Major Major Randomsies…

Yeah, randomsies…

Been in school a whole 5 years…course choice maybe but well, what else can I do…I chose the bloody thing and its now pissing me off, but oh well, I finally have come to the end of this journey and hopefully in May next year, I begin looking for another journey.

This course though, it has ladies in it. The average marrying age for a Ugandan lady is 23-24, 25-26 if it’s very late and in this class, I sit and stare at all these ladies who are surely going to get married as soon as school ends. Well, they already look like mothers so…

I want to tell a story…

I like to tell stories I believe that one day I might be an awesome grandfather…but here goes…

When I was in vacation, most of my colleagues, the ladies especially were doing this fellowship thing at KPC or All Saints. I never really went because, am not affiliated to either religion, and well, I felt it was some neo-colonialist bullshit. Neo-colonialist bullshit is to me what I call ‘forcing life and status’…

When I joined campus, I met these bunch of ‘saved’ chics, all shouting  Jesus’ name and preaching, but, I never really knew the other side of them. I was blind until a  few stories came trickling my way…

Of these two saved ladies, one had cheated on her boyfriend with some old guy, and the other had met some old guy who had later cheated on her. I was confused…were the churches not teaching values or was I missing something. Its later on that I discovered the ‘Price Tag’.

The price tag is quite simple, how much is one willing to spend on you before you willing walk into their arms and share with them sexually your exploits.

Campus is full of wenches, they are those who do it for a couple of beers, they are those who follow the basic 3 dates rule, and they are those who put up the ‘I am saved front’.

I remember again, during my vacation, when a bunch of friends used to call (on our parent’s phones) and tell us to go for these fellowships, just to meet these young and hot girls, who were friendly because well, it was the saved thing to do. And I always aptly refused because I felt, they were just cheap sluts waiting to get the right price on their goods and provide the right services.

So, on campus now, I looked at these two colleagues…one had cheated on the boyfriend, the other had been screwed over…and I go back to my memoirs. I was innocent in first year. Some of the things I did and desired to do do send chills down my spine. I am not castigating these ‘saved’ girls…neither am I supporting what they did, fact of the matter, the decisions they made shall remain with them for the rest of their lives, but what I worry the most, is why these things continue to happen year in and year out.

Have we fallen to a particular stereotype its now become a system of sorts. (system here being a way of life).

I am lucky I had a mentor on me…one more experienced and vast with some of these things…whenever I shared, he laughed and told me of his experiences. I wanted to be a fool and learn from mine but luckily, from what he went through, I would be a fool to go through the same.

These are major major randomsies…Young girls and boys, however excited you might be, dont throw away your values, because, at the end of it all, what we are remembered by is what values we brought to the table.

Social media is taking society by storm…[I hope am still on my 500 word count] and I just realised, I spend most of my productive time on social media, hoping and thinking am changing the world, but in the end, the workload I have on me is just to much. If you believe social media makes you any smarter, then think again. Its all a loop. What I do today on social media is pretty much the same tomorrow, and whether or not it adds value…time wasted is never gained.

I talk too much…I stop here…

I know a few people are going to read this…now…but years from now, I know I might have changed the way some people think so maybe social media is not that all bad.

That last verse, well, due to inconsistencies in this wordpress thing, was cut short.

But I believe I got my point forward.


Remember that usher song where he was all, ‘these are my confessions’ and he let it burn…well, no, these aren’t. Well, maybe a little.

I am in Dubai…seeing the world. Awesomest experience ever.

Thats not the point…

Recently read my Ex’s status about why guys hurt them…well, I believe it was directed at me but well, I hold no grudges…I believe am grown and pretty much have a grip on relationships.

Reasons why I feel I have no grudge and she shouldn’t be all grudgy…

1. Relationships have life spans and unless you haven’t found the one you want your life to span with completely, then feel free to end it amicably and move on. Dont hold a grudge, the world is not at ends and well, you might miss the best because you are afraid to move on.

2. I never did anything wrong to her as pertains to hurting her physically, emotionally or sexually. I am clean. Always keep relationships substantially clean…dont go hurting people. Treat others as you want to be treated. Love like no other, hurt like no other. We love, and we learn and we grow. Keep it clean.

3. The relationship was in her hands. Relationships are about mutuality and if that is lost, well, there being a chance that it comes back to normal is a no-way. People who want to take control over the relationships and forget its two not one are not yet meant to be in relationships.

4.Always tell the truth. Always tell the bleeding truth. Never hide the past with the illusion you are protecting someone for when they learn about it, it never really is the best. Always be honest. One can learn to trust when you are honest with them, and even if they dont, they know where you stand in any given circumstances.

