On the wrong side of right. I think.

Passion. Fate. Friendship. Depth. Intimacy.
Bloody, majorly sucky timimg.
Confused? Me too. Join the party.
Welcome to the elements that have conspired to make me giddy happy and indescribably sad at a go. No. The elememts that conspired against me and have slowly but surely and successfully managed to create a sad, achey albeit happy tale.

And the gods. You have to give it to them. At least, I do.
You win. I allow. You take the gold. For a chance at a beautiful and amazing...thing. For lack of a better word because"relationship" feels like I'm cheating. Lying to myself. Being stupidly and mouse-like blind.

FATE IS A WOMAN.
And when I finally do get to meet her, I will not kick or yell at her. I will bow down at her feet. Confess my boundless admiration for the bitch the bitch is/ can be. Then, I'll calmly ask to be her protege. Right after I have learnt all her sick, heart-breaking, dream-busting and happiness-busting tricks, I will throw her off her high and lofty throne, make her human and wreck malicious havoc on her life. I'll let her live long so till the day she dies, I can still mess her up.
Also, I will mess up other humans. I am a woman please. Fate shall just be my biggest project.

What do you do when you have to let someone go? Someone whose only crime is...perfection? Not angel-like, I've-neve-sinned-a-day-in-my-life sort of perfection.
No. Can anyone stand that?
I mean...someone who is a perfect fit to you? Quirks, perks, issues, inch-high temper, semi-craziness, major vulnerablity, sickness that seems to have picked the last three months to pay continous visits to your system...how do you come ladden with all this, and still find someone who without a doubt cares deeply for you?
How do you finally find friendship, support, laughter, brilliance that quite easily beats your own (which by the way, is major. Ahem.), and not be able to have it?
You convince yourself that all the people who could possibly get your outrageous mind are all taken or...dead...(RIP Mae West.)
You meet some of these people and you start to finally feel you belong. But what fate doesn't tell you is that, this person will get you. This person will go from being a make-work more interesting mate to...the person who for the first time in your entire dating/ flinging/ semi-love history that you will let yourself be vulnerable with. Not over flat tyres.

Over things you previously thought would either scare people away or not have their gravity understood. So you spend the day puking out your innards from the latest migraine attack, you spend the day with your dreams on the collapsing train because your work is not fun anymore, but tell your significant other you're fine.
Because you worry that telling him about the migraine from hell or the asthma attack from...out of the blue will scare him away...or that he'll give an arse-like answer to lost-job-love such as" at least you have a job...some people..."

I am NOT vying for sainthood. When I'm in the down and low zone, I don't want reminders of my luck at my being employed. I want support. And understanding. And attempts to make me smile. And practical help; point me in the direction of something that will make me love Public Relations again.
And then fate comes a-calling. She doesn't knock, the ill-mannered woman. She glides in. Un-noticed. One of only few females who don't love attention. She'll patch onto your shoulder and right when you think you've made another great friend, Fate telepath-messages Cupid...and the two busy-bodies proceed to entangle you in a twist so viciously calculated, you want to tell professors to revise calculus syllabi.
Fate and her friends create better and more complex puzzles and problems.

When you have spent your entire life masking your weaknesses, when you have been the first born that's not allowed to cry or make mistakes or be a child because well, you are a first born, when you have hidden the intensity of some of your illnesses from even your closest friends because you will not let them see you cry and turn red from horrible headaches...you get accustomed to that.
You become the perfect first born. The friend who tries to thoroughly love and protect all her friends and the daughter who makes her mama sunny-bright proud of her.

You forget with the years, how it feels like to cry. Over the breaking of your favourite CD.  You forget how it feels to be weak and human because you don't know how your friends will react to you crying. Not at a funeral. But over a bad day, a love that wasn't love at all. A job that's starting to suffocate you.
You forget what it's like to be a woman. You click your heels and be witty and proceed to best-friend God.

But God doesn't text. Or hug-lift you off the ground. Or check on your currently skiddy health.
God doesn't make you feel things you last felt with the release of Twilight 1.
God doesn't make you smile silly, silly smiles all day, all week and not be scared to be thought cuckoo by your workmates.
God allows you to be vulnerable. He does.
In the dark of your bed room or in a quiet, peaceful chapel.

But then, you have spent the last 20+ years suffering from the God-complex. You are tired of closed-room break downs. You are fed up with being damn strong. You're done masking throbbing migraines because you don't want to be the party pooper and have dates and friends leave early.
You're done.

So you slowly let in this person. You breed a monster as you let your usually stoic self show sides to you not even your closest friends have seen. You become a pile of major, jelly-like mush and somehow, somehow you're not self-conscious, or mentally dissing yourself for being...that way.

