I do not pick fights with females. I value my life.

I tend to be, sometimes, only occasionally, just a little bit, confrontational. I know how to throw down and I will throw myself into the fray of every and any fight. As long as it’s with men.

I gotta tell you, women scare me. If a woman tells me she wants to beat me, I will prostrate before her on my knees, beg for surrender and kiss her feet. Because let me tell you something.

When it comes to fights, women become possessed by an external force that turns them into efficient pain delivery machines. Fighting with a man is predictable. Verbally and physically. Arms and fists and all that, they lack no imagination. But a woman will kill you with a fingernail, a shoe, hair pins that appear out of nowhere, she’ll rip your own damn hair out, drag you across-you get the drift.

Women are unpredictable, and when they’re mad, lordy, they are MAD. Even if the other woman is in the wrong, I will earnestly beg her forgiveness and offer her my handbag as a gesture of my sincerest apologies.

Please don’t kill me.

I’m not ashamed to be stupid

I’ve been interacting with a gentleman I met online. I don’t usually ‘be-friend’ strangers on an Internet but he’s followed my writing for years and soon we became pen pals, come to speak.

Until in his foreign privilege to be a snob without logic or reason he asked me when Africans are going to ‘get their shit together’.

This man is from Ireland. I felt like asking him how in spite of having only two ‘tribes’-nationalists and loyalists, I think-they hadn’t gotten their own shit together. But I no longer engage in such arguments. Only if I want to sleep.

In the course of our chats, it emerged that I was ignorant about certain geographical and historical contexts of countries. In his words, “I’m shocked at your ignorance of basic blah blah.”. He wasn’t polite about it either.

I don’t have time for wahala anymore from people who think they graduated from the University of Wikipedia. No one is not stupid in something.

This shaming of people for their flaws is an unfortunate practice of humans. People run to Google rather than say ‘I have’t a clue’ and good for you but you really make your life difficult.

It took me a long time for example to not be ashamed of being thin in a part of Africa where it’s tantamount to criminal negligence. I’m not ashamed to be a scatterbrain. I’m not ashamed to be extremely forgetful. I’m not ashamed to ‘confrontational’. I’m not ashamed to always be chronically late. I can work on my bad sides but I cannot be ashamed of them.

I made a decision one day to embrace my flaws and polish my virtues and it’s made all the difference. It is natural for good and bad to co-exist together.

Don’t ever let anyone shame you for being a human. And if you consider yourself superior to anyone, you are ignorant-of the other person’s gitfts that you dont have.

There are many baskets for your eggs

“Don’t put all your eggs in one basket”.

A common phrase which is not applied in real life. In fact, it is encouraged not to apply it so I don’t know why they wasted time inventing the quote. Businessmen, ‘success stories’ etc. Everyone of them usually says, “Focus on only one thing at a time”.

I was watching Tyler Perry give advice on how to succeed and he went on and on about the importance of choosing one thing and sticking to it. And it works. But there’s never just one way.

There are people who are designed to be employees. Don’t even tell ’em you want to form a company with them. They don’t have the time for that stress. There are people who are great at having one idea and executing it over decades.

And then there are the ones touched by the muses themselves. The musician who is also an actor who is also a writer. I first ‘met’ Oprah Winfrey as an actress before I ever saw her as a talk show host and my goodness, the woman can act. Then the talk show hosts and presidents who find time to write a book while still working. Jennifer Lopez is a singer and a dancer and somehow manages to maintain a career in body hotness maintenance (witchcraft). Frank Sinatra released countless music albums and acted at the same time. For those who think dancing and acting and singing are one career, there are actors who choose to drop singing for acting and singers who drop acting for singing.

There are the actors who are also producers, executive producers and directors of multiple projects covering different themes.

I think these people are not particularly special. I like to think of them as outliers which is why the message of focusing on only one thing is ‘normal’. Most theoretically normal people operate in this fashion and that is the notion that is projected as good advice. So how many outliers are focusing on one thing when they have more than one ability they can attempt to apply in their lives?

