Its March, can you imagine!?
It's March and i have not posted anything since November last year! Truth is, i have been on the move a lot. My work has been taking me to many places. Some of which have left me humbled, made me look deep inside myself, heightened my sense of self-appreciation for all that's around me.
The year has been good so far, as we all do every year - set 'resolutions' start it all up with gusto, but as these things tend to go, steam tends to bate as the year wears on, but sure say can i, check, check, check... and my pen hovers over the next on the list... swim while you still have strength, they say.
I am growing up. I write this with a feeling of bittersweetness. The feeling in itself floods me with contentment, but then leaves an after-taste of rebillion. A pull that is sure to make me wear my pants as i would at 19 a.k.a saggers gone wild.
"Snap out of it" i scold myself as i pull them up sharply.
My folks look at me with questioning eyes. They have their own list to check, my Mother's pen impatiently hovers over 'Item 2' on said list. She doesn't even waste time to remind me everytime she sees me. What started as safe banter a few years ago has become imploratory, thus we all wait for the other shoe to drop...
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Travel
So!
'Go for it Skz!' my mind says to me.
I do travel a bit, but when i do, i don't get the 'stomach' to chronicle my trips. Pity indeed-for my mind says "Skz, you are letting yourself down quite some'
But you know when the lid is blown off, when you are feeling liberated enough, liberated from your paranoia, your fear, you blow the lid off!
Wanted to do an East-Africa, and from this, i wanted to observe, from a critical perspective, what makes East Africa tick.
Nairobi: The beautiful hotels in Nairobi. The witty yet terrifyingly carnal shop maid on Thika road, hands over the tube of Colgate with a knowing smile, a shameless look that says it all. The beautiful hotel called Safari park, old, full of character, (there used to be animals milling with the people back then, when it was built) with a buffet so full of high protein it would make Dr. Atkins proud.
The night life, bustling, liberated, incredible. The people, full of vim! The city, a huge construction site, it screams DEVELOPING, and the new constitution weeding out corrupt ministers, making life for every one better, together we move forward, and the entire city nods in tandem.
Dar-es-salaam: sweltering HOT, the city.
The people, extremely polite. (We no speaka English) but it's ok, because they say mambo with so much meaning, it's not just perfunctory.
The beaches! Bars are to Kampala as beaches are to dar. Everyone takes out their briefest swimsuit and bolts to the salty water of the Indian Ocean. They run, fleeing from the dizzying heat of the city. finding relief in the gentle waters.
Boats and ships waiting to dock off the coast. (Most beautiful view off 'coco beach' where i fondly remember drinking so much 'konyagi' an equivalent to Uganda waragi.)
The live bands, the congolese invasion leaves a foot print in dar with their jiggy sounds. (I swear if i had a gun....)
Trip to Zanzibar: A look at the ferry. Oh my LORD, Can someone say First class?? These folks know how to run a tight, neat operation here. Clean, freakishly on time.
The most terrifyingly beautiful view as you head to the Zanzibar island. (God, do you hear me GOD? thank you for beauty)
The old, charismatic, island of Zanzibar! Stone town: the narrow streets, charmingly narrow streets (Alice in wonderland, following the yellow brick road)
The food market is amazing.
Merlin, kingfish, SHARK, octopus, shrimp, barracuda e.t.c. One enjoys the enthusiasm of the fish vendor as he displays his smoked delicacies. It's rural, it's simple, it's caught in time, safely tucked away from the bustle of civilization. it's picturesque, it's simply divine!
Mercury Bar (if they'd allowed, i would have chalked on one of their walls 'SKZ was here' I mean Freddie Mercury anyone?? The guy with the amazing voice from the quirky yet avant-garde rock group Queen from way back when?
The clubs: Interesting! This guy was told 'please, stack all your speakers together, all fifteen of them, on either side, making them thirty, and was he right or what?! I couldn't hear a thing the day after, because the music was so loud!
Off to the North: On either side of this medieval road are fruit trees. The entire island is full of fruit trees. Palms, jack fruit, mango, guava.
It's a quiet island road, and as island roads leading out of the town go, you won't feel like you are heading 'out of town' i mean, no huge expanses of dried out grass, nothing like that, only fruit trees on either side of the road, and quaint little houses with moslem women in their burkas off to the well.
