One man's meat; did another man eat it?

Secretly we(silent majority) love the villain but publicly we praise the hero. This particular morning, I sat in a 14-seater taxi from Kyanja with the intention of accessing the central point of Kampala Capital City in the shortest time possible. As is the routine, 06:00am - 08:00am are rush hours for almost everyone around the city especially for taxi drivers. I witnessed the taxi guy dodging corners and using all the insane edges to escape the traffic jam and even when I closed my eyes not to see what this "mad" guy was up-to, my heart was beaming with excitement both at the thrill that came with the rush and also at the fact that he worked against my time constraints.

Did I feel guilty about my inner man? Insignificantly yes! A tingly thing in me felt like this guy was my hero in this particular moment and I bet you must be thinking, "how can human beings be this selfish?" But you already knew that, right? It is debatable whether human beings are innately selfish or not, but that's for another day.

The nature of a villain is unapologetic, unkempt, with no limits nor boundaries, always up for a challenge and one that he will put up a good fight for. Fortunately or unfortunately such struggles always end not in his/her favor but rather in favor of the hero, bringing to life the words, "Good always wins". In fact, because we depict the villains to be shrewd, gigantic and masculine, it is rare to even imagine a woman as villain later on a hero. In movies, the closest she has been is from Ugly Betty on one side and a witch, bitchy high-school fellow or evil stepmother in snow-white on the other. Well, thanks to WONDERWOMAN and the likes, for extending our imaginary lenses to this fierce woman.

Villains are always portrayed as fun characters while the heroes are just boring figures only intended to ride on our empathy. One might say that these are just movies, but the influence they have on us is just immeasurable and can be depicted in how we interpret our daily struggles, institutional movements and political regimes. Epithets no longer motivate heroism nor deter villain-ism.

The other day I visited the Uganda Museum which featured the Unseen Archives of Idi Amin Dada and I left challenge seeing a hero in the eyes of a villain. Slowly by slowly our society and culture are drifting into treating villains as heroes and we are back to the drawing board where one man's meat is another man's poison. I guess at the end of the day what matters is who tells the story and I pray that GOOD will always win.

Remember that "Until lions learn to write, every story of the jungle will glorify the hunter" African Proverb.

Edited version

I edited my story, thinking I'd feel good about the narration. Where convenient I threw in a little white lie and swiftly moved on with my life. Partly it was due to my shame, then my pride and also because I could. It's not easy to tell people exactly what is on your heart that sometimes I just want to draw a sketch and leave the mapping to whom it may concern. Trust issues are a big block to expression and may eventually lead to depression. 

For a while now, I have been advocating for authenticity but little did I know that half a truth is sometimes worse than a naked lie. One day I am testifying God's goodness after I lost my phone over the Good Samaritan who gave it back to me intact and the next am embarrassed to tell anyone about the trauma of having the same phone gruesomely snatched out of my hands along my other possessions only that this time, the situation is life threatening.

On this fateful evening, I arrived at my gate nearly at the same time with these two young men, after one of those long beautiful day (insert smiley face). Little did I know that it was to end with a long face. In my happy heart, these were just some of those passersby probably heading their way that I even dared to tender in my greetings. In a blink, one of them quickly reached out for my mouth to deter me from uttering any word while the other held the Safeboda guy I had arrived with at "Panga Point". For a minute I was in shock, and the next I was burning with anger at the helpless state I had just been subjected to by these young men turned thugs who in my judgement seemed to have just been welcomed into  their adulthood.

Let's just say I was given one more reason not to trust humans, but hey, what about my first episode about the Good Samaritan? what about my neighbors who reached out to me and hugged that trauma away, gave me a place to stay and food to warm my heart again? what about all those nights I have managed to get home safe and sound? what about all the good days in which I have enjoyed the calm and peace on this planet? what about every morning I wake up to my conscience? Or rather, these I have considered obvious and taken for granted?
 

It is very important that we always step aside and stoically recognize God's will in all situations. This will help us rejoice in a place of darkness and to remember that all things work out for the good of those who love the Lord. This love will seek us back into a place of peace and to know who to grieve before is how happiness happens when everything around you suggests otherwise.

