The Weird I Love

Daylight to seek each other out
Daylight to brew a bond
It’s been long coming
Breaking little twigs on its way
Like this, it is as was meant
On the road so steep
Far across the city, alone
We had a promise made
Pecks, smiles, hugs and hands off
Both under a visible spell
We had a heart and soul pull
To know what to do
To say what you mean to say
The tongue is a razor blade

To shed a tear for mixed emotions, to feel all.
Wouldn’t want to stop, would you? No

I’m in it with you
I’m in you with it
It makes perfect sense
A moment to push and scream
And then relief, sigh
To a soundtrack of perfect tunes
Roses are red and some are black
Blueberries are not
Berry buttons and tongue
Hunting you, hunting me
Your beauty spots
Are like shooting stars
We had a promise made
To shoot cupids darts and axes
An axe to grind. Legs astride
We did. We were in love

To hold so tight, skin to skin, soul to soul, to feel it all.
Wouldn’t want to stop, would you? Oh.

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As I sink into the open sea
We feel the earth. We feel the time
Is it raining outside?
Is the sky grey?
There’s a numbness in my soul
The mind is a lazy place
On the hem of your soul
Is a red carnation
Eat me. Like a cannibal
Fill the gap between you and I
We ignite a spark
We set the fire
We hear the hums
We hum what we hear.
Breathe in, breathe out
It’s life. Don’t stop.
The words weigh heavy on the heart
Tears flow down the cheeks
Just like a blade,the joy went in deep
And it is tearing up inside you.

To catch a smile on your face.To feel alive, loved.
Would cherish that, forever, Wouldn’t you? Yaaaasss.

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Well. Fare thee well, Well.

I’ve been quiet all this time. But not anymore. Infact, I’m done.
Silence is never empty, it’s full of answers.
Just like I’m always full, full of life.

Your ancestors have been to me, I’ve fed them, I’ve quenched their thirst, I’ve filled their pots.
I’ve been a confidant to their secrets.
A testimony to their beingness.
I haven’t expected a modicum of discernment from them. Not for a moment.
I haven’t asked for anything from them.
I haven’t complained, not for a single time.

Your Children have played around me.
Every morning from bed. As they wash out shnooters from their eyes.
Every evening after school. I love it when they discuss their homework as they graze goats. Reminds me of when I was young.
One or two has pulled out his elongation  and peed on me while his friends aren’t looking. I’ve felt offended.

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I’ve tamed my anger and haven’t  swallowed, eaten one up.
Lord knows I’ve tried. And it’s been.
Their balls have hit me in the face.
It’s hurt but I always dust my face and return their balls.
Their goats have drank from me, with their unblushed teeth and nose dripping of mucus. Their cows too. It’s too much.

I’ve seen many a woman’s creation. But I haven’t told a soul. Those that don’t cover their slit, I’ve gazed. And they and I share a resemblance until they cut those bushes. I like looking but I’ve overgrown that.
I only listen and can’t look beyond my lips, and if I did, it’d be the blue sky of day and the stars at night over and over again.
The bushes around have told me alot.
They say they have seen men unbuckle their belts, lower their trousers and shamelessly leave a heap of nasty things.
They’ve seen women’s navels as soap and water caress their body. And sponge scrub their frame.
They’ve held their clothes as they purify.
They’ve heard Ssengas spit chants and pull flesh.
They’ve seen alot, and they’ve intimated to me. I know. Everything. And say nothing.

I won’t say I’ve seen your neighbor get naked and do bad business with your daughter on the grass that covers my belly.
I won’t say I’ve been soaked by the blood and more that spilled on that grass.
I won’t tell you how she cried, laughed and cursed all in unison. I won’t.
I won’t tell you nothing, it’s our secret; the vultures, the sky and I.
Even God doesn’t know. He must have been reading a book, he didn’t look, he didn’t see. I didn’t tell.

Vultures have circled above me. I’ve only been left with empty dreams of flying, soaring high in the skies.
If I could fly, I’d never have to feel the excruciating pain in my eyes.
These birds throw their flying toilets straight in my eyes and there isn’t a single thing I can do. I can’t even visit an optician. It hurts.

