Author Archives: Ernest Bazanye

About Ernest Bazanye

types at a fast, certain and shockingly accurate rate

I Hear That Golola Won. Golola Who?

Golola Moses Of Uganda, one of the nation’s most famous joking subjects, in spite of his own denials, had a fight this weekend which, wonder of wonders, he actually won. This was such a shock that we had to go straight to the garage to set up a skype interview.


Contrary to popular belief, a joking subject

Not pictured: jock strap 

First of all, welcome back from where losers be.

Thank you. Rachael K sends her greetings. Nti I should tell you to inform Uganda that she didn’t make it into American Idol. As if anyone expected her to.

Now, Golola, we noticed that in this fight you changed tactics from the ones you have used in your previous fights. In your other fights you usually use a tactic called “sucking”, but this time you decided to try something new. Talk to us about that.

Yes, in this fight I decided to change it up a bit just to show that Golola Moses of Uganda has diversity. Usually, I go in the ring and I get my ass beaten like that of a stepchild who has been caught stealing sugar, but I don’t want to keep doing the same thing over and over. So this time I decided to do something new, namely, to put my foot on the opponents body and see what happens.

And it was quite a surprise. We had come to expect that the Golola Moses method was to talk a massive pile of bullshit before the fight and then go in the ring to take a few naps on the floor. So what inspired this new technique?

Well, all people evolve. You cannot expect to stay at the same level. From my previous fights everybody knew that I had already mastered the level of receiving the other guy’s kicks and punches. I was a pro at that. So I had to move to the next level, which was of kicking back.

Mmm. Fight a bit you have learned to, Moses Golola

Mmm. Fight a bit you have learned to, Moses Golola


So this was the first time you tried kicking back? I seem to remember you trying to kick Nagy in that other fight…

No, that is a common misconception. I was not trying to kick him. That was ballet. He didn’t even feel pain. I was just caressing his pretty white face.

Now, I didn’t watch the match of course, because, like many Ugandans, I concluded long ago that watching Golola Moses matches is a waste of time. Gary Coleman died: life is short #jcole. When I heard on twitter that you had not lost I was quite surprised. What about you? How did you feel?

I was also very shocked. You know, when I kicked him the first time and he felt pain, I didn’t know what to do. I had never experienced such a thing before. So I remembered the words of my trainer had said to me before the fight.

What did he say?

He said, “Golola why don’t you give up on kickboxing and just go and become a radio presenter at one of those stations which pay for people with the fake accents and no talent to go and flap their big mouths for hours making no sense?”

I have always wondered the same thing myself. Why don’t you go to <<Editor has removed the name of the station because he has relatives who work there>>? They love idiots who pull axa with broken English.


An intended pun

An intended pun


You wait. I am still telling you. I remembered the words of my trainer, then I remembered the words of my chef, who was speaking to the kaboy who serves me porridge. The chef always says, “More him on” when they are putting my porridge in my basin for breakfast. So I mored the muzungu on.

And it worked?

He tried to retaliate, but as we have established, I am so used to being punched and kicked that his painful blows were just boring me. So I was able to continue beating him up until I won.

So now that you are no longer a colossal disappointment to the republic of Uganda, what is next?

I am going to Kigali to look at Rwandan women.

12 Steps To Success: How To Drive An Ipsum


An Ipsum is a Toyota seven-seater minivan that is the worst-driven car in Uganda. Ask Kalungi Kabuye, a veteran journalist who knows what he is talking about.

Douchebag on board

Douchebag on board


This is the Urban Legend 12-Step Guide To Nearly Anything, where we teach you How To Drive An Ipsum.

1. Get an ipsum through one of the following methods:

a)      Buy one (And don’t forget to register with URA)

b)      Steal one (And don’t register it with URA, otherwise that is just snitching on yourself and what kind of crime is that? Uganda has enough embarrassing shit going on without this)

2. Get inside the vehicle and check the fuel, lights, battery and ensure that it is in good mechanical condition before you take it to our Ugandan roads.

3. Get all your morals, common sense, reason and logic.

4. Roll down the Ipsum window.

5. Throw the items mentioned in point three the fuck out of that window. With force and verve. Like you hate them and never want to see them again. Throw them out like this.


6. Then slap yourself hard on one side of your face. Make it so hard that one eyeball swivels out of alignment with the result that the iris is now pointing at least sixty degrees in a different direction from the other.

7. Now slap the other side with similar force. Good. Now you when you look forwards you just see your own hair and ears.

9. Start the car and get on the roads where the innocent members of the rest of the Kampala public are merely trying to get on with their lives.