I found myself a cheerleader.

Watching a 24 year old Ugandan Champion Halimah Nakaayi, scoop her biggest success so far as a gold medalist in the 800m at the 2019 World Athletics Championships filled me with so much joy not just for patriotic reasons but also motivational ones.

My emotional memory on victory is a faint one and it's for this reason that I'll share my thoughts. Have you ever wanted something so much, so bad and then time lapsed just before it landed in your hands? But it stayed so close like that shimmery yellow mango dangling low in a tree and a beat in your heart tells you, "....you could still get it." Then your hopes subtly die of hiccups.

The anxiety,  disappointment, anger, shame and sometimes depression just at the thought of never getting such an opportunity again or the fear that the same misfortune would invite itself again and you were inclined to feign fate. Most of our victories have died alongside our hopes

Eventually you make it, but all there is on your emotional mind is disappointment that you no longer have any feels left to celebrate your success. Running a race and winning it when all the cheerleaders have already laid their gear down can be a very draining victory. You forget to reward your efforts and celebrate the moment because probably it no longer means the same as it did during your earlier trials! But then it is in that moment that you realize that you have indeed run a good race, and made it till the end, regardless.

What you didn't notice is that "silent" voice in your heart, convincing your mind to withstand all waves around you, to keep moving on even when all your energies are gone.

What you didn't notice is that you became your own cheerleader. Inner celebration is a discipline and I don't mean this wave of parte after parte after parte! I mean that stamp on your chest that reminds you of all your failures hard enough to counter that with a shout of praise when victory finally arrives.

A pendulum oscillates in two direction with equal energies at equal speeds, one side should never frustrate the other. Let all your victories and failures increase your energy to grow, to increase your momentum and to make you a better person. Sometimes when the world around you goes to sleep, you have to encourage yourself to be that person you still dream about like David always did.

Mr.Google sir!!

It's been a long time coming but here we are my dear friend. Like so many other relationships, ours has not been an exception to the ups and downs. Initially it seemed like a one sided relationship with you offering me your services in exchange for just my consent. You availed yourself for me to search in whichever way I deemed fit as long as my pockets permitted so. 

You gave me a world without borders, a person without body, built my imagination beyond measure, turned my 4-walled room into a global village and before I could tell I was willingly offering you my world and turning my diary into a theater stage with pages turning like they were curtains rolling up for a fresh performance every single day just before crafting the darkest of my secrets into a museum.

Little did I know that every time I thought I was searching you, you were instead searching me. I thought I was signing on privacy policies but instead I was signing on surveillance policies. I thought I had the entire world to imagine and yet all you did was to tame my imagination, my conscience and my thoughts. You blindfolded me with a love bug I haven't been able to reciprocate and at the moment I fear I fell for all the traps you lured me into. 

You have walked after me faster than my shadow and in sync with my footprints.
You know all my friends and whatever they know about me more than I could ever imagine.
You know all my thoughts and also keep record of all the versions without any edit. It's painful to think of all the times you have watched me struggle to spell words like weird, entrepreneurship and you keep a record of such embarrassment I have caused my English teachers.

In my earlier wild google search, I found pictures I took a number of years ago, where i took them and with whom which left my gut demons unsettled. All my dirty linen was still intact from past relationships to all the memories I have struggled to forget overtime. Do you ever forget anything between us?

I beg to be forgotten however selective it maybe in this era where passwords, phone numbers, locations, health records, keys, personal data, etc are no longer for us to cram. I change my mind overtime yet not even auto-correct which seemed to help me turned out to work against my dynamics. Today I fear to hold conversations around you because I have realized that the walls you built between us have ears. They have eyes that don't just work like cameras but rather X-rays into my spirit. Worse still is that you have capitalized on this our relationship for so long and it's high time we revised the terms and conditions. Each time I look into your eyes hoping to find that love that first drew me in, all I see is surveillance. 

Am I just too paranoid?

