Author Archives: Sleek

About Sleek

does the moonwalk during the day

Monday Massacres: Drop The Flag

There’s this restaurant in Kampala where you walk in and take a seat. You then do that eye movement used universally to catch a waitress’s attention. She scoots over. You make another eye movement that says “Hi, how are you (insert name read from her slightly-tilted name tag)?” She throws you a smile. You catch it, still with your eyes. She says something but by this time the hunger you walked in with is screaming for more attention than The Red Pepper. You do that innocent wink that says you’d like to look at the menu, all according to the International Restaurant Gesture Book.


[ulk-credit]Carlos Porto /[/ulk-credit]Food!!!

Nothing unusual so far so before you close the page to go read soccer scores, here’s the juicy bit; in this restaurant, each table has a flag. You are served till you drop that flag. The temptation to name the restaurant is very big…suffice it to say their menu isn’t exactly one for vegetarians.

So if you keep the flag on your table flying even after rounds and rounds of food, we investigated what will transpire.

First off, a small team of men in expensive shades and black suits come and menacingly whisper a few things they’ll do to you if you don’t drop the flag. You gasp. They take seats. Their leader removes his shades and stares you straight in the eyeball. You are unfazed. You swallow another morsel of beef while holding eye contact. Beads of sweat form on your now oily forehead.

Your phone rings. Your funky ringtone startles you. One of the pieces of crocodile meat you are holding falls to the table and hits the flag on your table. You act fast and stop it just before it topples. You answer the phone. It’s Gorretti, the girl you’ve received several resounding NOs from. She’s crying. She says if you don’t drop the flag, bad men holding her hostage will mess up her nail varnish. You try to explain. A hoarse voice comes on to the phone saying you have five seconds. You swallow a piece of camel meat as you think it over. A shrill scream forces you to twitch

Gorreti in happier times

[ulk-credit]Tom Clare /[/ulk-credit]
Gorreti in happier times

Out of nowhere, a helicopter is hovering above the restaurant with a reporter rapping your every move as a camera beams your picture on the news with running commentary about your life story and what has led to this moment. By now you are swimming in your own sweat. A lot of the salt in the meat is from your sweat. You still don’t drop the flag.

A negotiator is brought in to speak to you. Find out your demands. Even then, you refuse to budge, only responding to his questions between mouthfuls.

Seeing their restaurant on the brink of being eaten out of business, they do the last thing any entity in this situation would do; give you hippo meat. They reel it in on a crane. And hand you a saw, a hoe and a power drill to dig in.

Your hand moves towards the flag…flag slowly makes its way to the ground, your life flashes before your eyes…but then…

ULK Easter Recipe: Kung fu Chicken

Easter is inching closer. It is yet another time of year for us to eat, make merry, drink, get drunk, get arrested, stage a prison break using a pen to make it home in time for Easter Sunday lunch. Since I’ve masterly brought us to the topic of Sunday lunch, what better thing can a legend do than give you a recipe? Easter lunch is one of those that stays in your belly for several months.

Unlike all those recipes you’ll pick up online, the ones we give here use only products you can find easily in a supermarket near you. Or in your neighbor’s fridge if you pick them fast enough.

What your meal won’t look like.


  • Eggs from a hen
  • Salt
  • Fifteen Crisps
  • Mirinda
  • Oil


  1. Put down the game of Matatu you are playing. This will be very hard seeing as this game has a rich history and is very addictive
  2. See a chicken. Chase the chicken. You have between now and Thursday to catch the chicken. You could use a booby trap. You could look for an android app that can do this bit for you. You could get onto a boda boda and chase the damn foul.