The North of the island: Oh Lord! Beauty at her most show-offish
The beach called Kendwa - such a beauty to behold! Terrifyingly white beach, the whiteness of which will blind you, will make you want to run for it. The heat and the breeze. The shimmer. Let's take a dip in the cool waters of the coast, shall we?
Had so much fun in the water, almost threw my back out, had to cut my evening short.
Back to Uganda. The pot-holes are such a burner-downer, but the weather, the weather, the state of kampala! i have hope...
It's a fixer-upper!
Aye Africa!
'Go for it Skz!' my mind says to me.
I do travel a bit, but when i do, i don't get the 'stomach' to chronicle my trips. Pity indeed-for my mind says "Skz, you are letting yourself down quite some'
But you know when the lid is blown off, when you are feeling liberated enough, liberated from your paranoia, your fear, you blow the lid off!
Wanted to do an East-Africa, and from this, i wanted to observe, from a critical perspective, what makes East Africa tick.
Nairobi: The beautiful hotels in Nairobi. The witty yet terrifyingly carnal shop maid on Thika road, hands over the tube of Colgate with a knowing smile, a shameless look that says it all. The beautiful hotel called Safari park, old, full of character, (there used to be animals milling with the people back then, when it was built) with a buffet so full of high protein it would make Dr. Atkins proud.
The night life, bustling, liberated, incredible. The people, full of vim! The city, a huge construction site, it screams DEVELOPING, and the new constitution weeding out corrupt ministers, making life for every one better, together we move forward, and the entire city nods in tandem.
Dar-es-salaam: sweltering HOT, the city.
The people, extremely polite. (We no speaka English) but it's ok, because they say mambo with so much meaning, it's not just perfunctory.
The beaches! Bars are to Kampala as beaches are to dar. Everyone takes out their briefest swimsuit and bolts to the salty water of the Indian Ocean. They run, fleeing from the dizzying heat of the city. finding relief in the gentle waters.
Boats and ships waiting to dock off the coast. (Most beautiful view off 'coco beach' where i fondly remember drinking so much 'konyagi' an equivalent to Uganda waragi.)
The live bands, the congolese invasion leaves a foot print in dar with their jiggy sounds. (I swear if i had a gun....)
Trip to Zanzibar: A look at the ferry. Oh my LORD, Can someone say First class?? These folks know how to run a tight, neat operation here. Clean, freakishly on time.
The most terrifyingly beautiful view as you head to the Zanzibar island. (God, do you hear me GOD? thank you for beauty)
The old, charismatic, island of Zanzibar! Stone town: the narrow streets, charmingly narrow streets (Alice in wonderland, following the yellow brick road)
The food market is amazing.
Merlin, kingfish, SHARK, octopus, shrimp, barracuda e.t.c. One enjoys the enthusiasm of the fish vendor as he displays his smoked delicacies. It's rural, it's simple, it's caught in time, safely tucked away from the bustle of civilization. it's picturesque, it's simply divine!
Mercury Bar (if they'd allowed, i would have chalked on one of their walls 'SKZ was here' I mean Freddie Mercury anyone?? The guy with the amazing voice from the quirky yet avant-garde rock group Queen from way back when?
The clubs: Interesting! This guy was told 'please, stack all your speakers together, all fifteen of them, on either side, making them thirty, and was he right or what?! I couldn't hear a thing the day after, because the music was so loud!
Off to the North: On either side of this medieval road are fruit trees. The entire island is full of fruit trees. Palms, jack fruit, mango, guava.
It's a quiet island road, and as island roads leading out of the town go, you won't feel like you are heading 'out of town' i mean, no huge expanses of dried out grass, nothing like that, only fruit trees on either side of the road, and quaint little houses with moslem women in their burkas off to the well.
The North of the island: Oh Lord! Beauty at her most show-offish
The beach called Kendwa - such a beauty to behold! Terrifyingly white beach, the whiteness of which will blind you, will make you want to run for it. The heat and the breeze. The shimmer. Let's take a dip in the cool waters of the coast, shall we?
Had so much fun in the water, almost threw my back out, had to cut my evening short.
Back to Uganda. The pot-holes are such a burner-downer, but the weather, the weather, the state of kampala! i have hope...
