Author Archives: Maureen Makuba

Let’s Get Naked

You have seen the press releases. You have watched the video clips. The guys have written about it. But here’s the thing. The girl has not. I’m talking about the 411 Legendary Party.  After the men have done all the hard work, I am here. To spice it up. Ice the cake. Final touches.

Ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna be killing it this Friday. Lemme first sample you.

The Peeps:

Aside you our majorly amazing fans, the Legends are going to be in the house. In the bar. Imagine that. 5 mentally disturbed and brilliant men in one bar.

And Streetsider gives the most-mind-altering-and-body-part-melting lap dances. And he’s going to be dishing those out in true generosity.

We aim to please. Really, we do.

The Beats:

Beekay will be in the house, Mr. Hype and DJ Bankrobber shall be hypin’, spinning’, rockin’…we’re bringing the house down, so rock your dancing shoes children. And noddy heads for the too-cool-to-grind-and-wind persons.

The Venue:

It’s Boda Boda, banange. It’s at Garden City. Ample parking space. Comfy seats. The waiters and waitresses have been warned, please. Excellent service or Maureen gets into the mix. And y’all know how I hate, right? No focused bar wants me pissed off. Especially not when I’m as-if a hostess at this do. Ahem.

Back to basics:

We allow that we are awesome and brilliant. We also allow that we be making you laugh or in my case, shake your head. We’re super. But first, we’re Ugandans. Patriotic Ugandans.

Therefore alcohol. Like you, we got tired of being only associated with Amin. So we joined in the making of a name for our beloved nation by topping the world’s most drunken drunkards’ countries list. All tribes of intoxicants and their friends shall be available.

Help preserve Uganda’s glory; come drink alcohol with us.


The plan was to be silent & make a dazzling appearance come Friday evening. But the editor said nada. Write about yowaselef please. Tell the fans they’re gon’ finally see the ka chic who hurls insults for fun.

Come party with us.

Or click play and see what will happen to each one of you if you fail to show up.



More Proof That Men Are Idiots!

First of all, Katongole Singh was told to sketch his baddez. I should probably be feeling bad for the man. So much energy invested in associating with different continent, country and tribe peeps. But I need something to mask the Man Utd catastrophe & subsequent shame. Twaswadde. Moving on.

There are things you only see in the movies. Those times when the idiot of a man tells the woman something so boundlessly styupeed, you want to jump into the screen and hit him on the head.

Then you hit womanhood.  So you’re in this complicated relationship with womanhood, who doesn’t know how to communicate properly. She doesn’t warn you that with her appearance on the scene come many things. Cat calls from Kampala lumpens, fights with cellulite and hips which don’t get the concept of “do not make best friends with this TV chicken I’m hogging down. Let it slide peacefully to my rectum.”

But some things can be ignored ko. The biggest surprise which womanhood comes bearing is men. Idiotic, senseless, half brained, men who make you wish Eve had stopped at eating the fruit. But she went ahead & bred with Adam. One idiotic son and the trait found its way into most of these species’ systems. Only naturally-ingrained idiocy can make a man say any of these things to a woman. Lemme help you understand.

“I’m pregnant”. Kko him:  “What were you thinking?”

Excuse me Ssebo. I didn’t think impure thoughts & end up with child. I also can’t blame it on divine happenings and I’m pretty sure the spirit doesn’t intend to use my womb to house an African saviour.”What was I thinking?” What were you thinking? Mst.

I’m not yet ready

There’s no beating about the bush here. Listen up. My eggs have an expiry date. In 20+ years, I’ll probably be unable to hatch anything. Plus all this environmental degradation ish isn’t helping. I’m a time bomb…oba oven?? Point is, “I’m not ready” isn’t the desired response to the let’s-settle-down question. A ring is. With a big rock. You can keep the bended knee.

Let’s move in together & see if we’re compatible first

So what have we been doing for the last 4 years? What d’ya wanna know, eh? The nitty gritty of my cycle and the brands that I use to support this natural and majorly annoying phenomenon?

The answer is this. Not happening. Lazy man, you want the milk but don’t want to buy the cow?

Also, I am Catholic.


