It is the 28th day of February and there are stern faced kanyamas at all the telecoms, holding jambiyas over your number. If you performed the three minute ritual of registration at one point during the 542 days we were given, the angel of disconnection shall Passover you and you shall be safe from the shamefaced writhing and gnashing of teeth that awaits the unregistered.
But wait! There is a rumor making the rounds! The deadline may have been extended to June to accommodate all the mongos who haven’t registered yet. That’s disappointing. The telecoms have been swaggering and threatening, polluting radios with annoying ads and now they have relented? They must have been panicking yesterday about losing their precious subscribers. Salty sadness must have been oozing out of all their orifices. Who would buy their free talk packages now?
Have you made a call today? What are those robot ladies saying? You know, the ones that hold your ears hostage and swernce about registering before letting your call through. Those chicks. I’m surprised that their tongues haven’t rolled off from being twisted so much. So much kwemola. They make me want to pee on my phone out of spite.
What are they saying today? Are they promising head to everybody that manages to register at the last minute? If they are, refuse. Already you are a bad citizen and a candidate for hell, but accepting sexual favors from robots with awful accents will land you there for sure.
So what are the excuses of the fandangos who’ve refused to register? Here are the ones I have heard:
We want to protect our identity:
You have no identity. For a small bundle of cash like so, even I can access your phone records. In fact, if I wanted to, I could also access your medical records, NSSF account, bank account, bar tab and a list of all the people you’ve kwensed since high school. Shut up and register.
We want to see what they will do:
You are fake. Who is this they? I hope you get robbed by your lover. Your unregistered lover. I hope they connive with your unregistered maid and steal everything you have ever bought.
The lines are long:
Why are they long? MM? Why? Because goons like you took their time. Stand there and sweat for your sins. Stop whining and register!
We are too lazy:
I can sympathize with these lame cats. I am also lazy sometimes. It is hard having to do your duty as a citizen of your country to fight bullshit like hate messages and child kidnapping (that is heavily supported by phones). I mean, it is OK. You be lazy. But the next time a kid gets stabbed in the forehead, know that it is YOUR fault.
I hate the justs. With their puerile facial expressions. Like sloths sitting in their own shit and smearing it all over their faces. They say JUST and then they snigger. You just, you are the reason the reason sneers exist. Have this one.
We want to have phone sex in peace:
You dumbass. Big brother, whoever that is, can already tap your awkward, breathy, squishy, mostly silent sex conversations. He’s been listening ever since you got that girl’s number off Hi5 and started asking her what she was wearing.
We want to warn girls off our men:
He’s not your anything if he is extending his genitals to somebody else and you cannot even deal with him. Warn and torture him first, and then take your angry face to that girl and show her your fist. If I ever receive an anonymous message nti “leave my man alone”, I shall track him down, whoever he is and ravish him on the streets of Kampala. Show your face, sister. Register.
There is nothing invasive about registering. It is like getting a driving license. Stop being as if early man and do the damn thing already.