It's a fixer-upper!
Aye Africa!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Our expectations
When we meet new people. Yes!
We have made many mistakes from relationships past (or many mistakes have been made to us) We have learned, we have grown, we have ran the gauntlet of guilt, remorse, pain, and we have come out the other side smelling shit.
And now here we are, revving, raring to go - on to the next one, BUT WAIT!!
Our past follies and mistakes have made us tough, our hides are tough, cynical and tentative.
We scowl hard, we examine and counter examine, we dip a finger, we decide its tepid, and we pull out, we dip a toe, then we take a reluctant plunge.
When they say "i love you", we answer "and i like you too."
We lock all our doors, we lock them in, we hide the key under our pillows, we do not want to get robbed again, of our dignity, our grace.
In fact, our cynicism, like a cloud, has surrounded us, its gray pallor won't let us dig in - into ourselves, into the people who say they love us.
Our expectations have dipped to a whole new low, ergo prompting disregard of our 'lovers' gestures of love and fondness. "Too predictable" we pine, "too cliche" we whinge.
We form little impervious groups-of friends. 'The cynics' we call ourselves. We look at each other with knowing looks after sharing - with each other - the little things (we call them) that our new lovers have done, contemptuously disregarding as we dissect them, a census.
If only we would give our new lovers a chance! A chance to love us fervidly.
If only we would make the much needed disconnect, love, lose THEN love again, blank slate.
If only we would love in series, and not parallel!
If only we would fall in love, real love, once and for all!
We have made many mistakes from relationships past (or many mistakes have been made to us) We have learned, we have grown, we have ran the gauntlet of guilt, remorse, pain, and we have come out the other side smelling shit.
And now here we are, revving, raring to go - on to the next one, BUT WAIT!!
Our past follies and mistakes have made us tough, our hides are tough, cynical and tentative.
We scowl hard, we examine and counter examine, we dip a finger, we decide its tepid, and we pull out, we dip a toe, then we take a reluctant plunge.
When they say "i love you", we answer "and i like you too."
We lock all our doors, we lock them in, we hide the key under our pillows, we do not want to get robbed again, of our dignity, our grace.
In fact, our cynicism, like a cloud, has surrounded us, its gray pallor won't let us dig in - into ourselves, into the people who say they love us.
Our expectations have dipped to a whole new low, ergo prompting disregard of our 'lovers' gestures of love and fondness. "Too predictable" we pine, "too cliche" we whinge.
We form little impervious groups-of friends. 'The cynics' we call ourselves. We look at each other with knowing looks after sharing - with each other - the little things (we call them) that our new lovers have done, contemptuously disregarding as we dissect them, a census.
If only we would give our new lovers a chance! A chance to love us fervidly.
If only we would make the much needed disconnect, love, lose THEN love again, blank slate.
If only we would love in series, and not parallel!
If only we would fall in love, real love, once and for all!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Jetpack!
I like the end of this story... Please check it out!
"It does seem like gravity, that cruel and fickle mistress that has been keeping us down for years, might finally get its comeuppance as we break free of our earthly restraints and finally take to the skies."
Martin Aircraft Company in New-Zealand has made the first 'jet-pack' A strap-on sort of vehicle that allows you to take to the skies, at 63mph max. It will soon be commercially available to the very-rich, but wait till we get a chinese, or Japanese version, then i will surely fly!
R-Kelly was not kidding when he said 'I believe i can fly' as i am sure he will be one of the first customers!
"It does seem like gravity, that cruel and fickle mistress that has been keeping us down for years, might finally get its comeuppance as we break free of our earthly restraints and finally take to the skies."
Martin Aircraft Company in New-Zealand has made the first 'jet-pack' A strap-on sort of vehicle that allows you to take to the skies, at 63mph max. It will soon be commercially available to the very-rich, but wait till we get a chinese, or Japanese version, then i will surely fly!
R-Kelly was not kidding when he said 'I believe i can fly' as i am sure he will be one of the first customers!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
What we write
It takes tenacity, determination and complete focus to put word on paper. It becomes even harder if you don't want to focus on world issues (world peace, going green, the Japan vs china tiff) You also don't want to focus on your own life as a person, it feels like you are opening your life's door to criticism and ridicule, however stellar a life you have led, exemplary in-fact. It is human nature. Someone will see the tack in your eye - and pick it!