And Then God Said…


It was a long, long afternoon in the heavens. Long and boring. You might think that watching humans massacre one another would cause the heavenly beings to be in a panicked state. But no. They have been audience to this stuff for millennia.

So, on this particular afternoon not so far back, God said to Gabriel, “Say, I am bored. Sleepy even.” And Gabriel said, “Same here, Almighty. The angels are out of fun things to do. The Arsenal joke kept us going for a while…but…”

And God said,

“Tihihihi…that was one crazy game.” And Gabriel said, “Poor Wenger. Michael and the rest have been re-acting the game all week. But that’s now old-ish news. Boredom looms. What to do, what to do? You know there’s an earthly petition to…ermm, bring Bieber here and return Biggie. In the mood for a miracle?“

And God said, “Nope. Biggie stays. Who’ll do the rap lines to the daily hymns?”

Gabriel: “Spot on Boss. (Heavenly high5)”
God:”I know what will kill the hours; CREATION. Let us CREATE.” And with Gabriel in tow, God said, ”Let there be kavuyo!”

And there was Uganda. Complete with potholes, body-part grabbing louts and nsenene.  Uganda also was gifted with never-satisfied-public funds-stealing leaders and daily-partying drunkards. Excessively hot girls who can’t for their lives, sustain an intelligent conversation were also thrown into the mix.


Allo. I am Bad Black and this is me making my debut appearance on ULK. I believe I am hot and can sustain an intelligent conversation. I also believe Uganda doesn't have any potholes inside it.

Minute 2. God said;”Let there be idiocy” And there was Buturo. Laden with the largest amount of moronic grey matter, it shocked the creature’s eyes into defection mode. So God threw in a pair of made-for-idiots-only specs.

In the second and half minute (Yes, Buturo was made in half a minute. No serious planning there) God continues.

”Let there be brilliance.” And there was the entire Urban Legend team. Brilliant, gifted and disturbed. Gabriel couldn’t find the screw driver at that time so most of this team’s mental wires are loose. Daniel’s and Erique’s are entirely disconnected.

Next, God made plain dumbness. And then the Indian who, aside from tying on a foreign tribe and name, is now saying that he needs to be tried in Punjab because he can’t effectively communicate in English or Luganda.

Punjab, my Ugandan a@$

We shall resurrect Amin’s ghost on you, Katongole Pamanda.  Then we’ll see if you’ll keep nodding your head in disagreement. You even do our sign language backwards.

Noonya banno. In Punjab, sketch your friends.

One hot and long afternoon, God looked at everything He had made.

And God was confused.


Of Restaurants: Spur Steak Ranches

First of all, they are outside countries’ people. And you said something akin to outside countries’ people and things being responsible for the increased disappearance of money from our wallets. That is reason one. They are foreign. You need to motivate us to follow your example in using only locally made things. Like the soon-to-be-defunct-Ugandan-made-sugar. Tikwe?

Divorce: Sugar packs its belongings and goes back to the village

When they had just opened shop in Uganda, which was around 2007, all was well. Like how in 1990, the country had better roads than it does now. The food was excellent. The waitresses and waiters were masters at treating the customers like royalty. Things were going bulungi. We loved them because they made us feel like we were experiencing a bit of movie-sm in our dusty city.

Men unlucky enough to be running after a campus girl at the time must have cursed the place. You asked the girl where she would like to have dinner, convinced she was still excited about Nandos’ free pizza Tuesday. She said Silver City. You panicked. But then, you asked. The sharp ones carried chips and liver to her room. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Silver City, however, started to kumanyiira us. Because we are hospitable people. Because we have maalo for new joints and restaurants and will frequent them just to walk away when another joint opened its doors. Ask Cheese bar. But we were nice to Silver City. We kept going back because this time, we were ready to commit.

It helped that they had the juiciest pork ribs this side of the Sahara. And we really haven’t tasted the ones on the other side of the Sahara. But wah…they did not treasure us. Us, the girls who had to put up with I know-I’m-boring-but-I-have-a-car-and-money-men just so we could escape another night of Wandegeya food.