Like eggs, wealth of ideas, talents and work should not be kept in one basket as a rule of thumb, in my humble opinion. ‘Normal’ changed as soon as COVID-19 paid the planet a visit and I think this age old rule has probably affected a lot of careers and people if they had a choice of several baskets to store their eggs in and only chose one.

Produced 18 films, starred and directed in some of them, acted in 61 films. Musically, he recorded 59 albums and 297 singles. I think that’s two baskets of eggs?
And lots of cocaine coz that kind of work production ain’t natural.

Why I am, and always will be, against the anti-smoking campaign

Many years ago, a zealous organization embarked on a campaign against tobacco use, citing all the dangers, people it kills etc. I had quit smoking for about a year at the time and did not start up again until five years later.

Anyway, they approached me about being some sort of ambassador because I had ‘given up the vice’. I told them no. I told them I did not like how they were spreading their message. I didn’t want people who smoke to be demonized and those who don’t to be pillars of morality. I don’t like hypocrisy. Many things kill people in Uganda but are not demonized and those who practice the acts are not demonized either.

I saw what was coming down the road (I’ll give you sufficient evidence as you read) and I didn’t like it. I wanted the focus to be on allocating smoking areas, and providing help for people who want to quit.

The law that was passed provides the focus I expected of smoking distances, zones etc. The coalition did, as I suspected, a spectacular job of using the law to viciously attack the freedoms of the right to smoke. They focused on the penalties, the punishments, the jail time, with a vigor that would make the early missionaries ascend to heaven on the spot, twirling in ecstasy.

The law and the coalition advertised the campaign in such a way that smokers are now scared to smoke where the law allows them to. I am abused smoking in smoking zones by fans of the coalition. I have been threatened to be shot by a prisons officer. SHOT!

I was in a restaurant once (smoking area) when KCCA came in and did their thing with gusto. Poor manager. They told him it was illegal to allow smokers. They threatened to shut him down, revoke his licence.

I have not yet learned the patience of how to deal with ignorant exploitative bullies like a grown up. I invited the KCCA men to join me, cigarette in hand, and asked why they were they doing harassing the manager. I toldthem I was seated in a smoking zone, it was not illegal to smoke, and they were committing an actual crime of harassment for solicitation of a bribe. They didn’t bother to deny the bribe part.

The KCCA guy genius instead told me if I wanted to smoke I should go to the toilet.

Gods of verses, insult challenge accepted

I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and by the time I was done, they left with their tails between their legs and abject apologies.

Threats of shooting. Threats of closing restaurants. Individuals being abused in public for being smokers. We have an anti-tobacco law but we also have an anti-tobacco campaign.

And the campaign is the biggest collection of selfish cow dung typical of Ugandan ‘morality’ being used abusively, citing public health as a justification. No one is demonized for drinking alcohol or eating junk food. They affect public health and kill too. It is not addressed so we have alcoholism, depression, diabetes, pick a disease. Draft a bill. Ban chicken skin.

As for the coalition-as smokers like myself adjust to a new life of persecution, you may start a program for those who want to quit their addiction to nicotine, as well as educating people about the law, and NOT the promotion of denying people the right to smoke.

The rest is too late. You helped yet another law get passed that, while it is an obvious sign of progress, is being used to oppress, persecute and threaten.

So for those who want to come to smokers and lecture them-if you have the right to sit in a bar and eat pork and drink beer daily, you may even die before the smoker. Enjoy the self-righteousness while it lasts.

UGANDANS, I LOVE YOU, BUT DOGS CROSS ROADS BETTER THAN YOU

When I was a child I remember being told how to cross a road.

“Look left. Look right. Look left again. Make sure it’s clear. Go!”

I think they have taken that bit out of the school curriculum because I use bodas a lot and I’m amazed that I haven’t been involved in at least accidents where 60 pedestrians have died.

I occasionally lose my head. I’m on a boda, we’re about to make a turn and a Ugandan without bothering to scope the joint starts crossing the road. He either jumps forward or backwards in alarm when we almost hit him. We didn’t know he wanted to cross and he didn’t check for who was coming.