It hurts I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep.
I’d love to. Like you do, but can’t. Mosquitoes buzz in my ear all night. Crickets compete for my audience and owls for my attention.
I’m always awake, counting stars, listening to the frogs snore.

I’m tired. Let me return to middle earth to my father’s father’s dwelling. Deep down.
I’ve been here a thousand years, I’ve seen alot. I’ve heard alot. I’m tired.
I’ve said too much today, I’m tired.
Hope all will be well when I’m gone.
I’m tired. Let me dry up as the good old well I’ve been.

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Loose Talk

There’s this morning show on Radio One Fm 90, hosted by Mary Ann and Paul, if I’m not mistaken. *I always tend not to think that that’s two ladies; a Mary, an Ann and the one guy Paul. I happen to tune in most mornings on my my way to work. Today morning, it was a lady sharing about how her boyfriend of three years has a conviction that a man can’t be monogamous. Well not to delve deeper into the show, I picked one or two things though I might have dropped them along the way because I’m still puzzled.

See I’m at that age where sooner I’ll be or should be settling down, so for a guy in times where there’s all kinds of mutual flings here, casual flings there, unusual night stands everywhere, that Radio One issue had me so engrossed and a little bit conjecturing.

Why is finding a ‘soulmate’ or ‘true love’ so big a thing? Are humans actually designed to pair up for life?  At what point do you conceive that this stranger is that one person I’m going to live for the rest of my life? The one person who is entirely mine, whom I won’t share with anyone else, friend or family. Is it biology and genetics, or culture and society? The debate rages on: studies come out and refute one another, books are written and reviewed, experts are cited and dismissed. Sometimes people feel the need to run to psychologists, biologists, and family and sexuality experts for answers. Some run to Witch-doctors and others to “Ssengas”.

Well, I believe Love and everything related is a natural, it’s a given. But back to Monogamy.

These are slippery terms. What does ‘meant to be’ mean? What about ‘monogamous’? I’ll assume they mean ‘evolved to be’ and ‘long-term sexually monogamous’ (as opposed to socially monogamous, for example). More like I won’t stick my leg in another woman’s skirt once the vows are exchanged than I won’t be a Hajji or have multiple side mates.

In that case, it’s clear that Homo sapiens did not evolve as a monogamous species. We are very unusual among mammals in our proclivity for a wide range of non-reproductive sexual practices. We have sex hundreds of times for every baby conceived, whereas most mammals sport a ratio closer to a dozen-to-one. We have sex when the female isn’t even ovulating—or with no female even involved!  *Don’t drop the Soap. We even ingenuously come up with alien sexual practices. You know which ones. *All the heads, the deapthroats, the fistings, the tips and the pull outs.

That’s not typical of mammals. Our bodies, our fantasies, and the fact that we have so many strict regulations around sexual behavior all indicate the depth of our passion for novelty. And why shouldn’t we be attracted to novelty in our sexual lives, when we consider the same appetites to be indicative of intelligence when applied to music, travel, food, languages, art, etc.? I mean I love the sultry Meiko sound, the rough Irene Ntale voice, J.Cole’s flow. Why wouldn’t it be only natural that I’ll love Sandra’s pretty smile, Thandi’s Intellect and Shanice’s long legs?

Well, do I think we are monogamous? I don’t. As hard as it comes, vanishingly few of us restrict ourselves to a single sexual partner over a lifetime. It’s a choice we make over time that aggregates into a habit that regardless of the circumstances keeps us from the other grass, greener as it may look.

There’s no explanation for somethings, no logic and no derivations no permutations, just human behavior.

I could continue but I too hate long posts, if only I could write to be continued…

One Drunk Guy, half a night.

The dark is so hard to beat
The voices playing in my head
Got one toe in the sand
Let’s go adventure

Am so drunk, I think I took the wrong direction.
Am dazed, so confused, seems I downed more than one too much.

The battle to walk in the straight line
In the middle of the dim lit roads

All I am is a mess. Touch my neck and I will bite yours.
One love too much, no bra, no blouse.

