The last staff meeting was probably one of the most unsettling we have ever had, and that is saying a lot, considering that we have had staff meetings that featured:
a) Lucas Shinyangwa, the Tanzanian “doctor” who wanted to do a weekly column for us. He came along with calabashes full of spirits, and throughout the meeting they kept speaking to us, some of them saying racist things about Bantu Africans.
b) The bellydancers going on strike. They wanted less fattening foods in the caferteria, so they said they would only be dancing jabba until we stopped trying to feed them ekigoddo ky’embuzi. The sight of bellydancers doing the jabba was the saddest thing my eyes have ever seen.
c) And my eyes have seen some shit. Eg. The other Obsession without makeup. Shudder.
However, in all this time I have never been so distressed as I was after the site went down.
The entire building was plunged into darkness and the air-conditioners’ hum ground to a stop. This could only mean one thing. No, not Umeme. We managed to get connected to the top-secret Uganda Nuclear Power Grid (don’t tell anyone about it) so we don’t get load shed. It meant that the security committee had decided to enter Def Con 4.
Now, it’s not that I am a coward. Everyone knows that I have no problem with a fight when a fight is necessary. You saw what happened the time that little blog tried to go to war with us? What happened was they never tried to go to war with us again, okay?
But then, after a while you get kind of weary of battles and fighting, you know? I mean, Libya, Afghanistan, Die Hard movies… you start to wonder, is all the carnage worth it? Isn’t there a better way?
And now, here we were: attacked by insurgents who had come to take our site offline. I wanted to try a diplomatic solution, like sleeping with their mothers and thus humiliating them into surrender, but the guys refused on the grounds that their mothers were way too ugly.
The mainframe read-out recommended Manouver Swift Eagle. That meant Ivan, Streets and Sleek would go in delta force and Erique would cover them with sniper fire. “Baz is on recon,” said the computer. “With his punk peace-loving Ghandi-ass.”
I was hurt by those words but all I could think of was how I wish the world would understand that war is not the answer. Haven’t these people heard any Black Eyed Peas songs?
But it was too late. I could hear the whup whup of the Black Hawk leave the helipad on the roof. They were gone and there would be no stopping them until the insurgents were all dead.
It wasn’t easy. In the control room the lights blinked and flashed frantically and I was sweating quite a bit. My headset kept slipping off my head. I wonder how Chloe managed in CTU all those years. Well, all those days, actually.
Eventually we were done.
And now we were back here, for our staff meeting.
They were still in their combat suits, their boots covered in blood and fragments of human flesh. Erique, who had stopped by Chillies on the way back, was picking his teeth with a bone that I knew was not from a chicken.
Streets took off his glasses and wiped some gooey green liquid off them. “The way the guy’s kidney just exploded all over my specs! %^&**($#@!” he snarled.
Ivan was laughing as if it was all a joke. “Did you see the pit bulls they sent to attack us? Hah hah! They turned out to be delicious!”
“But you guys, how can you be so unfeeling? Insurgents are also human beings!” I pleaded like a pansy.
“Not any more,” said Sleek. “Now they are just remains.”