You're being silly but happy. You're caring about someone but you're being cared for as well. Sometimes, even more. You're excited but you're also calm. Because unlike most of your past closeness-building scenarios, this one has a great deal of solid about it. So even when for whatever reason you go a day without talking, you don't spend hours analysing all the possible ways you could have screwed up and gotten un-attractive over night.
You try to be a better person because you are imperfect and sometimes hurt and annoy this person but you're not scared of screwing up.
Because while said person doesn't take your...errr...crap, they also don't de-mean you in an attempt at bringing maturity into your sometimes childish self.

This is when Fate sweeps in and does a number on you. A major, number that leaves you up at 3am listening to Christina Perri and telling your heart that heart ache and loss are around the corner, she'd better get prepared (at least this time you saw it coming), you try to mentally prepare for the time when this person has to be set free, you tell yourself that God, the universe, has a better person in store.
But this is as better as it gets. I think.

Fate leads you to an amazing being of a man. And then Fate says you can't have him.

You smile but are ambushed by constant, subtle and sometimes loud reminders that this has a shelf-life. You attempt to cry but wah. Nada. Tears deserted you ages ago.

All you have are your words. Even those somehow fail you for weeks on end.
So you give up the battle to get answers from deities and gods who play let's screw-up-unsuspecting-humans games for fun. You convince yourself that the person in store for you will rock majorly more than this.
But you also can't help thinking..."What if I'm one of those people? what if the rest of my life is going to be a movie sound-tracked by Hinder's Lips of an angel?
Just, what if...this is as close as I get to almost.....(GULP) falling in love?
The real deal?"
Because while you're quite happy with what you have, you're not brave enough to fall all the way.

Some wounds never quite heal.
Some scars never quite fade away.
The break from such a fall would leave some massive injuries. And tell-tale scars.

You sit at your work desk and pour your emotional mess onto your blog because you do not want to even think of talking to any of your friends about this.
Not because they're not amazing friends or because they will judge you and be cynical.
They will hug you, and check on you every 5 minutes, but most of all, they will see you vulnerable.
And you don't do vulnerable well. Well...with some people, you actually do.

So you stop youself from fearing the future. You know you will be okay. Somehow.
You have horrible days and lonely, scared nights because you know you're the running sort who's not above sending a 4am "I can't do this anymore" text.
Because you do want to do this.
You make peace with the fact that, a good number of years from now, you will be happily married and mothering some beautiful children but might occassionally think of this person.
And what could have been.
Then you'll sit your children down and tell them of life's real issues. Not Harvard graduates whom they should emulate or your success which they should strive to achive.

The real problems, the real issues, are the ones you're never prepared for.
And the worst of the lot are the ones that come coated with bitter-sweet icing.
The ones that come bearing inexplicable complexities and make you question your creator. And His sometimes not-funny-way of doing things.
The real problems are the ones where smiles and aches quite easily go together.
And bear equal intensity.

Also, and most of all, you thank God and the universe.
Even you, Fate. Eh? You rightfully deserve a mention.
You thank the powers that run this universe for all things deep, tender, sweet, mushy, strong, caring, brilliant.
You thank them for wrapping this in 6'1 feet of darkness and awesomeness.

Then you post this. And go home. To lonely thoughts. And Christina Perri.


For...
You know yourself.

And to my friends; I shall not be taking or answering any questions.
This time, let me be.
Please.
Especially you, Yasmin. (that is said with love.)

Moe.

bAcK In tHe DaY.....




These Days.

  Yes, those days when the standard unit of measure for political aspirations was Nelson Mandela or Mahatma Gandhi. When I had no idea that most of the wars in the world were a direct cause of greed, selfishness, and more greed. At the age when I believed in the goodness of men and the decency of women. Then I grew up and reality came crashing in. I saw men for what they really are, I learned that behind the smile of most women, there lay a dangerous fang. One that bit hard& deep, with intent to harm.
But childhood was filled with more than illusions about the nature of man. There were some real pleasures to growing up in my day.Let's go back in time and reminisce.



The Facts Of Life.

 Actually Funny Comedies. 
Seriously, the comedy at that time was hilarious. There were hardly any laugh tracks, the jokes were actually funny. People did not necessarily pick on other people's weaknesses in an attempt to be funny. Unavoidable weaknesses, that is. A bad hair do is laughter material. A family destroyed by a political scandal is not.  I remember shows like"Just shoot me," "News radio," "The facts of life,"..."Mind your language,"and the winner of them all, "FRIENDS." I do not care what any one says, "How I met your mother " is no match for "Friends". None of that cast can match Phoebe's weird nature or Chandler's satire or Ross' plain wussiness. If wussiness is a word. We grew up watching Will Smith be funny and truthfully, I can't say the same for people growing up on "Shit my dad says."
Bound to grow into crap-spewing adults.