  3. Chicken captured, you need to get it to lay at least two eggs. This can be done by scaring the sheat out of it. Show it a picture of grilled chicken. Bite into a drumstick while it watches. Play Bebe Cool’s music. Show it lady Gaga. Do sum’n horrific.
  4. If you have eggs from performing step three successfully, it is probably Friday by now. Good Friday. If the eggs are white, no need to waste them by eating them. Take them to a witch-doctor and he will make you stinking rich. Or he’ll just make you stinking. If you didn’t get eggs, this is the end of the road. Go do something nation-building; find a shovel and fill potholes.
  5. If you have reached this far then the assumption is you are holding some eggs in your hands as you read this. Put them down and high five yourself.
  6. Get the oil. Pour two shots of it into a clean frying pan. Put the pan on fire. Or heat it using your laser vision. Or rub your hands against the bottom of the pan till it heats up sufficiently
  7. Sip from the bottle of Mirinda
  8. Crack the eggs by hitting them against your forehead. No. Don’t do that.
  9. Crack the eggs using the swift haiken mitserugi Karate chop made popular by the Harlem-shaking Shaolin monks of Kamwokya. Pour the gooey inside into the cup. Beat it. The gooey stuff, not the cup
  10. Add 3-5 pinches of salt. Or if you have a lot of salt, add more. No use having it un-used in the kitchen
  11. Think about adding water. Brush away the thought. Think about what it would take for you to get a role as Djames bond. Or as a bond girl. Depending on your sex. Brush away that thought
  12. Pour the goo you’ve brutally beaten into the now-smoking oil.
  13. When the egg starts turning light taupe, flip it using whatever you have at your disposal.
  14. Eat three of the crisps we spoke of in the ingredients. The other twelve, give to charity. It is Easter you know
  15. Serve the Easter Egg hot. Eat it alone. Make grunts of pleasure every fifteen seconds. Do this till you swallow the last bit. Upload on YouTube

How To Conduct A Good Election

We have looked on as the Kenya elections have inched closer and closer…like that smelly guy in the matatu you don’t want to talk to. Us here in Uganda we have done these things of elections for many years. So many, even James Bond knows it.

Skyfall Quotes: Interrupt transmissions from a spy satellite over Kabul? Done! Rig an election in Uganda, all to the highest bidder.

So we are good at these things. We know it. The world knows it. It is from this high, white, well-fed horse that we deliver tips on how to do an election…and do it right *queue victory music*

High Horse

1.         Deploy the army everywhere

You shouldn’t be able to turn to scratch yourself in a matatu , a mathree if you will, without hitting the butt of a gun. The army should be in every nook and manhole. At the supermarket, the ladies at the checkout counters should be army women; in the bank, the pretty teller that makes you queue endlessly just to get there and attempt for the nth time to get her number…she and her colleagues should be replaced with army men. What do you need money for? It is election time bwana! Go vote!

 2.       All music should be liberation music

All these fluffy jams by sijui Prezzo, Mad Traxxx na P-Unit…no no no. Only liberation music should be playing. If your president can drop a jam (and let it be known that Kibaki dropping a jam would be so epic, North Korea would shut down  its nuclear tests and opt to send his music to America instead. If he can use ‘ama let you finish lakini…’ as the chorus, platinum )

 3.       Leave some names out of the register

What is the point of having 15 million people vote? For what? Useless. Tumbavu. Only a handful of people should vote…of course there is no use riling up people by telling them this. No no. Just don’t include them in the register.

But Sleek, they’ll stand in the scorching sun for several hours waiting to vote….

Umm, we gave them a public holiday. What else would they rather be doing eh?

Bbbbbuttt they’ll fight and beat us up…

Refer to point 1

 4.       Counting votes is for pansies

In Africa, we have no time…and we aren’t pansies. You could be counting votes then a lion springs out of the bushes nearby and devours you. Time is too precious to count votes. Use intuition; read people’s faces as they scrutinize the ballot paper. Then declare a winner.

Lion Attacking Zebra

That could be you. Don’t count votes

 5.       Partey!!

This is not entirely about the election itself…but about the aftermath. There will be a winner. There will be sore losers. Shut them up. Court. Radio. TV. Wherever they go, shut them up. Then on to the fun part…PARTEY!!

Throw a party so epic, Kim and Ye should call for tips. And if the party budget is anything below $10m, you aren’t doing something right. You are a shame to all Africans everywhere. Off to the naughty corner.