10. Try to murder them all. Drive as if you hate the road. If you see a single traffic rule, tell that rule to go screw its whole village cos you don’t give a shit. Indicators are for people who don’t have more important things to do with their fingers and you are a busy person. You are too busy driving an freaking ipsum to indicate biki.

11. Either drive too slowly when there is no room to overtake you. Or drive too fast and make everyone else fall in a ditch. If it is night make sure your headlamps are DOING THIS. DRIVERS WITH FULL BEAMS ALL THE TIME ARE LIKE THOSE PEOPLE WHO TYPE EVERYTHING IN CAPS ON SOCIAL MEDIA. AAAAAARGHHH!

12. Make even taxi drivers complain about the way you drive.


That is how to drive an ipsum.




What Your Music Says About You

Music is the universal language which can say different things to different people at the same time. For example, you know what you want your favourite music to say about you. But to other people is saying something else completely.


As a forexampo to demonstrate:




images sdf

What You Want It To Say: I am an independent thinker. I don’t just follow the crowd. Me I am not afraid of trying new things. I am daring and open minded. I am cleverer and more sophisticated than these falas who listen to junk like Ke$ha and stuff. Simanyi Wiz Khalifa. Me I listen to music, real instruments, people, which makes it more intellectual than simanyi Gal A Bubble. Also, the lyrics of rock songs are deep man. And I get them. Which means I am also deep.


What It Says To Other People: This one just wants to be white.








What You Want It To Say: I appreciate true beauty that has stood the test of time. Sounds that were created in a when the world was richer, purer and more wholesome. I feel that this is not the case today. Music made in contemporary times is all, without exception, poor. Yes. I actually believe that since 1988 not a single human being in the entire planet has made a single good song. Before 1988 every song was a work of genius but the expiry date of human talent was December 31, 1989 and since then EVERY SINGLE SONG has sucked. I hate Flo Rida and LMFAO and lump them in the same toilet as John Legend and Adele.


What It Says To Other People: You have no imagination but you think this is a good thing.





What You Want It To Say: Man, I am clued in to a cutting edge of innovative and intricate and complicated music. Not only the music. The whole culture of it. Really cool people, who are tough and rich and dangerous and very active sexually and all those admirable things. Those are the ones I associate with. Real nigga shit, dawg. Not like you softies.

What Other People Think: 





Make It Rain

Once upon a time, such as January, for example, there lived a guy called Mose. Mose was stressed because it was hot.



The weather in his city, one called Kampala, was blazing. Thirty degrees were commonplace. The heat was not just hot, it was aggressive. It was mean. It was mean, aggressive, nasty violent heat. It was heat that didn’t just burn you, it slapped your head with heat and insulted your family members with heat.


Mose asked the heat, what’s wrong with you?

The heat replied, “Bibuuze nyoko.”


As a proud Kampalan, a person who upholds the rich heritage of Kampalans, a person who is an heir of the culture of Kampala city and all that culture pertains, Mose was not going to take this. So he did what Kampalans do when the weather acts stubborn. He got on his phone and called Mukono.


“Doctor, these ends we are dying of heat. Do something, man, #konshens.”

“Heat? Heh heh. I thought in Kampala you have air conditioning. Heh heh. You be pausing on us.”

“Nigga, that is POSING. Pausing means something else. But that is why your doctorate is not in English studies. Now, you, let us talk business. How much ?”

“Let me talk to the guys. You know I am just a bulooka in these matters.”


Guys! guys! you feel me right?

Picture is not related to story. It is just Drake.

So the doctor went to the lake, took out his eggs, called out the names of the relevant ancestors (I am afraid we cannot repeat them here because the ancestors have Trademark laws) and the ground shook and there was a rumbling sound and the wind roared and out of the tumult a voice said,

“To copy this caller tune, press hash.”

Then the voice of the ancestor was heard:


“O ancient one, it is I, the mulogo/musawo from among humans.”

“Whats crakalakin’?”

“Some rain please.”

“Rain? Kawa. Just bring me three white goats, two chicken heads and a Black Eyed Peas CD and it’s a deal.”

“Oh Ancient One, osaaga. Sala kko nawe. Two goats and a chicken. And these days who listens to CDs? We have MP3.”

“If you want rain, you bring my goats and my chicken. And the phat beats from Will.I.Am.”

“Two goats? Say two goats and I bring like three Black Eyed Peas albums. Nonstop mix.”

“Okay, two goats, but two chicken and my mix and it’s a deal.”



Heh heh. Geddit? As in.


Then the doctor whatsapped Mose in town.