And so you write about wayward issues, about the completely rude taxi tout your friend told you about, or perhaps, about the pump attendant who wanted to rob you silly, thinking you were still in a state of doze, (given it's morning) but the way you jumped out of the car and shrieked at him when you realized you were being robbed surprised not only you, but the attendant as well, and so you blog...
The randomness with which you blog will surely, and slowly, lead to it's (your blog) death. At a certain time, after a number of posts have been written, and the deep satisfaction has spread like coffee in your system in the morning, the word tap will dry out. Taxi tout won't be worth blogging about anymore. You won't feel the inspiration to do so. You just won't!
Like they say, pointless meanderings akin to most blogs end up no where.
How much higher can you hike the skirt of your life? Afraid they will see something and judge? So you stop.
Once you delve into writing, you feel that your followers expectations are heightened. Their awareness of your prose skills will influence your next blog entry, so like an antelope caught in the headlights of a car, you freeze, more because you feel their eyes boring into you (into your blog)
Of course it's easier to have a mini-series-a following of stories with a protagonist featuring, his/her life played out, but this will happen only if you can follow a lead properly, if you can finish what you started. So because you don't want to bite into something you may not chew properly and effectively have your shallowness displayed for all and sundry, you freeze.
Of course you want to spice up your story, let the protagonist be a heart-breaker, perhaps a serial dater or have some riveting character or proclivity that will have your reader hooked, but you don't want your reader to super-impose this onto your real life, which may or may not be....
And so your tap dries out.
I once asked a pal why he doesn't blog anymore; he said he realized mid-sentence after a year of blogging that he was actually not good at writing about himself, and so he abandoned ship. I challenged him to write about issues far removed from his personal life, all he could think of was 'the going green campaign' and of course he wouldn't be bothered...
And so you write about wayward issues, about the completely rude taxi tout your friend told you about, or perhaps, about the pump attendant who wanted to rob you silly, thinking you were still in a state of doze, (given it's morning) but the way you jumped out of the car and shrieked at him when you realized you were being robbed surprised not only you, but the attendant as well, and so you blog...
The randomness with which you blog will surely, and slowly, lead to it's (your blog) death. At a certain time, after a number of posts have been written, and the deep satisfaction has spread like coffee in your system in the morning, the word tap will dry out. Taxi tout won't be worth blogging about anymore. You won't feel the inspiration to do so. You just won't!
Like they say, pointless meanderings akin to most blogs end up no where.
How much higher can you hike the skirt of your life? Afraid they will see something and judge? So you stop.
Once you delve into writing, you feel that your followers expectations are heightened. Their awareness of your prose skills will influence your next blog entry, so like an antelope caught in the headlights of a car, you freeze, more because you feel their eyes boring into you (into your blog)
Of course it's easier to have a mini-series-a following of stories with a protagonist featuring, his/her life played out, but this will happen only if you can follow a lead properly, if you can finish what you started. So because you don't want to bite into something you may not chew properly and effectively have your shallowness displayed for all and sundry, you freeze.
Of course you want to spice up your story, let the protagonist be a heart-breaker, perhaps a serial dater or have some riveting character or proclivity that will have your reader hooked, but you don't want your reader to super-impose this onto your real life, which may or may not be....
And so your tap dries out.
I once asked a pal why he doesn't blog anymore; he said he realized mid-sentence after a year of blogging that he was actually not good at writing about himself, and so he abandoned ship. I challenged him to write about issues far removed from his personal life, all he could think of was 'the going green campaign' and of course he wouldn't be bothered...
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Facebook = Shallow
It's addictive. It's catching, it's wrong.
It makes you wanna log on in the middle of the night, just to see what is going on. That is Face book, ladies and gentlemen.
There is something exhibitionist about it, makes one pour out their day for everyone to know, maybe to chide a counter parry, match and counter-match. Who happens more, Who is having more fun?
There are these two young'uns who live on Facebook.
One goes "I am at Mr Price at Nakumatt, this shirt looks stunning"
the other goes "Nakumatt, Mr. Price, i love, love, the clothes"
Needless to say, had you been tasked with profiling them, you would gather information right up to when they fart, exact time.