Monday Massacres: How to kick a lion in the balls and stay around to see what happens

A long, long time ago, in ancient Andunga kingdom somewhere in Uganda (which at that time was merely a big expanse full of lions, hares, he-goats and natives with primitive energy), there lived a man. Onoonoi, for that was this man’s name, was known by all neighboring clusters of people for having won The Andunga Games time and time again. But Mister Sleek, what are these strange games that sound like the Hunger Games you speak of? Patience grasshopper. Patience.

The Andunga Games began over 3,700 years ago in Andunga, in the North Eastern part of that big expanse of land with lions, hares, he-goats and natives with primitive energy. The Games were staged every four years on a raised patch of land that had few lions, hares and he-goats. Here, the natives put their not-too-modern energy to use by competing like crazy in various games. People from all over the world came to watch and take part. Participation was only for strong, brave men who had been trained since they stopped suckling.

Andunga Games

Onoonoi, for the last three games, had emerged Omusobokoto; which was the title for the guy who won the Games. People didn’t like him because he laughed at all the competitors who lost to him. He’d write entire songs taunting them, mentioning their name, which Uoka tree they lived in and what fufu they had for supper the previous evening. This meant that he re-mixed the song often to keep it accurate

It came to pass that Oukalanyai, a battle-hardened young man with a twitchy left hand, decided to take on Onoonoi in the Games. Onoonoi had dissed the young man’s great grandfather, Acelaumuu, for too long.  The stage was set for an Al-Pacino-Robert De Niro face-off. As a responsible writer, I’ll give you time to go off and change those pants you’ve just peed.

Pee your pants

So the Games kicked off with village belle, Tery-ansi, batting her eyelids at every competitor. The lions, pre-starved for a week prior to the games, were let loose. The competitors ran for their lives and for glory, diving over booby traps made of real boobs, outsmarting hares in games of ancient Chess, head-butting enraged he-goats, all the while running faster than the lions, heading for the podimpo, the raised ground that the starved carnivores couldn’t reach.

Oukalanyai and Onoonoi made it to podimpo. To choose the winner, the two had to face off in a game only very smart people played. It required brains, stare-downs, mind-reading, the ability to see through paper,  the bravery to kick a lion in the balls and stay around to see what happens…and buxom lady lucquesia, pimped and known as lady luck these days.

Lady lucquesia

Lady lucquesia

Oukalanyai, three days later, emerged winner of the Matatu game-for that was the game they were playing- having outsmarted Onoonoi by keeping his pick two and unleashing it on the unsuspecting defending champion.

Many years later, the game has been put into small computers called phones by the great, great, great grandchildren of these people. If you are smart, can stare down, can mind-read, have the ability to see through paper, can kick a lion in the balls and stay around to see what happens, or if you are just cool, get the game here:

Monday Massacres: The One About A Rat

From the time Dad and Mum prayed fervently to have me until a stork dropped me in Mum’s lap, I knew I was destined for the big life. My eekie weekie noises betrayed the greatness that awaited me. My fellow rodents scurried around, content to nibble food here, scare a few humans there, watch Spanish soaps from atop rickety cupboards, munch generous holes into stinky socks and neatly pressed-‘Sunday best’ clothes alike; you know, the erratic life. The good life. But I wanted more. There had to be more pleasure than that attained by lying on your good side while rubbing your hairy, bulging belly full of what was once a pretty yellow dress with all these floral things that humans seem to like.

There simply had to be more. Granted, we’d crack up and high-five like crazy whenever one of us would return with a story of a human they’d scared. Owing to his muscular frame, Brutus always had the most hilarious stories. For some reason humans always compared him to a cat. It is partly because of this clout that he became Da bRat. We all bowed down in his presence. He had an aura about him. And he was always eating on something. This, in my opinion, is why he always had these all these excited hood rats schmoozing about. Brutus Da bRat.