The goose pumps.
Gal i think am in love, the way you get down there low.
Have we been here before?
So here is how it goes down, we buy parachutes, we jump deep down into each other’s loins.

Never asking why, we kissed. I think I fell under your spell.
It’s slowly threw me up in the sky, I don’t know if am coming back.

I need to be the one that takes you home.
And I know, I know that you got everything but I have nothing without you.

I still fall face first sometimes.
I swear I can’t do it. With this draft published.

It makes no sense. So is Love.

Solomon Kitumba’s comment of the Year.

Well @pkahill wrote a blog post on Homophobia, I saw counter posts written, amazing comments shared, and the best of replies. One gentleman who’s account I can’t quite find had this to share.

The Six Stages of Deception

Deception is a process by which wrong becomes right, and right becomes wrong. It’s a complete paradigm shift of opinions, standards and morals that is achieved softly, subtly and often takes a generation to entrench into society.
If you want to know what I am talking about, find out your mother’s views on things like sexuality and marriage and compare them with yours. The contrast in opinions does not necessarily prove that she is old and antiquated; it may instead prove that you have been deceived.
There are six stages of deception.
I. The Shocker
II. The Outrage
III. The Discussion
IV. Tolerance
V. Acceptance
VI. Veneration
If I wanted to popularize the most unimaginable thing in our society, say like bestiality (the practice of having sex with animals). I would follow these steps.

I.The Shocker
I would select a forerunner to drop the shocking message on an unsuspecting public. “We should start having sex with animals,” he would announce on radio, TV or in a newspaper.
That is the shocker; the bombshell, so to speak. It would inevitably be followed by outrage.

II. The Outrage
The forerunner is abused and demonized by the bewildered public. Every respected leader in society comes out to slam the lamentable reprobate who dared suggest something so obnoxious. The forerunner defiantly defends the practice. His critics come out even more scathing. But the forerunner knows exactly what he is doing. He is setting an agenda. Many people don’t understand the effect of continuous exposure on the human mind.
I will give an example most of you will understand. If you ask a girl out and she is not interested in you, the best thing she can do for herself is stay away from you or your words. If she continues listening to you, what was initially unthinkable becomes worth a consideration, then acceptable. Many ladies have fallen for guys they swore never to date just because they didn’t understand the law of continuous exposure.

III. The Discussion
Once the bestiality message reaches the third stage; discussion, the forerunner has done his job. At this stage there is a big debate over bestiality; with most people still slamming it, not knowing that they are falling into a trap.
I know for a fact that homosexual groups abroad were giving money to people fighting homosexuality in Uganda. Then they would also fund those pushing for it. Initially it didn’t make sense. Until I learnt how deception works. What they wanted was to keep the subject of homosexuality in public debate. They know exactly what they were doing. The more people are exposed to it through discussion, the more it becomes less obnoxious in their minds.
That leads to the next stage: Tolerance.

IV. Tolerance
At this stage people say: “I am not going to have sex with animals, but if someone chooses to do it, shauri yake (that’s his problem). Others will say: “Who cares what people do behind closed doors?”

I have heard these statements being made by people who clearly don’t understand what they are up against.
This is the stage at which science kicks in to ‘prove’ that some people are born with an inherent attraction towards animals and they cannot help themselves. Consequently, bestiality is included in the UN Human Rights Charter and activists are given a new pursuit. Economic and travel sanctions are used to twist the arms of nations that still forbid it.
Then we start hearing phrases like: “We cannot tell people whom they should love.” The main purpose of this stage is to ensure that bestiality is legally accepted. The next two steps are aimed at entrenching it at a social level. The penultimate stage is Acceptance.

V. Acceptance
At this stage bestiality becomes a conventional alternative way of living. All the outrage has since dissipated. This is the stage at which those still opposed to it are called bestiaphobic (the word will be coined) and they are considered antiquated, old-fashioned, intolerant, dogmatic, religious zealots, bigots…. you’ve heard all those words.
This is the stage at which there are bestiality rights parades in major cities. Then we are reminded that the same book in the Bible that forbids bestiality also forbids eating pork. Then ‘intellectuals’ think use that to rubbish the Word of God, and make it look ridiculous.
The final step is Veneration.