Ugandans leave their lives at the hands of drivers and boda boda riders because who knows-the law tells them to love complete strangers?

I said sometimes I lose my head. I ask my boda to stop and give the Ugandan a lecture so vitriolic that God feels no need to intercede.

Pedestrians are killed and whoever knocks them down is murdered in mob justice. But just how many of these accidents are killed by the pedestrians themselves?

When I was a teen I crossed the road like a Ugandan one day and got exactly what I deserved. The cat hit me, I crashed into the windshield and lost consciousness. I came to a few minutes later to find the driver being beaten and I had to push the crowd away.

“Leave him alone, it was my fault!”

I rarely say ‘Government etuyambe’ but I’m saying it now. Introduce road crossing into the school curriculum.

GENTLEMEN-STOP LYING TO US ABOUT HOW YOU LIKE OUR HAIR

It has come to my attention over the last couple of years that men are starting to make comments on the Internet like:

“I like women with natural hair”.

“A natural woman is worthy of respect. Keep it real sis!”

“We prefer you natural instead of wearing horses hair on your head”

Blah blah blahblahblahblah.

First of all, having interacted with us for so long, I’d think you know how you prefer us is your business and not ours. But I must address this lie being peddled about.

When I wear my hair natural, women compliment me. Not men. There might be one and a half who have said, “Nice afro” but that’s about it.

But when I wear a wig. Or a weave. Or extensions. Lucifer and Jesus work together to take the wheel.

And that is the reason some women may choose to relax or not have natural hair. Ladies, shoot me if you’re offended, and I’m also open to insults which I much prefer to shooting. But shoot me with a slingshot, not a gun. I don’t want you to go to jail.

I’m gonna share two pictures of myself and I’d like people to think about it. Which one would get more attention from men?

I’ve even kept the afro-pic humongous but which would get the most whistles?

I always forget a face

I have this special personality where I forget faces. The Gods blessed me with it for a reason I am yet to ascertain. Over the years, I learned that I have to meet a person about five times before I remember them.

This facial recognition deficiency appears to be limited to men. I know, weird right? At first it used to mortify me.

Me: “Hi, I’m Lindsey”.

Him: “Yes, I know. We’ve met”.

Me: “Really? When?”

Him: “Four times”.

Me: “Oh. Well, erm…okay, great to meet you again!”.

Long pause.

Me: “So what’s your name again?”.

I thought I would improve with time. Nope. But I have adjusted quite well to my mental illness.

Me: “Hi, I’m Lindsey”.

Him: “Yes, I know. We’ve met”.

Me: “I’m so sorry. I have this thing where I forget faces. So how many times have I forgotten you?”.

Awkward pause as the man fights with his ability to practice social niceties.

Him: “You’re the one who introduced me to so and so at this event”.

Me: “I’m sorry, who? And what event?”

Another awkward pause. For him, not for me. He needs his moment of incredulity.

It may make me seem like a cad but if my facial recognition software is fried…

I regret nothing

P.S: And this is nothing compared to my spatial intelligence. Last night I spent 15 minutes looking for a place I’d been to twice and it was right in front of me. With a glowing neon sign. 

 

 

 

The matatus, the earphones and me

This is a story dedicated to all the annoying people that think a taxi radio is not sufficient to entertain us.

There are the people who play their phone music throughout the journey as I try to figure out who to listen to. Driver or ingrate? And then there are the addicts who click on video after video on their phone until I begin to be concerned about their space.

It drives me craze insane and I keep a very tight lip to prevent simply exploding into the person’s ear, tossing their phone out the window and then stopping the taxi to run after it and stomp on it.

Jesus would understand, Sister

Why, thank you Kirk. That is precisely the feeling I had when I one day tapped a woman on the shoulder. She reluctantly looked up from her ear shattering video to see what I wanted.

“Are you the DJ of this taxi?”, I inquired. “Because if you’re not, please buy earphones. I don’t want to listen to anymore of your videos and music. It’s for your ears, I didn’t sign up to be entertained by you so please buy earphones to avoid inconveniencing passengers.