The exhibitionism that face book encourages is shameless. It makes you wonder if we actually live private lives, or if, at all, we want to live private lives.
You would know when your mere acquaintances fall in love, what kind of love thereof, segue, when the heartbreak (that will follow, as sure as day follows night) happens.
The frivolous existence that FB (acronyms now, please) has created reminds of some semi-living thing swimming on the surface of the water, too lethargic to dive to the bottom, to get it's hands dirty, to get to the deep of things...
Quick lust, they call it. Anonymous dates with all the wrong people, morbid looking people with veneers of models on their profile pages. Unabashed alias profile information, creating false liberties for some who have the time, (and the energy) to maintain two profiles. With the second tucked away safely, only to be used on those restless weekends (we all know those)
A friend of mine once got a very controversial message on FB. Perhaps he was adding friends too quickly, or his friend requests were being ignored more than accepted, or that someone had slyly reported his account (could have been a jilted lover) but the FB team proudly sent him a message as he was trying to add someone, it went; "You cannot add anymore friends at this time, this could be due to two reasons
1 - You are adding friends too quickly
2 - Your requests are being ignored at a high rate"
Then the FB team went forward and said, (and this really takes the cake)
"Please observe these rules;
1 - Do not use FB for dating or business!
2 - Do not add friends too quickly"
It is like the FB team went and knocked it's head on the wall of self righteousness and got flashes of sanity. I mean, isn't this the same network that asks you to specify whether you are in a relationship or not? If they don't, then why the hell do they want you to tell the world about your relationship status?!
I wonder.
Face-book is a bad apple, it's indulgences are like those of bad food. Sweet, and yet ultimately dangerous.
It makes you wanna log on in the middle of the night, just to see what is going on. That is Face book, ladies and gentlemen.
There is something exhibitionist about it, makes one pour out their day for everyone to know, maybe to chide a counter parry, match and counter-match. Who happens more, Who is having more fun?
There are these two young'uns who live on Facebook.
One goes "I am at Mr Price at Nakumatt, this shirt looks stunning"
the other goes "Nakumatt, Mr. Price, i love, love, the clothes"
Needless to say, had you been tasked with profiling them, you would gather information right up to when they fart, exact time.
The exhibitionism that face book encourages is shameless. It makes you wonder if we actually live private lives, or if, at all, we want to live private lives.
You would know when your mere acquaintances fall in love, what kind of love thereof, segue, when the heartbreak (that will follow, as sure as day follows night) happens.
The frivolous existence that FB (acronyms now, please) has created reminds of some semi-living thing swimming on the surface of the water, too lethargic to dive to the bottom, to get it's hands dirty, to get to the deep of things...
Quick lust, they call it. Anonymous dates with all the wrong people, morbid looking people with veneers of models on their profile pages. Unabashed alias profile information, creating false liberties for some who have the time, (and the energy) to maintain two profiles. With the second tucked away safely, only to be used on those restless weekends (we all know those)
A friend of mine once got a very controversial message on FB. Perhaps he was adding friends too quickly, or his friend requests were being ignored more than accepted, or that someone had slyly reported his account (could have been a jilted lover) but the FB team proudly sent him a message as he was trying to add someone, it went; "You cannot add anymore friends at this time, this could be due to two reasons
1 - You are adding friends too quickly
2 - Your requests are being ignored at a high rate"
Then the FB team went forward and said, (and this really takes the cake)
"Please observe these rules;
1 - Do not use FB for dating or business!
2 - Do not add friends too quickly"
It is like the FB team went and knocked it's head on the wall of self righteousness and got flashes of sanity. I mean, isn't this the same network that asks you to specify whether you are in a relationship or not? If they don't, then why the hell do they want you to tell the world about your relationship status?!
I wonder.
Face-book is a bad apple, it's indulgences are like those of bad food. Sweet, and yet ultimately dangerous.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Inebriated Pork guy!
Last evening, i was feeling good about myself so i decided to treat myself in part because i was feeling good, and in part because i had spent the day with someone who feels good about themselves.
Guilty pleasures they are called. I went to this pork guy. He sells raw pork - those who know about pork places you will reckon, they are small slithery places where the pork guys slither in and out of their rank pigpens. They (the pork places) do not stand out like the beef places, in the open, street corners, white tiles in the background and smiling butchers gently waving fly-swatters while shrewdly bargaining pricewise with meat lovers.
