRIVALISM

 

I won’t stop politicking, if I am

There is no evil in speech

No word has ever broken a bone

Much as all hearts have melted to it.

Every time we don’t speak, someone cries

Every time we cry, someone heals.

 

We are the nation that lives the politics

We are the nation stubbed by the leadership

The dead never know they’re dead

And neither do the ignorant

I don’t want to believe we’re either.

 

The poor shall always take orders

The poor shall always be led

They shall always be laid

And they believe they shall always be delivered.

 

The media kills the imagination

And the imagination dies from the concentration on the pleasures of the desired bearable.

Those who give shadows of tokens to re-send them to power

In the end we’re rewarded for not thinking

And we loudly clap our hands.

The rich hide from the poor sources of their wealth

The poor crawl to the heights of the rich

Only to land legs last.

We’re the responsible men who raise funds to marry our wives.

 

 

Our nation shall not be changed by words sweet to the tongue

Our nation shall heal from the deliberate effort of hard work and hard labour

This is not the time for arrivalism

Nor the time of rural urban excitement

This is the time for self construction.

A SELFIE OF SORTS

 

We refuse to address words with the right terms because we want to be seen as caring or generous people. Truth is that, we are all selfish. We keep the dear things to ourselves and the (irrelevant) surplus we give away—generously.

Look at a child, a baby less than a year. This small creature while suckling the breast, stenches out one hand and tightly grips on to the other breast. Should you show a sign of interruption, you’ll dance to the tunes.

Selfism is something just inborn. We should not deny that it comes with the oxygen we breath. We never take for granted all things said either or against us.

The reason we love family members or friends or (particularly) our spouses is because they whispered in OUR ears, “I love you.”

When we pick out beautiful pens or pencils at the store, what do we write first? Don’t we write our names? This is the same reason why we get personalized number plate and street names closing in at our gates.

#TellAFeministThankYou

this is not feminism, its about character

Rizzy's Katogo

My dad passed away when I was 7.

He used to tell me I’d be Miss Uganda and the President of Uganda at the same time because I was left handed and as good looking as he was (its ok, roll your eyes all you want). Of course he had no idea how that opened a door for me to dream of all the endless possibilities that could be my future, he probably just wanted me to smile and feel special. I have over time wanted to be an astronaut, a pathologist, a choreographer, a pilot, a journalist and now finally studying to be a lawyer. I can’t wait to know what I’ll want to be at 35.

Nothing for me is reserved for men.

I remember how after he passed away, my mum took on the burden of raising me alone. We still went to our paternal village for…

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Renewed Promise to my Blog.

There are things we don’t know.

I did not know it were like this, that’s why I abandoned you. I thought that with a blog, everything would freely flow like water—uninterrupted.

There is this thing that grips on you and feel like this is the real thing. Then in a very short span it lets you free and it’s gone. I don’t want to associate that grip to a sexual arousal but for matters of clarity, permit me.

When you’ve just began blogging, you always want to blog something, everything and anything as much as conscious permits. Then, like appetite for your best meal, with time, dwindles. So, what’s the problem?

Clearly, to me its self blame and lack of commitment to keep to the promise. When the reader is committed to find out what is been written and only to be disappointed. Good writers should be better cooks whose food attracts people to eat. That committed writer is the one I haven’t been. That committed writer is the one, now on, wish to be.

I settle for three blogs a week and that is every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 1000hrs. This is my renewed promise.

With time, we shall zero on the topic to discuss. Feel free to follow up. Friday, the review of the Boss, Pause; It’s Poetry show that took place on Monday 12th May 2014

WAIT FOR MY TURN

In the bid to be the daring person I have chosen to be, I put forward my resolve. When I become the lecturer, I will be terrible. I will treat my damn students with such a hand. I will do the best harshness has ever got.

I don’t want to speak doom, no! all I want is to wake up one night and give those future seekers a traumatizing assignment. Its depth shall sentence them to an eye of public exclusion and endeavor to make its resource as hard as access can be. They will have their heads bulge and their ears thinking to the core.

I want something not so evil but just a little punishing that can contain the rage that sits in my heart. Students should study and pass but should pay the right currency of “to strive.”

I will make the inevitable very undesirable, and they will find a reason for holding a graduation ceremony.

Meanwhile, I will sit back to race with my children on our 4d plasma screen and they will tell me their school stories. After that, I will catch up with folks to empty whatever their shall be as we talk of the day’s headlines then. I will be a grateful person, there after