“Anzestaz se de wnt scrfs ov svn gtz n fr chkn n u gt trntz ov bep.”

Mose replied, as you would expect, by saying,


The doctor typed,

“I said that nzestrz sa e wunt sucrfayz ov sevan gotz n fo kyiken n u g tornz ov bep.”

Mose typed again,

“You have just made it worse. Let’s just do proper English so as to save time. It is too hot for me to get a headache here in January.”

The doctor typed:

“I said that the ancestors want a sacrifice of nine goats and eight chicken. Also, can you torrent for me Black Eyed Peas albums, like three of them?”

Mose replied,

“Sz gt gh rmed wr!”

It didn’t mean anything. It is just that sometimes when someone types at you like that, you want pay back.

Mose collected the goats as well as the chicken using the high crime rate and rate of corruption in Uganda. The witchdoctor delivered the two-two and kept his njawulo, because business is business, and also kept a copy of the BEP albums.

The result is what you see now. Even Bebe Cool got rained on during his Kiwatule concert. People in Naalya were so happy.


If Your Teacher Is A Drug Dealer


A news headline from the Monitor appeared on twitter yesterday, telling us of a schoolteacher who was on the run, apparently, after being caught dealing drugs. We did not click on the link, of course, out of the very logical and understandable fear that the true story would turn out to not be as awesome as the headline makes it sound. Instead we sat down and remembered our own school days. It was enough to compile this list of signs that your teacher is a drug dealer.


  • When he was scolding you and he asked, “What are you high or something?” He always ended it on an expectant note as if he wanted to add, “Would you like to be?”
  • What kind of village schoolteacher drives a BWM X5 with spinning wheels and wears a pure white leather Louis V pimp coat? Other teachers arrive at school on foot or, if they have been paid, by bodaboda. But this guy parks his X5 in the parking lot.
  • The vehicle is always full of brown chicks in stripper heels who call him “Dzaddzy”. They look like they are from a music video.


Staff parking lot

Staff parking lot


  • He knows a whole lot about Agric and Chem. And yet he is a CRE teacher.
  • He  listens to 50 Cent songs and takes notes. Like, “Hmmm. Baking soda, eh? Okay, so that’s how it’s done.”


Like his text book

Like as if a text book


  • He listens to Rick Ross songs and says, “Mssswch. Kiwani just.”
  • He was a simple, humble, down-to-earth guy until that day when he caught students watching Breaking Bad in the dorm and he confiscated the DVD then went to watch it himself. Since then he just changed. It got worse when he confiscated a copy of Weeds. Then when he got The Wire, it was over.
  • He began coming to class with a bandana like for Avon Barksdale even.


avon barksdale

Good morning, students.


  •  He is always being caught getting BJs from toothless vagrants, of either gender, in dark alleyways



Dancing Priest Talks About Priests Kuzinaring

Father Anthony Musaala, aka Father Lambada, aka the Priest a di dancehall, recently caused  a stir when a letter was uncovered in which he  discussed the issue of Catholic priests who disregard their vows of celibacy and bone parishoners.

In response to this the the managing director of Catholics in Kampala Archbishop Cyprian Kizito  Lwanga, aka Ranga wrote his own letter in which he said Musaala was on suspe.

These are only two of the letters on the topic of priests that we have uncovered in our investigations.


Dear Father

My name is Immaculate. I was given that name as kind of an ironic joke, because everybody used to think my mum was a virgin. They used to admire her for how devoted she was to the local church, always up at the chapel assisting the priest. Then suddenly she swells up and nine months later, I pop out. Anyway, I just thought I should drop you a message and introduce myself and let you know that I am not a Catholic myself, but I still call you “father”.

Immy Sauda



Carlton does the Musaala

Carlton does the Musaala


Dear Goretti

How are you doing? I hope you are well and that you are blessed in your life in my parish. I trust that the shamba is prospering, now that our prayers have been heard the rains have returned. I just thought I would send you this message to inform you of something. I just got back from the doctor. The results were positive. You should also go and get tested, I think.

Fr Polokoto



Here beggineth today’s lesson

Dear Father,

I see the way you look at me when I am sitting in the front row. The way you watch me when I kneel and how you stutter when you catch a glimpse of my cleavage. Oooh, boobies! So why are we kidding ourselves. Let’s not fight it Father.  Just don’t fight it.



How other priests dance

How other priests dance


Dear Father,

We, the men of the parish, would like to thank the parish for the Rat killing ministry which several priests have taken an active involvement in. We have heard that when we are not around, local priests from the catholic church are on call, so whenever our wives find that there is a rat in the house that needs killing, and we are not around for whatever reason, either travelling on business, work, or adultery, they often call a local priest who is always willing to come and kill the rat for them.