I have been forced to wonder, where I would be if God kept records of all my shortcomings, waiting somewhere for that opportune moment to use it all against me, as well as going on to coerce people out there to side with him at my detriment whenever it is convenient for him. But God is love and love keeps no record of wrong.

Mr. Google Sir, I seek an opportunity for us to reconcile with each other.

I showed up, and showed off

At the speed of light I dashed into the washrooms, this time round for number 3. My Saturday classes start at exactly 9:00 am but we all must be in class by 8:50 am that even a minute later will cost you a 20,000ugx as fine. The problem here is that by Friday the previous day, all that my brain thinks about is parte after parte after parte. An interruption to this for a morning class is such a heavy weight. Since I stay miles away from the venue I often use a "SafeBoda" for safety and convenience. But this one Saturday, I missed the clock ticking for a light meal I intended for breakfast.

I intimated to the SafeBoda rider, Lutaaya, that my time was fast spent but as you know you can't have your cake and also eat it, he didn't give a damn. He is one of those guys devoted to all the traffic rules including speed limit. I hated that I was selfishly asking him to go against the values he signed up for. Anyway, his integrity drew me back to my senses. He took his time but I managed to arrive just in time, 3 minutes to 8:50.

With a pacing beat of heart, I feared I was evidence of all the morning rush and fury in my head. Aptly, I sneaked into the washrooms for a touch up and to my amusement I run into other ladies patching up their looks. I burst into laughter to calm my panic and one of them carrying the weight of mind like I did, whispered to me, "ekitooke kiffa nsalira". According to my judgement she could be in her 50s and the other in her 40s. Listening to them say that you should never do yourself a disservice by not looking your best at any given time spoke to my already whirling spirit.

"Why would they care about their look at their age?" I thought to myself. Then I remembered the wise words of a good friend on erotic capital, a 4th type of capital after economic, cultural and social which tickled my brain abit. Brought to life by Catherin Hakim, erotic capital is one of the kind that every individual is lucky to own naturally even when artificially it can be acquired. Ever passedby a guy and you clearly see effort in what he appears like regardless of the results, that's it, best emulated as a lawyer's capital; the dresscode, the language, the humor and charm all wrapped in cloak of wisdom.

In this feminist world of "bukowu" this beauty bias won't hurt anyone. It's such an adorable thing to find that some people still care about what they look like, smell like and it's sad we have alienated these by referring to them as slay queens/kings for an effort we are forfeiting. As we work on what our brains look like, our wallets, and social circles, let's not forget that image.

Next time I passby you looking like a snack and smelling like candy, remember I have attended my classes. Yes, I am coming for your attention. I'll leave this to the wishes though, that everyday I appear like I am trying to impressing that Prince charming, polish my accent like 24/7 is time for that interview to heaven. That when am gone, you'll remember that each time I had an opportunity, I showed up and showed off.

Arrival-ism in the Downtown.

I bought a pair of crimson red shoes (mu'china) from a street in Kampala's Downtown at only thirteen thousand Uganda shillings. I had been wearing one of my favorite Stilettos but shortly they became an inconvenience in this part of the city because of the many angry people down there pushing me left, right and center as it always is the norm. I only needed any shoes for comfort temporarily and these seemed to serve the purpose.

One month down the road, I was stunned by the fact that these shoes had not even amassed a slight amount of dust nor mad on these streets of ours in their unkempt nature. Only then did I notice just how much care I took while walking as though I was treading on eggshells. My "usual" shoes which I take time to select suggested strength and longevity by their pricing that's often higher which is why I walked so carelessly in them even when I kept a tidy soul. By comparison it seemed like my "mu'china" was stronger than my Aldos original shoe.

The magic may not be about the material of my shoes but rather my managerial techniques. I expected the former to be weak and temporary that I gave them my best behavior unlike the later where my expectations were high that I sluggishly cut their lifespan short.