VI. Veneration
This is the stage at which the people who practice bestiality are praised. The liberalist media (which includes almost all international channels) subtly promotes them as ‘cool’, intelligent, exposed. That’s the stage at which celebrities ‘come out’ to reveal that they are ‘proud bestialists’.
Then bestiality begins to win fresh ‘converts’ everyday because many young people will do anything to be seen as ‘cool’ or to be associated with some Hollywood or football star. That is how you corrupt a whole society.
That’s how previously unthinkable things like atheism and homosexuality and all other forms of sexual perversion have taken root in our society. You have probably heard of the black homo American footballer who “made history by becoming the first footballer to come out”. What’s historical about someone proclaiming their perversion? So many other people are being lauded in the media for no other reason other than their homosexuality.
Your mother may not be outdated after all. You may be deceived. If you found this enlightening, share it with as many people as possible. It might just save them from the ever-widening canyon of deception.

Beauty; a semi-curse.

Post of the Year.

nahaabwe

Beauty, a semi curse you might probably not notice. We have usually assumed attractive females are happy in their being well among other things because they look good.  Well yes and no; let me explain.

Yes they are happy because they are beautiful, they take pride in that, beauty is everything, beauty is color, life is good, blessed are they, blessed are you. It must be a pleasure for one to look at self and see that they look good and not have to worry about being inadequate when it comes to appearance. If I can remember well, no one wanted an ugly person save for the fact that this has taken another pattern altogether today. Money is beauty.

You know that cute girl you always think about, want to relate with and maybe want a piece of? You also know you are not alone right? Because I am right…

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Woke up home sick

I miss Kabale’s misty sunshine I miss the cold morning breeze.

The language with a natural vernacular alliteration mixed with some rare assonance. “Ndakutera, ndakukunda, orendaki, tindenda.” That heavy ‘Nda’ syllable moves me.

Naturally beautiful girls with full lips, big shapely legs and firm derrière. 

 I miss the hills and their nicely aligned patterns. The hard working women that till that ground from dawn to dusk.

I miss Enturire, the bitter sweet porridge that leaves you strong like a bull. Fries at 1000 a plate, where else in this world do you find that. 

For 400shs, you get to be ferried for a distance of 3 kilometres. I wouldn’t need a car then.

 I miss the stout men with their strong ‘long seat’ bikes Hill or Valley you don’t disembark till you reach.

 From 9am to midnight, seated at the bar celebrating their nothingness; the village men, well those I miss not.   Returning home smelling like a Cesspool , expecting coital duties from the ever humble wives. I don’t miss at all. 

 The sectarianism, I don’t like at all and certainly don’t miss.

 I miss Mzee Karecera’s sumbis big as they come with a savoury taste. Odongo’s red shirt, who wouldn’t miss that. Those two men have managed to put on a red shirt day in day out.

I miss a lot, after more than 6 years of not stepping there. I don’t know what I wouldn’t miss.

*on the next bus to Kabale

“Our target is those children that society forgets” – Meet Uganda’s Beautiful Heart Esther Kalenzi

Inspirational. The next great leader isn’t always so far, just recognise them and support them.

This Is Uganda

Es Martha Kay Esther Kalenzi: Photo used with permission

She is beautiful inside and out. Her Charisma is one to reckon, how she manages to get awesome young people to follow her cause is still a mystery to many. Meet  Esther Kalenzi the brain behind 40days over 40 smiles

Who is Esther Kalenzi?

Well, what you see is pretty much what you get with me. I am a believer who chases her dreams at all costs. I did a degree in Mass Communications at Uganda Christian University (UCU). I have done work in PR, Marketing and business development in the past. My hobbies include dancing, sipping tea at any time of the day and listening/telling stories. I am always happy to listen to people’s stories whether i am close to them or will never see them again. There is always something to learn or simply laugh/cry about.

What is and why 40 days…

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Just one more Inch.