Real TV.
No program director worth his name would have allowed things like "Amarula Family" to even get past the reception area of the station.HOW??? And risk choking viewers to their death on their own puke??How all these Spanish soaps have increasingly managed to penetrate the TV arena in the last years is proof that things are not good. Mbu...simanyi" It could be you"...People, we grew up on "The young and the restless," we watched "The bold and the beautiful" and more serious dramas. Deception, lust and lies were the real thing.
Your mother stole your boy friend and you only found out on their wedding day, where you were the maid-of-honor. You were not able to predict the ending of the series, and when time to close shop came, they did.
Nothing like unending seasons of the day to day life of Jack Bauer.Our producers knew when to quit.
These days they expose the kids to reality TV. "Kendra.....blah, blah...," "Keeping up with the Kardishians...." How about someone feel sorry for Kendra and buy her a brain? How about we stop exposing children to totally-scripted& plastic life styles and then complaining when they want the Iphone4 at 13??

If you are going to be a bad enough parent and show your kids the shallowness& deceit that fills the life of those society worships and most admires, show them the real thing.

These chicas were not simple.

"Footballers' Wives" will do.

Music.

I shall not put an adjective before the word. Simply because there is close to no decent music these days. In days gone by, music was....music. Deep, catchy and sang by people that could actually put their vocal cords to decent use. The pass these days is simply being able to speak. Say a few words and the producers will create magic. Or almost-magic. Miley Cyrus has refused to respond to all forms of magic spells. Even the hip hop fraternity had real beef to match their talent.Tupac and Biggie were the real deal. Nothing like,



Hit 'em up!!!

 
"This is why I'm m hot, this is why you're not,
I''m hot coz I'm fly, you aint coz you not...".
Seriously? I could pen badder lyrics. Music meant to be funny had lyrics to match. Case in point, "Every day people" by Arrested development.
Folk like Diddy formerly known as P.Diddy were kept away from recording studios.There is need to create a curriculum on the history& making of real music, compulsory for all wanna-be-divas& rappers. Anyone that needs auto tune to make semblance of a tune is failed.
And sent to writing school. Red Pepper is in dire need of basic-grammar armed writers.

ALZAWADI.
If there is any thing that university children of the current era have missed, it is that bar. Alzawadi...SIGH!!! Let me tell you about this bar ma props...(erm, properly).
Otherwise known as street bar to my year mates, with the main bar the size of a small carry-away-only fast food joint. Mostly because 99% of the patronage was out in the street. Yes, we dressed up in barely there skirts, tried to concoct cool hair stlyes from our otherwise bland& plain braids and did what the the majority of college students do, partied till dawn. In the road. Red pepper wouldn't have had to hack into people's face book accounts in a bid to create stories. The sights at that place would have created real scandal worthy news.
Yes, bars continue to sprout all over the place. But the difference is, we were allowed to be young at Alzawadi. We were allowed to look our age& try to act older by drinking things that would burn a car engine down, but still, the silly innocence was firmly in place. Who walked in with what man barely mattered in my 1st year. Now you go to Casablanca and 15-year old girls are attired in dresses that would make Carmen Electra blush and name-dropping boy friends' names. Men who buy them a cocktail and in return, take their innocence.
Younger boys are smoking things even Elephant Man wouldn't touch. Kids trying to be adults. The truth is, adulthood does come around. And it's not so glamorous. But by this time, these kids have been carrying around the burden of trying to seem older for so long, they don't realize there was a time when the world would have forgiven them anything.
The world is not as kind to careless real adults. You pay for your mistakes in hard currency.



Schweppes!!!

 Schweppes!!!!!
I am happily addicted to coca cola. I do not think there is any other soft drink on the surface of the earth...scratch that. I KNOW there isn't any other drink on the entire earth that even on its best, best day,( having had the brightest chemists work on it for about ten years) would match the ishness of an ice cold coke.
People puhuliz!!! Coke is the best thing ever invented by man. Right after Gin.
But, before coke, there was Schweppes. In pineapple& cream flavors. Sunday family lunches were spent trying to get a much color on your tongue from this awesome drink. Then there was crush..Heavenly...sugary drinks were exactly that, wicked!!!
Now they go and make things like mountain dew. And fanta berry( Coke, am so sorry. But your purply relative is lousy. She must be a distant cousin's aunt on the other side, right??)
Fanta strawberry is  very much trying to resemble Schweppes cream, but so far only the scent sort of gets it.  And am guilty of liking the past so much, I buy it for that reason. OK, I also sip it. Delicately though.
Replicated drinks are an acquired taste.