Keep up the good work.

Parish Laymens Organisation



Just one more gif cos it’s Friday


Ugandan Fashion Designers To The Rescue: Stop Being Useless

Some fashion

Some fashion


Dear Ugandan fashion designers,

Welcome to this post. Glad you could make it to the internet today to read it. Sit your punk asses down. This is very important.

For the first time in our nation’s history, in fact for the first time in your lives, we actually need you. Up to now you have been completely useless divas who practice pointless craziness up and down the city without being of any value to anybody but your own misguided egos. You have not been respected by anyone except those who pretend they see the point in making dresses out of metal sheets and bikini bottoms out of barkcloth. Everyone else knew that you were stark raving mad and we only went to the shows to see the parts of the model which you left uncovered, meaning, of course, the legs.


Some more fashion

Some more fashion


But now, for once, now we need you.

Uganda is very good at finding ways to cope with hot weather, sartorially speaking. We get T-shirts, we get shorts, we get sandals, we get sundresses, we get caps and hats. We sort ourselves out.

But every time cold weather arrives we, as a city, act as if we are seeing this shit for the first time. Nga we don’t understand what is going on. We as a city say, “What the hell is this!”

And we run around in our high heels and sunglasses wondering how to get away from it.

This is why we decided to call upon you guys. We need someone to provide Ugandans with clothes to wear when it rains.

I was going to say get creative but to you people creative means sticking feathers on a calabash and calling it a hat, so no. Don’t get creative.


A stylish hat, mbu

A stylish hat, mbu


We did some research to find out why I can buy sunglasses at any time of the day or night  in Kampala whether I want to or not but to this day I still don’t know which hawker sells raincoats. I know where they sell umbrellas, but history, from ancient times to just yesterday, the last time you tried to use an umbrella, has shown that umbrellas only protect the top part of your head from the rain but everything from the lower chest downwards is open to as much water as musoke decides.

We need you to make raincoats fashionable so that hawkers can sell them and so we don’t need to go all the way downtown to buy them. By the time you reach Owino and find the raincoat it will be too late.

Just get a duvet with one side waterproof, put a label on it and act as if it is glamorous and soon there will be no social stigma attached to walking around wrapped in one when it rains. You can call it a Mawl –or man-shawl — if you want, no copyright infringement.

In fact, put Fubu logos on gumboots so that we can walk around in gumboots all day without chicks sneering and refusing to give us their numbers.

In fact, I have it. I have the answer.


You know

You know


Now, imagine a condom that was big enough to fit a whole person inside. I am sure some of you spend a lot of time thinking about huge condoms (you know what I mean I mean to insunuate that some of you are gay and think about male genitalia in case you didn’t know what I meant). If there was some kind of giant condom with sleeves and which we could just put on when it rains… do you see where this is going? We could save Uganda with this! Economic productivity, which pretty much dips into negative when it rains around here, will skyrocket because of the rain body condoms or whatever name you decide to call them and it will be all thanks to the fashion industry.

And the best part is, you will finally be making something that people ACTUALLY NEED.

Just make it out of plastic. Don’t use metal or barkcloth and don’t stick any feathers on it.

Walk Like A Champion, Thanks To KCCA

The latest news about Jenniffer Musisi is that she has been appointed to replace Nick Fury as the head of SHIELD when Avengers 2 hits cinemas in 2015. They expect her to improve that organization through her now-familiar trademark take-no-shit approach. Jenniffer Musisi is an incredible woman. She is a force for good in this society. She is wonderful. She doesn’t even have dandruff in her head and when mosquitos see her they decide instead to go away and starve.

She has beautified Kampala City, y’all!

Have you seen that? It’s gorgeous. It looks like Sandra Bullock mixed with Nia Long or if you are younger than 30, it looks like Beyonce mixed with whichever white movie star the kids land for these days. Oba Taylor Swift. We applaud Jennifer Musisi on beautifying the city in this wonderfully magnificient and tremendous manner which has used three pages of my thesaurus.

She has been beautifying a lot of middles of roads in Kampala. She makes them so beautiful you should not walk on them.

Rumours of kiboko and teargas surround these signs. Unemployment went down when beautification started. Unemployment of kanyamas who spent their days of joblessness lifting car spare parts and watching Martial Arts movies on Star Times in kibandas. You step and see.

step on it

Instead of defiling the grass with your stupid shoes, you are required to walk on the pavement, according to the KCCA, which is wise enough to know that you are not going to fly. Use the pavement. They have provided a pavement so you can leave their grass alone.