5. Love. I feel relationships are experiences added. We look at our parents with assumptions that they only dated each other…well, when they found the perfect match, no other mattered. But unless you are willing to love like no other, dont expect love from any /every other.

6. Put yourselves in their shoes. Its key to understand we are from different backgrounds…but let this not be the excuse or even a reason as to why we do certain things and we dont others. Those girls who feel they have daddy issues and you want to dump them on dude, those guys who cant just settle because they feel its cool not to. Grow some, you have a mind of your own, falling for the basic stereotype simply means you still have a long way to go.

7. Relax the pressure. Do NOT make promises that you cant keep. While here, I came across this ‘break-up’ song by Mac Miller-Missed Calls, and it reminded me of past relationships…however much I might have been hurt, or if I did the hurting, I dont regret the decisions, I live with them and cherish those experiences bad or good. I am happy. Some, I have told the greatest stories out of them.

8. My cousin once told me to ‘teach’ her what I wanted. Well, I felt, you just dont teach someone to be a certain way you want them to be. I think relationships shouldn’t be about shared interests but rather the uniqueness we bring to them. We are different, someone should appreciate your uniqueness and difference, if they dont, well, move on and find one.

9. Should there be a manual for how people date or shouldn’t date? Should you want to write one and dispel it as an ideology and manual…some sort of manifesto? No, I dont agree. So ladies, dont ask dudes what day so and so is this and what it means to be in a relationship, dudes, dont go telling ladies that you have to do this and this…respect, love, learn and grow. No five year master plans until you are married.

This is not a manual, this is no advocacy, these are just thoughts.

I feel relationships are about difference, mutuality, excitement, cherishing one another, looking at the complexities that lie ahead and holding to each other, far or near, and telling that one person, at the end of my journey, you are the one I want to be with.

Ah, relationships, we hate them when hurt, love them when happy…Keep walking.


Dubai Memos.

A Little Prayer

We never know what we have till its almost out of our grasp.

I said a little prayer today
For you and me
My past has had its highs
And very many lows
The lows, the lows, the lows
I said a little prayer today
For you and me
Patience, Trust, Love, Faith
In God and the two of us
Me and You, You and Me
I lost your trust when you
Gave me the patience
Gave me the freedom
Gave me the Love
And gave me the faith
I said a little prayer today
My life has been up and down
I did it for them, I did for me
I know it hurt you bad cause
I should have done for you
I cant say sorry enough so
I said a little prayer today
For guidance, for hope, for change
My path and yours align…
I dont view you as Ying to Yang
Two mutual opposites…
I view you as You.
I said a little prayer today
I hope you get the blessings
I may not be there…
You may choose something else
I hope I will still be the shadow
Your light falls on
I said a little prayer today because
I love you.

 Peace and Love!

I AM corrupt!

Maybe I am, maybe I am not.
Its a catch 22, a double edged sword.
I worry that If I am not,
Somebody else will be for me…

I am Corrupt,
Well I was born with it,
Its in my DNA…
XX, XY with a dash of corruption.

I awake, thinking of who I am going to
Is it you…
My corruption is Justice
Its justified
I do it for the right reasons
I am fighting it too
I am fighting it for those
Those who are doing it
Doing it for the wrong reasons.

In No Longer At Ease
You either take the fat and Juicy one
not the small and scrawny frog
So, I am corrupt…

You are corrupt…We are all corrupt
The times you bribed the police
The time you you got someone something
Illegally because you are related
The time you loaded airtime when MTN had crushed

I am corrupt, You are corrupt.

I think not. I still have my mind.

Lazy Love…

Blood shot eyes stared at her in the dark of the corridor. She was not aware of his presence as he seemed to glare at her with excitement. He had been staring at her for quite sometime…admiring and cramming every curve of her body into his mine. He wanted her. This seemed to increase his excitement.

He walked slowly, ensuring not to startle her. His eyes glowing as the corridor seemed to narrow as he grew closer. He sniffed the air for her scent. He too wanted to cram that into his nasal cavities. He wanted the whole her. He stared at her neck, looking for the pulsing vein that pumped blood to her heart. He  looked at how she craned to the side unaware of his presence. She seemed preoccupied and this would help him more when he pounced onto her.

He paused, looked behind him to ensure no one was coming, no was watching. He needed no evidence, and he didn’t want anyone interrupting or even coming to her rescue. He moved in slowly, pausing to ensure that no she didn’t notice. He didn’t want the air making any sound and putting him to notice.

He slowly raised his hand, all excited. It was now…it should be now. He was hoping  she would not scream. She turned…

“What do you think you are doing?”

‘Nothing…’ he said.

“You do know I knew you were behind me…”

‘Oh. I thought I could surprise you.’ he said with an intensity that shone in his eyes.