It’s implausible but it’s true; just “one inch” less or more has shaped circumstances for better or worse. For better maybe wouldn’t get me whining but sadly most times it’s the negative that is fodder for expression. If He was to meet God, he would ask for one more inch.

Pixie-Cuts

He: “Now you cut your hair without my knowledge, that’s bad!”           She: “Crap, it’s my hair and I make do with any style I please”           He: “So I bet I’ll hold my own hair as we make love, right?

That night they argued, about who pays for the hair, the extensions, the hot combing weekly, intense it became and like a flash from a Hasselblad Camera. Slap on the cheek She hit him, with all fury and rage or boiling love *whatever you may call it He hit her back. She dashed out of the bedroom, phone in tow, rivulets of tears running down her cheeks straight to the bathroom and locked the door. Instantly, he apologised through the closed-door, and pleaded for forgiveness but the damage was done. +44 5737363… she speed dialled, the mother. “Moira,Moira what? What did he do?”  Moira and the Mum were inseparable, much as she was in Budapest and she back home, Facetime and Skype had bridged the geographical separation.

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Moira, the only child of a noted delegate, had lived solely with the delegate Mum for her entire lifetime. She never saw or ever asked about the plight of her Father. So, the Mum called a friend who knew a friend who rang a prominent security operative. And before Arnold could contemplate the way forward let alone remove the towel for the night robe, he was in handcuffs tossed onto the back of a police van and he didn’t even catch a glimpse of the wife.

A missed board meeting, an unforgiving wife, the biting cold of the night, the pathetic smell of the holding cell; one inch, just one inch, left an indelible mark on his relationship, on his marriage.

Really? Should Height be a bid deal?

“You didn’t buy for me this iPhone because we were dating, it’s because I owed you that you did. More over I don’t date short men like you”. shots fired. Real shots from a “High Calibre Handgun.” Had it not been for his best friend who restrained him, a fight was imminent.

He met her in a bar somewhere in Kololo, together with a bevy of friends he made their night special, drinks on him, more drinks, refill after refill that ended with dropping each of her friends to their residences. He was a good spirited guy, smart, suave and well-built and worked with a top bank in town. Somewhere in this life he had dropped just one inch. 

He liked her, and for those three weeks he became fond of her and was slowly falling in love with her. She showed she was there for him and she would all that a lady in love would do. But some people in his life were not convinced, but as there’s a thin line between love and doltishness he couldn’t see the signs.

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“Arhhh, I told you Clarissa, i don’t love him that much. It’s all for the fun.” It was a notification that Sunday evening that awoken his supine judgement. He politely asked her what the message meant and like brontides, she burst out accusing him on invasion of privacy, distrust and  horde of accusations. “Alright, since you don’t love me and it’s the phone’s fault that we are arguing, please may i have my phone back?”

Where one Inch really mattered.

In the back of the car, as the fireworks blew in the neighbourhood, they were grinding in the back seat of a Golden Sedan 2014. There could only be one culprit, her boss. Married, with a ring on her finger and her pink lace pants half way down her knees, there she was. Passion was up in the air, well the little air that was circulating in the Car as nearly all the space was taken up by the bulky boss. Throughout all, the Askari was looking and thanks for mobile phones, just a quick call and the Husband, the police and a couple of scribes had surrounded the scene.

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Boss was arrested, and in her defence the cheating wife said, “Just one more in inch is what I desired and was looking for.”

What a boy to do.

Liza smiled at him that morning, was that a sign?
That radiant smile that illuminates the room, the crystal white teeth and pitch dark gum.
Well, they could as well have been yellow, but what a boy to do?
Maybe the smile was, because of; that Friday morning “refreshed feeling”, maybe something sweet she saw on the road?
Maybe, maybe not…
He instantly felt that cold shiver in the tummy, tried to smile back but chocked on the smile. Amazing, chocked on a smile!
Every little hair on her head seemed to glow that morning.

“El, you have a call on 5” his supervisor’s voice cutting short the so shortlived apparition.

Slowly the hand that was about to wave, down under the table it went together with the half smile.

What a boy to do?