To prove my point, I got my phone out, plugged in my earphones and drummed her out.

I endured a few more episodes of this in public taxis until again, I was seated right next to a woman who was the taxi DJ. We were in a traffic jam. No, thanks. No, no, no. I tapped her on the shoulder.

“Do you have earphones?”, I asked her.

She had the grace to look uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll buy earphones today”.

That’s my girl.

 

I used to be one of those people that never understood mob justice

I’d seen it growing up. Someone caught trying to steal something and in seconds he’s hovering  between life and death. It disgusted me, those herds of raving lunatics hypnotized by the the Lord of the Flies mentality, heaping upon one thief all their personal rages and frustrations.

Pathetic. I rescued a thief once. Used to be real proud of too. And then I grew old enough to be a thief magnet. And then society evolved so that thieves stopped just taking stuff and started killing you along with it. Let’s just say I view them as less than unfortunate beings as people who now quiet literally kill their victims over a phone. My former sympathies now reside in the circle of the Andromeda galaxy.

I’m sorry, did you want my property?

I didn’t know just how much a thief can disorganize your entire life. They have disorganized me enough to make me want to hire a hit man for stealing even nail varnish. The pains I have endured due to laptop, phone losses and the worst-national I.D-makes me have pleasant dreams of throttling thieves and not saving them.

Theoretically mob justice is wrong. I get that. I also know that if I manage to catch a thief, I can’t deny that a small  part of me won’t go livin’ la vida loca for every thief that’s ever messed my life up.

On a more serious note, mob justice would not have to be an option if we had safe roads, street lights and a non-corrupt justice system.

 

When are we going to stop beating our children?

I was having a conversation with a neighbor’s daughter once in the kitchen as I poured myself a cup of coffee.

“What’s that”, she asked.

“Coffee”, I slurped.

“I can’t take coffee”.

“Why not?”, I wanted her to answer the question very very badly coz like, I’m always seeing on TV that kids shouldn’t drink coffee till they’re like 34, and I’ve always wanted to know why.

“Mummy will beat me if I drink coffee”.

“Why?”, I asked her.

“She’ll just beat me”.

So child doesn’t know why she can’t take coffee. Mummy has more time to beat child over and over than explain why coffee is bad for her. And I guarantee you child is drinking coffee.

See, this is what beating ever did for me. I learned to lie, cheat, steal, evade responsibility for bad behavior, frame others for my sins and breathe a sigh of relief as they got punished for it…

Oh dear. I was a very naughty girl.

The worst effect though was academic. Before the environs of school I was beaten for having a literary and not mathematical head. Ironically it turns out I do have a head for numbers but my brain just preferred literature more.

Enter school where I was beaten for failing damn near everything except English and Composition (God bless you, colonialists). The more I was beaten, the worse I got. By the time I finished school I believed I had an I.Q of (sssshhhhh) and made no attempt to see if I didn’t.

This beating thing is evident as children mature into adults. We don’t talk, negotiate or compromise. Punitive measures are the easiest ways to get results out of people and that, I assure you, is one of the reasons we are backward. We think backward, we act backward, we stay backward. Period.

To wrap it up. A few days ago, I rescued a little duckling which I kept for a few days while I canvassed the neighborhood looking for who had lost a duck. Upon finding the owner, I was returning the little darling back home when I was besieged by neighborhood children who wanted to hold it. Then it happened.

“When it pupus in the wrong place, do you beat it?”, asked a victim of domestic abuse.

“What?”, I exclaimed. “Why would I beat it for anything?”

All the children were suddenly attentive.

“You mean you never beat it?”

I adopted a look of shock and horror on my face.

“Why would I beat it? I mean, why would you even ask me that? Beating is…beating is….my goodness, beating is just…”.

A light bulb flickered in the mind of one of the children.

“Is beating bad?”, he asked me.

“Yes. Beating is very very bad”.

“But Mummy-”

Oh, fuck mum