Straight from the underground

I was no Brutus but I had to leave a mark. I had to join the mouse greats. Mickey Mouse. Jerry. Town Mouse. Country Mouse. Those were cool. But I wanted even more than that. Three blind mice. They had a freaking song done about them. That’s what I wanted. I had to be that rat with a song about him. I just didn’t know how I’d go about it. See I lived in the house of a…how do I put this lightly…a struggling musician. I think that’s what humans call people who can’t carry a tune but get paid at concerts to say ‘nalumansi’. Yes, I’ve been to concerts. I’m a town mouse after all.

I’d lived with this…err…musician all my life so naturally I knew their schedule like the tip of my tail. They go to sleep. Brutus comes out with his gang. They eat. They leave. I come out. I eat till I can’t twitch my whiskers. I half roll half shuffle back to my digs. Wait till next day. This is how life had always been…I knew their times. Their schedules. Everything. Until this one day I got out a little too early… And she saw me. Then my private life ended…I became a star

Monday Massacres: Django Unchained A review

So there’s this movie called Jungle Unchained that’s all the rage. All your cool friends have watched it and they are continuously dropping all these references that have them high-fiving while you peck away at your plate, trying to hide the shame of being the black duck that hasn’t watched a movie EddieSoft was hooking people up with over a month ago. Kinda like all those years ago when those same cool friends were continuously saying TIA since they’d watched that movie which made men cry when Leonardo DiCaprio died. It was such a sad movie

Rather than give you directions to the place where EddieSoft barters your Shs. 1,500 for a fairly decent copy of Jungle (Majestic Plaza, room 45B, Level 3, in the corner, next to the brown lady everyone calls Nalongo Blawuni), I’ll tell you what the movie is about.

So the movie it is called Jungle Unchained. As the name suggests, it is set in this dense African Jungle because outside countries there are no jungles. Actually I lie. There are jungles but they have no animals. They have hippies.

Hippie Woot woot

Taken in a dense jungle in outside countries

Spoiler Alert: I’m going to tell you the whole movie. Even the soundtracks. If you haven’t watched it, stop here and holla at Eddie.

So in the movie, the entire story explores the life of this, we presume, African tribe, in a jungle that has mad love for chains. They are all nude and speaking gibberish but wearing heavy chains. Kinda like Apocalypto meets a hip hop video. Mssctthhewww! Such a simple plot! Hand me back my disposable cup that I’ve used all week, Useless writer! I’m going back to standing by the water dispenser and striking the pose that Oprah said will get me a raise. Scchtupid!

That’s what I thought too. But with my landlord camping at my door, waiting for me to return from Arua, I had no choice but to plug earphones into Tortoise, my beloved PC, and watch the damn movie.

It starts off with a heavy beat-boxing routine done by someone with a voice that sounds so much like Ssebaana, that dude who was once our mayor. Then it gets real crae…and I mean reeaalll crae because just th

[removed by ED]

nd then they kiss, shag and die. Not really in that order.

What my friends said about the movie before I watched it:

  1. That they say the word ‘nigger’ over 100 times. I heard the word Naija said a crazy amount of times. How do people hear that as Nigger? Schmucks.
  2. That there is this odd line: “I’m curious why you are so curious”(WTF?) . I heard ‘wetin mekin yoo curioso’

Odd thing is they had what seemed like Naijorion occents throughout the movie. But then again, it is crazy popular so FOMO made me put my ears through it. That and the landlord camped at my door.

Monday Massacres: Polo Marathon


There was a Polo tournament in Jinja over the weekend.

Polo 2012

On a ticket to tourney:

Polo is a fast-paced contact sport where injuries to players and spectators may be possible…(“all organizers accept”)….no liability for any damage, injury, theft or death howsoever caused. You attend at your own risk and expense.


Armed with this knowledge, I headed to the venue in a helmet and wearing a slightly bulging white ball-guard. Needless to say all the ladies ignored my endless winks and come-hither motions.

The tourney had 4 teams; Airtel, Sheraton, Midcom and Citi bank.