In a Word;
I love the fabolous(ity) that comes with growing up. I love that conversations get deeper, that you start to know what actually matters, and that you let go of pre-conceived ideas which by the way, were put into your mind by a mother trying to keep scare you away from the deadly sins and purgatory.
But I miss the things that pushed us through childhood and nudged us into adulthood. No, we didn't have FaceBook, we didn't have Android-whatevers but we had clean, mind-jogging television.
Most of all, we had adults that would have died to protect us, adults that let us be children but ensured we grew into adults who'd not hate their own mirror reflections. Am all for growing up& maturity, but could we please stop charging the children we're meant to be sheltering? Making them pay a fee that breaks their hearts& steals away their carefree& happily-naive souls?
Could we please give them a chance at a baggage-free adult hood? And while we are at it, could we tell the U.S.A to stop having double standards? Oil-loaded or not, a war-torn state deserves all the help it can get. Somalia...Sudan...Northern Uganda, where the hell were you?

Then, because we need a reason to make us forget all present-day troubles, could we bring back some real TV?




I HAD TO PUT THIS IN!! DUH!!?!



I am not stuck in the past, no. I am simply saying let us make the present a time that will bring some sort of light to the history books.
With Love,( in those days, this actually meant something, not an attempt to get something)
Moe.

TUKOOYE!!!...Continued.

URGGGHHH....

And ends like this.....

Paedophiles.
The statistics are painful. The law is failing the very people it's meant to protect. The attention is turned to suspiciously-dead gay activists. And I have no issues with people's sexual preferences. When they are consenting adults. Not young boys& girls that have their worlds darkened forever by these beasts.

I am all for mental illnesses. I myself are a narcissist. I understand vanity, and greed, and selfishness, and pride..anger is one of my bosom flaws. But to go& damage the physical, mental& spiritual privacy of a child that you should otherwise be protecting is beyond me.

Let us stop this pain..

And I get a lot of sins. Not this one.
That the law does nothing major to cause this evil to stop is incomprehensible. When they dare to look up from their wigs of hypocrisy& corruption, they sentence the pests to 16 years imprisonment. Really. Really????We need Miria Matembe back to active politics. Then we need to have a referendum on how to deal with these creatures. She always favored castration. I second that.
Followed by death. Preferably by slicing off individual body parts. Head goes last.
But the guillotine will do.
Humans have the amazing ability to worsen a problem that is already overflowing with pain. Here's how;

Tacky Tabloids.
I consider myself to be highly cultured. But a juicy piece of gossip will get me. Yes, am not above lugambo. But that doesn't diminish my magnificence. I am the ISH.
But banange, these silly, thick headed and dim witted people who bring buckets of shame upon the writers community need to be quarantined. They are hazardous. Aside kuswazaring us, they pollute the minds of our population. And judging by Episode one of "Who wants to be a millionaire?"-the Ugandan version, the general population is already doing bubbi in matters of the brain. IE, they are not very clever. Popeye lived at Neverland?? MJ must have done a moon-walk in his grave. But forwards. In protest.
Now a tabloid should have nonsensical gossip, we all get that. But if you dare to branch into serious news coverage within the same print, please, please, be serious about it.
Or, hire s.6 literature students to write the stories. Or primary students. If they still have the"News, news" part of class. But do have titles that read,"Horny Jajja, 70, Enters Girl 4."
For the love of God, please be a tad literate. Or humane. But the literate part you clearly missed. Let's try humane.I shall refer to a popular novelist here. Maybe you've heard of him?
John Grisham; "A Time To Kill."
A black man shoots& kills the white men that defile his daughter& leave her for dead. Black man is taken to court. He wins the case. No, it is not obvious that he won. This was in early Mississippi; blacks were not liked very much. Some of the jury had wanted to convict him for murder.
Then this white female juror tells them to close their eyes, and imagine that it was their precious, white,pony-tailed daughters. Being raped by two black men. And they know these men.
What would they do? To the black men?
They voted unanimously, to acquit the man of all charges.
So really, next time that small demon of ill humor, inhumanity& rotten writing makes an appearance on your left shoulder, bind him away.
And go for Bebe Cool. He is good game, he can handle.
After all, he is munene.

OKUKOOWA.
This should read," Tukooye okukoowa." For the cool-generation-mates of mine, this translates to"We are sick and tired of being sick& tired." High5s all around.
Seeing the line this piece has followed, we are clearly all worn out. We are a nation suffering from sun burn, constant thirst& unending perspiration. We are sore from endless bumping, thanks to the pot-holed things they call roads. Then those dwanzis of engineers play with the power sockets. They prefer leaving them turned off. We are an over-heated, dry throated people that is being subjected to endless hours of idleness when the lights go out. Frustrations tend to build at such hours, ideas get a hold& start to grow. Evil ideas nourished by the dark.The part of me that loves mystery would like to think that there is a conspiracy against us the lower peoples.
But we know they're not that bright. So, they are blindly breeding one major monster.
And we shall try to not take the revolutionary lead of our Egyptian comrades. But that might not last long.
We are tired. Patience& all other virtues are out with the heat.

So, from one of the afflicted to whom ever it may concern, 

TUKOOYE!!!