The pork places are usually in the backwater quarters of townships. Behind the main street of third-rate town centers. The pork man(is that what they call them?) wont be inside like you expect him to be-tending to his hulk of meat. He will be outside easily bantering with listless looking fellows at the side playing 'omweso' a local game.
You will have to holler, squinting inside, for the smoke from the unattended firewood stove in the corner will make your eyes water. The pork man will spring to life when he finally hears your holler, and will quickly point to the streakiest part of the meat, snidely smiling, his smile saying "you know this is not the best deal, but i am going to indulge your guilty pork pleasure, so you will hurriedly pay and leave" The entire experience will scar you with every step.
So this pork man yesterday seemed offbeat when i approached him. He would continually smile, and had this mad tick in his eye, he looked gaunt and obviously drunk. Slurring his words, he said "So how many kilos can i get you?" "Two" i replied immediately, instant discomfort showing on my face, scowling at his poor work ethic-drinking on the job.
I handed him a crisp note and he handed back two greasy change-notes plus my meat, his hands shaking, clearly showing off his levels of inebriation. I quickly took my items. "Webale nnyo" he mustered in his steadiest voice yet to my retreating back.
I left with a cold feeling in my mind, i kept on wondering to myself, wondering if it's true what they say about Uganda and the fact that we love our alcohol that much, that we have made the horrid shift from social drinking to drinking out of necessity. I remembered something a friend of mine said about people from his ancestral home, and how sad he felt when he visited them recently, the abject poverty manifesting in the entire community, land not tilled, livestock not taken care of, all because of the drinking. He said the men looked withered by drink, torpidly moving around, small, potent drinks in hand.
My fears were confirmed true today when i drove by the pork man's hovel on my way home. The shabby door was closed. I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that my 10,000shs payment last night was slowly killing pork man at the nearest 'malwa' joint, no less, denying him a honest-day's work.
I feel really bad for him.
Guilty pleasures they are called. I went to this pork guy. He sells raw pork - those who know about pork places you will reckon, they are small slithery places where the pork guys slither in and out of their rank pigpens. They (the pork places) do not stand out like the beef places, in the open, street corners, white tiles in the background and smiling butchers gently waving fly-swatters while shrewdly bargaining pricewise with meat lovers.
The pork places are usually in the backwater quarters of townships. Behind the main street of third-rate town centers. The pork man(is that what they call them?) wont be inside like you expect him to be-tending to his hulk of meat. He will be outside easily bantering with listless looking fellows at the side playing 'omweso' a local game.
You will have to holler, squinting inside, for the smoke from the unattended firewood stove in the corner will make your eyes water. The pork man will spring to life when he finally hears your holler, and will quickly point to the streakiest part of the meat, snidely smiling, his smile saying "you know this is not the best deal, but i am going to indulge your guilty pork pleasure, so you will hurriedly pay and leave" The entire experience will scar you with every step.
So this pork man yesterday seemed offbeat when i approached him. He would continually smile, and had this mad tick in his eye, he looked gaunt and obviously drunk. Slurring his words, he said "So how many kilos can i get you?" "Two" i replied immediately, instant discomfort showing on my face, scowling at his poor work ethic-drinking on the job.
I handed him a crisp note and he handed back two greasy change-notes plus my meat, his hands shaking, clearly showing off his levels of inebriation. I quickly took my items. "Webale nnyo" he mustered in his steadiest voice yet to my retreating back.
I left with a cold feeling in my mind, i kept on wondering to myself, wondering if it's true what they say about Uganda and the fact that we love our alcohol that much, that we have made the horrid shift from social drinking to drinking out of necessity. I remembered something a friend of mine said about people from his ancestral home, and how sad he felt when he visited them recently, the abject poverty manifesting in the entire community, land not tilled, livestock not taken care of, all because of the drinking. He said the men looked withered by drink, torpidly moving around, small, potent drinks in hand.
My fears were confirmed true today when i drove by the pork man's hovel on my way home. The shabby door was closed. I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that my 10,000shs payment last night was slowly killing pork man at the nearest 'malwa' joint, no less, denying him a honest-day's work.
I feel really bad for him.
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