He held her back to his front, pulling her in. She fit perfectly, her body taking on every nook and cranny. He liked how she easily fit, as he pulled her hair to the side, exposing her neck as he bent to peck it. He took in her scent, Ralph Lauren Number 3. He held her tightly…seeing the glow in her eyes. He liked this feeling a lot.

They slowly walk out into the moonlight, brazenly shining…Soul-mates…

Origins of the Dusty Foot Soldier…

I awake every morning not sure of what peanuts I might make today. The system, the system, the bloody system. They say those in power enjoy the fruits more, I say, those in power are not ruling me. They ‘gats’ nothing on me. How can you lead a people who are non existent.

The Origins of the Dusty Foot Soldier.

I was listening to K’naan’s Dusty Foot Philosopher…deep song that one, and thus the name the Dusty Foot Soldier…I drove to the ATM in my father’s car today, and while there, I saw this lady, dusty shoes, dusty feet and a black skirt turned brown…she was sweating all over, and besides her was this young lad, dressed in a partial school uniform. He had the big soled shoes, dusty as well, school socks and a sweater, yet I believe, he was in the holidays.

When I joined the queue, the lady decided to go behind me. I was struck dumb as to why this happened, and the security guard seemed to point at her saying, if she was not here to withdraw any money, she may as well leave.

Her face tattered and frustrated and a hanky all wet and dirty, I could tell she had been trekking all day. She reminded me of my mother years ago. Her son had the look. The look I once had.

I stood in line, wondering. Well, I wasn’t any different now. I liked wearing tattered and torn clothes not because I was broke but on the contrary, I appreciated where I came from, the hustle and grind. My mother used to walk to work before it became fancy and political. She had never really finished school. But now, a successful educated lady, rich and comfortable…all these memories help me connect with the Dusty foot soldier. He is not alone.

As I withdrew the money, a gentleman finally arrives and you could see the joy. It might have been an uncle, it might have been a guardian. I waited to see what was going to happen. The young Dusty Foot Soldier could see the jubilation on the mother’s face. The one that told them tomorrow was going to be a better day. As she got the money, she knelt down, but you could see the knees almost give way from exhaustion. Niceties were exchanged.

As I walked away, I saw the mother and her Dusty foot soldier prepare for another trek. There feet. There feet. There feet. The ladies shoes almost torn, the strings almost giving way, the trinkets  missing. She quickly glanced at her son, held her hand and begun the trek again. The speed at which they walked told the story. This was not their final destination.

We have all been Dusty footed soldiers. I was a dusty foot soldier, maybe the streets of Kampala were cleaner then, but I walked thee walk. I used to use a taxi at age I cant let my younger sibling use for I fear they might get lost or get snatched but I didn’t mind it then. In my first year at high school, as I sat aboard a taxi going back to school, I met a colleague scared shitless at the back seat. It was the first time he had set foot in a taxi by himself. I was shocked at the thought I laughed myself silly. I had used this all my life, what was he using?

I speak spoken word, write written word, inspire, desire, talk about the Dusty Foot Soldiers because like any soldier, if you stick to it, you rise in rank…and maybe one day when you are driving the big car, you dont forget where you came from. The streets marked with your footprints should never be forgot.

To all the Dusty Foot Soldiers.

The Dusty Foot Soldier.

I stood their, watching the child in my half torn sneakers and pair of shorts…looking at where I once was.

The Dusty Foot soldier…
How more poetic should one be?

He kicks the dust into the air
Thats all he can do as he awaits his mother
Its holiday and he’s happy to be home
But he is wearing the school uniform
All he has for clothes is what little his mother spent
On school uniform
He stares at me
The sole of the shoe can tell all the walking he has done
And all the walking he’s about to do
There’s no misery in his eyes
The mother took him for a visit
A visit to the bank I guess
But its better, its better
Maybe he thought they were picking money
But the mother stands there in confusion
Unlike people who are quick to beat the long queues
She slowly retreats
How much is there on the account
Is there any more money
Was the account closed?
The only time she checks her ATM is when school
Is about to start
School is two weeks away though
So what brought her and
The Dusty foot soldier to the ATM
Did someone promise them money
He squats
He’s tired, and resting for the next trek
Finally he comes
Its been hours standing
The guard had just told them
If they weren’t here to withdraw anything
Maybe they should leave
He walks over to the ATM
He withdraws
He hands over the cash
The dusty foot soldier looks on
The joy on his mother’s face
Maybe he will make it to school this semester
He stands and shakes the man’s hands
She’s elated she almost fell down kneeling
From the exhaustion, and the waiting
She grabs her Dusty foot soldier
And they begin their dusty footed trek

The Dusty Footed Soldier…