This is the pavement.

step on it 2


Now, we know some of you are going to notice that the pavement is not smooth and straight. It has a hump and cracks and if you walk on that your shoes are going to get dirty and then when you reach the office you were walking to people will look at you, especially women, because women do that sort of thing, they will look at your shoes and conclude that they are not entirely against apartheid after all. In fact they support the form of apartheid where people like you are locked outside. Because they consider you subhuman. Inferior. Of less value. Cos your shoes suck.

But what are you complaining about? At least there are no open manholes.


step on it3

So, is this what Kampalans are about? A chick tries her best to beautify your city and all you can do is bitch about a manhole? Just one manhole? Just one single, solitary, manhole?

step on it4

Okay. TWO. Two measly manholes…

step on it6

Actually, there are like manholes all the way to Shoprite. It has been rumoured that if you fall in you find yourself in Mordor, but no one has returned to tell us whether that is true or not. The point is that Jennifer’s beauty, like the beauty of most, comes with a cost.

The fact that this can turn into a photo essay and then into a whole documentary starring more manholes than the Expendables locker room should not derail us from the facts. I don’t want to hear people saying that the  money used to put flowers and fountains and beauty in the parts of the city no one uses could be used to improve safety on the parts we have to walk on. That’s just being a h8ter who doesn’t understand.

If you want to be a villager, get out of Kampala #Rabinkisti. A modern city has beauty in it, and Kampala is a modern city.

A modern city also has safe pavements, but let us not get greedy. We can’t afford to have both, so beauty first.

You look at the flowers and fountains and watch your step.

SNLV: Movies for the weekend

Gangster Squad
Starring Josh Brolin, Sean Penn, Ryan Gosling, Ryan Gosling’s shirt, Old Fashioned Guns,


So Ryan Gosling’ shirt was on the whole time. Which probably means women demanded refunds. I assume that the only value Ryan Gosling has to Hollywood is this softcore porny appeal he has to women. This may be an objective and thoroughly-considered critique of his acting talent, or it may be nuggu.

This movie is set in Los Angeles, where many crimes take place. But this was before NCIS, CTU and all those bloods and crips we hear about in Nipsey Russel songs. This was in the 1940s, a time when all the men wore shirts all the time.

So Sean Penn was there and he was as if a  badass one who runs all the city’s crime. Gambling, hookers, drugs, everything. He wants to expand his criminal empire to include theft of Ryan Gosling’s shirts but that is the last straw. Josh Brolin is recruited to put together a squad of cops who will operate outside the law. Generally to fuck Penn’s shit up without having to worry about due process. They can go into the brothel and just shoot everything. They can hijack his drug vans. Whatever.

Now, is this a good movie? Me I dozed, I swear. It would have been better if they were not in 1940s and had better fight scenes and better guns and maybe Jet Li. And if Straight Outta Compton was the soundtrack.



The Last Stand

Starring Swaziniga, Guns, Wrinkles, Flab, The inexorable march of time,

last stand

Arnold Schwarzenegger, who is a parody of what he used to be, does not seem to realize it. The guy has gone back mbu to be an action star.

But one things Arnold Schwarzenneger should realize is that he was never that good in the first place. So he had all this violent extravaganza of special effects happening around him to make people enjoy his movies, but nowadays we have plenty of the same thing without him. Hell, even Shia Labouf managed to hold down an action movie.

He has nothing to say. I’ll be back? Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That.

I just want you to know that if you see me watching The Last Stand take my eyes and give them Kiboko. I am not going to watch this thing. EVER. It sounds as sucky as it is going to be.


Stand Up Guys

Starring Walken, Pacino and Awesomeness



Christopher Walken and Al Pacino get to walk around acting at each other and oh gosh I loved this movie. They talked and quipped and one of them was an amoral manchild jerk, the other was the ka-wololo who follows his friend around  and they did it in a way that had such charm I almost wished I had paid for a ticket.

Okay, synopsis. Pacino is released from jail after serving 28 years. He took the rap for a crime him and Walken were involved in back when they were—well, not young, just not as extremely old as they are now. And they look like lizards in this film. Jurassic Park. So Pacino comes back and finds his buddy waiting for him.

But there is a twist. At the beginning of the film,moreover. There is  a hit on Pacino and Walken has to be the one to take him out.

Now, instead of a film of people running around trying to catch each other and shoot each other and do like Bourne and Bond, because this is Pacino and Walken, they don’t run. They act. They emote. They say cool things to each other. And it is brilliant. Just watch the thing and thank me later.

(Oh, Alan Arkin is also in there somewhere.)