The game grows on you; more so after you get over the initial discomfort of a ball-guard. Citi bank emerged winners

Strangely, the players didn’t scream like prepubescent girlies and fall on top of each other after scoring each goal; either because rich people don’t do that kind of thing or due to the fact that boys and girls played together.

For centuries, golf players have had us hoodwinked. We’ve been led to believe that when someone has “arrived”, he/she plays golf. Bollocks. The figures are finally in; when one “arrives”, he/she plays Polo.

Polo 2012

Polo 2012

Each polo player uses at least 3 horses during a game. To take care of one horse you need a goose that constantly shits golden eggs and never gets constipated. Laxatives oyee


For those still arriving at the finish line right now, the rest of us are at work…you aren’t the first.

For those walking like they have an anvil between their legs, next time stretch after running. Marathon round-up:

Odd Attire

Jeans. Tight jeans. Tight clothes everyone behind you can see through. Pink and lime green shirts. Bata shoes. Wool sweaters

Playlist no-nos

Man down

Walking away

Walk it-Missy Elliot

Playlist yes

Running-2pac and biggie

Run this town

Unsexy and i know it

Vitamini – Lillian

Odd sights

Chinese guy walking. Panting. WTH man? You are a shame to your race


MTN Marathon 2012

Johnny soon after crossing the 2012 finish line. He set-off in the  2011 edition

The KB

Are we almost there?

Do (pant) you (pant pant) know where (pant pant pant) the toilets are?

To win

Think Kenyan thoughts…like “Sasa if I drink this Chang’aa, nita win kweli?” .

Plot after

Look for a joint that has whole cow. Whole pig. Replenish your body

The crowd

Raymond Kukundakwe. He was hard to miss seeing as he was wearing pink.

Doreen Namanya. She was at the finish line sticking out a leg to trip anyone struggling to stay on their feet.

Amos Kiyingi. He zoomed past this writer. He refused to share the package he got from Armstrong.

A lot-of-other-people-in-yellow



Monday Massacres: Lessons we learn from movies with kicks

Sometimes you, as a proficient fighter, find yourself surrounded by a big number of people all baying for your blood. They all attack. And being the proficient fighter you are, you manage to hand out kicks, flicks, slaps and spittle to each of them in varying measures. Now, while you are kicking ass, we the not-too-proficient fighters, we who feel we are bad-ass because we jeered at a conductor once and we also stole guavas from our neighbour’s tree when we were younger, we see you beating people up and we learn a few things about our problems in life.

Kicking ass

Take that problems!

  1. No matter how many they are, they attack one at a time

    You will always have enough time to kick one goon in the groin before the next screaming lunatic has a chance to attack you. Same thing for problems

  2. They are always Chinese

    This isn’t true. Problems aren’t always Chinese. The coffee you take while trying to sift through them, that you usually take from a cup from China

  3. They scream as they approach

    Either to warn you, or to re-assure themselves that they are actually attacking you, these fighters always scream while approaching. Problems also usually drop tell-tale signs before  showing up with a baby at your doorstep. Squeaky engine parts. All pointing to a faulty car. He picks his nose. A warning he’ll be a wife-beater. You invite her for dinner for two and she comes with 2 buddies, one a guy. She’ll do juju on you. He sings along to Bieber. You know he’ll scream like a girl and jump into your arms when a roach scuttles across the living room. Tell-tale signs

    Battle cry

    I go kill you now now

  4. They have squinted eyes
  5. They are always puzzled when you kick their ass

    They wonder WTF? How did he manage to kick allofus? How? Same thing; the problems wonder how you manage to kick them to the curb

  6. They are weak

    Stand your ground. You’ll beat them all up

Monday Massacres: Things Every Superhero Should Have

Several times in your life, you feel a strange itch in your left pinkie. Whenever this happens, you usually look up from the pile of important documents you are signing and ask yourself, “Is this it? Was I meant to be more in life? Are my superhuman relatives trying to communicate with me using left pinkie Morse code? Am I supposed to fit into the awkward green spandex outfit I always find lying neatly in my laundry and bound from pothole to pothole, saving innocent people from imminent doom? Should it bother me that the outfit makes my junk look bizarre?”