For many Ugandans, we speak of "government etuyambe" where our expectations are so high that anything below it's belt calls for a state outcry. A couple of weeks ago, while having a chat with a colleague from Djibouti before the atmosphere was hijacked into a party, she mentioned that in her country there is a sizable number of refugees that were settled in one of their ruined towns from Yemen and within no time, this place had been developed into a great city. Then I remembered a conversation with one good Local Council leader from Amuru District, Northern Uganda who expressed his sentiments about refugees settled in a camp in his district who are seemingly developing at a higher rate than his locals in the area. Let's not forget the kind of atrocious acts being committed by South Africans against the many other Africans in this part of the country. (Xenophobia)

I understand refugees get a lot of external aid to better themselves as well as good guidance from the host community but why is it that they demonstrate higher commitment for their works than most locals. 

Should I imagine that locals suffer from an expectancy syndrome? That they expect things to be done for them, with a certain sense of entitlement than it is the case for refugees. Let's look at the so called legitimate children against the illegitimate ones or even street children against the "formally" raised ones. In a place where you have to fend for yourself without much expectation from your surrounding, you seek aid from within. And trust me I have seen God come through for such moments and such people.

Our expectations shouldn't corrupt our responsibility but rather, as the theory goes, they should keep us motivated with valence. Also, comfort zones should be temporary lest we suffer the arrival-ism syndrome and these birds will gladly grasp away the grain. The same manners we exhibit while visiting a Very Important Person should stick with us in our own homes just like my hard core shoes deserve the same kind of treatment as my mu'china.

Let's live on the edge, for when we become of age, our lives will be worth every breath.

To love the unlovable (Love at second sight!)

Should LOVE be a choice? Or rather, one of those rights enshrined in the Bill of Rights? Like food, safety, shelter, education, clothing, and all other things that satisfy and nourish the flesh, love should be treated as such, just as we treat someone's conscience,  privacy, health, liberty, movement and innocence. 

I believe that we all have a right to love and be loved. Everyone (classified as good and bad people) deserves to be loved. We all yearn for some good loving, but are less bothered by how to love back. What's worse is that we actually feel justified to only love the people that love us first or those we think deserve to be loved according to our worldly (societal) standards. And now with the aid of Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp love emoticons, loving has been given a different face.😍❤

A few months ago, I went on a soul search. My own soul, is what came first to mind, and no sooner had I dived into the search, than I realised how crappy my soul had become that I couldn't stand me. The message I saught after was embedded in the mess I found within. I understood why scriptures like "Love your neighbour as you love yourself" only sounded good at a distance. Then 1st Corinthians 13 happened.

How could I have loved anyone as I loved myself if I didn't love me first and yet loving me also had no manuscript. To learn to love me meant to clone myself over a casestudy viewing and learning to bear with all my actions, thoughts, successes, failures, past, present and future. Brethren, this felt like pouring iodine onto a fresh cut. To come face to face with my naked soul was extremely terrifying that only the clothing of God's grace could calm the situation. 

I noticed that there is this guy who sees this soul in its wretched self and rugged clothes every single micro second but loves me unconditionally that he would leave his riches in glory to lay himself down over and over again for me to have life in its abundance.

He whispered to me, "You are more than what you think you are. You are an example of his exceeding grace, a workmanship, master piece, a prize worth boosting over." Now I can say that all good and perfect gifts are from God. He loved me, and in me he planted a garden with loads of fruits, passions, gifts and desires to deliver unto his people. To love him back became automatic that in response to Christ's love, loving all I had a hard time loving became so easy.

Lying naked on the floor, illusioned, ashamed,  disappointed, angry, destroyed, condemned, insecure, betrayed, persecuted gave me a new vision of what could possibly be beyond the horizons. Love needs no qualifier but if it ever does, it should be that we were loved first.

When no one felt deserving, Grace became our qualifier. 

In the words of Leo Tolstoy, "Everything I know, I know because of love." Live and act in love, give that "streetchild" a big hug, kiss that prisoner's forehead goodbye, tell your neighbour that you love them and pat yourself on the back everyday regardless and before you correct every wrong out there, do it in love. 

#Natukunda (He Loves Us)