The Pawpawman costume

We are here to bring a message from your super-human relatives. They say that when you finally make up your mind and squeeze into that outfit they go through great pains to sneak into your laundry every week, here are the items you’ll need to perform your duties as a superhero.

A cool phone

If you thought superheroes don’t own phones, you are on cheap drugs. Cool phones are useful in times when you’ve been in a very nasty fight with hoodlums and tied them up. You’ve then said in your most authoritative voice, “Afande, take them away!”

It then hits you how tired you are. If you are those broke superheroes without a car, like Spiderman, your ‘ride’ home involves you climbing from wall to wall (Chris Brown eh?).  Being tired presents a problem. You can’t skip from wall to wall when you are tired.

Presenting the cool phone. Pull it out and call Elias, your boda guy.  You can stop by Wandegeya for half-chips half-rice.


You won’t be able to call Elias if you have no airtime. And it doesn’t matter how many buildings you can leap over in a single bound; if you have no airtime, your phone won’t make a call. There is no super power to get round this yet…unless of course you can project your voice in which case everyone will hear you telling Elias to bring you chips byenda.

Cool car

But seriously, how effective will you be as a superhero if crime is going down somewhere and you are screaming instructions to Elias as he dodges potholes to get you to the crime scene? Get a car man.


While you kick a villain in the butt, drop a clever remark. Read ULK.

Okay, now that you have a costume somewhere in your house, you have to get the rest of the stuff from the Pepsi MotoMoto Facebook game. Just follow this link… to play and win Nokia Asha phones, airtime, Nissan X-trails, DStv decoders…those things of educated superheroes.

Now go try on that green spandex outfit and we see.


The World’s Most Famous Saves | Part One

“To be human is to err – Plagiarized by Sleek of and phone number +256 7RE-MOVED

It is because we err so much that it’s phenomenally big when a knight rides in on a white horse, unsheathes his sword, un-mounts his horse, whispers into its ear and asks it to run off to some place safe where it can graze and not expose its eyeballs to the grim stuff he’s going to do, then he walks over and saves us from the colossal ball-twist we’ve managed to err ourselves into.

These knights come in several forms. It can be that Boda Boda rider who breaks all rules and gets you to that super important exam in Kooki on time…

…or that radio presenter who speaks while a Rachel K song is playing, or that person who screams “nooooooo”, runs and pushes you out of the way just as a marabou stork attempts to shit on you, or that guy buddy of yours in friend zone who always comes in to act as your boyfriend when smelly boy you don’t like starts to act aroused around you.

The knights can also be like those of Arnold Schwarzenegger when he levels an entire village for standing between him and a chao, or Liam Neeson when his child is kidnapped, or UMEME when it notices that a cute lady has come over to your place and it knows your lack of game; so it goes away to help you grow some balls. Or when it notices that Straka is straining your 14” TV and it goes away.

Here on ULK we are all about recognizing knights. Saviours. Super saves. Today we focus on one super save in particular; you may know him as the bald American with Chinese eyes. Bruce Willis. In Armageddon, a movie based on real life incidents that we at ULK saw with our very own eyes, the world was going to be hit by a comet. Can you imagine the world was going to end? We wouldn’t have lived to see The Hostel.

So Bruce Willis, acting as himself, says “No way! No comet will hit this world as long as my head is still bald and my eyes still squinted!”

He goes to the comet. And (>>fast forward >>) he, using some super explosive available in all leading supermarkets in America, blows up the comet!!! SPOILER ALERT-Look away if you haven’t watched the movie

He dies. Can you imagine? How heroic is that eh? Super save. Super super save. He is probably in heaven reading this right now, his squinted eyes widening in amazement “How do these ULK niggz know so much and stay uber cool?”

We save. We’re the guys they call when Superman needs new underwear that he couldn’t get because he didn’t save with NSSF. Don’t be like Superman. Save with NSSF & you’ll get bigger benefits than just underwear.