And the poor men who spent money and fuel (in those days, it was cheap) to dine a ka girl who just side-hugged you and skipped off to her room. Kampala girls. Msssccchhheeewww.

But the excellent food made up for the lack of common interest dates. Then they decided that because they have been here for one term, they could become so Ug and start being bulala.

How do you serve a chicken breast between a stale Hotloaf bun and majestically term that a chicken burger? In these hard times where people give up lunch so they have taxi fare home, how do you charge UGX20,000 for a meal that consists of 12 fries (yes, I counted) and said horrible burger? What sort of idiot clears your plate away; intact with most of the meal and then asks if you enjoyed your meal?
The Silver City sort of idiot. Three times of bad service and horrible food isn’t a bad day. It’s a pattern. They go back; we use the space to grow sugar.


Welcome To Uganda

Where politicians create mini-series to draw attention from the real issues. Mbu “walking to work.” How about, “Let us make laws to provide free and timely medical care.” Uganda, the electricity source for the entire region that cannot provide enough power for its 32 million. The country where aspiring politicians cry foul at those in power, then cry “yay” to useless-aimed-at-creating-undeserved-stature cars from those they chastise.


Welcome to UBC cribs...check out my ride yo

Uganda, where, parents blame ancestral spirits for their children’s protein-less swollen little bodies. And one office has budgetary allowances for medals. No, we are not hosting the Olympics this year.

The country where those who break to support the economy cannot send their children to university. In this country the law keepers, teachers and medical workers’ salaries equal the airtime allowance of parliamentarians.  No same-feather flocking in Ugandan politics.

Uganda, where singers climb to fame by borrowing names from the animal kingdom and cling to fame by enlisting their partners’ barely-there-squeaky voices-but-clearly-yellow-coloured thighs. And manage to get airplay. Kampala, the land of daily widening potholes, hourly increase of vehicles and, nightly increase of street children.

Three generations have seen one government come and come and come back once more. The same generations have seen morality and accountability go, go and go. Our joint slaving amasses taxes. The taxes amass estates for leaders who should be in retirement homes. But they know the right people so they’re still in government offices.


What are you looking at?

While potholes and darkness reign in one part of the country, war-afflicted generations live with untold scars and nightmares. Reports show economic development but grocery receipts show increased need for salary increment. Or you could just get off Blueband.  Things from outside countries are really expensive. Locally made sugar is 7000shs only. And you can scrape off the deo as well. Who’ll smell you as you walk to work?

Wait. There is an upside. Everyone can go to school now. Never mind that they think the past tense of beat is bet. Who cares about English? We are waging a war on all things foreign.

Welcome to Uganda. Where humour and satire have been exhausted. And shaking your head as you read newspapers has become a national identity characteristic. And TV news…what TV news? You aren’t you on the load shedding schedule?

So, forgive me if you did not laugh as you read this.

Uganda is my country, and it’s just not funny anymore.


Appreciate The Bad Economy You Ungrateful Little Nankanis

Oh you whining, ungrateful lot. When do you ever appreciate anything? Hmmm? WHEN? You complain like a woman married to a broke man who seems to pair the term “sauce” with all things leafy and legumes. Does he not understand that cows, chickens and pigs were made to be eaten? Mbu biringanya.  Msssccchhhew. Who tells him you want clear, zit-free skin? There’s also a reason samona was made. Mekako also.


Now that right there, ladies and gentlemen, that right there is what we call an intellectual woman

Moving on. You Ugandans have taken this freedom thing too far. Because they allow you to complain about sensible things like unchanging election results, you now think you can sneak in other grievances. Where are your manners? Oh, wait. You must be the lot that went through school minus caning. Sigh. More work for me. But I will try to teach you, educate and enlighten on the saintly virtue that is compromise. When food prices compete with house construction materials, you compromise and you buy the meat. You can find a free house in Kololo.

Sugar is bad:

Because sugar prices have shot up 5 times the amount in as many months is no reason to pout.  Children, sugar gets you fat. Eventually. Our economy is helping us out. If you cut out sugar for the rest of the year, you can lose 5kgs which will provide more room for gluttony come Christmas. See?

All things foreign:

Foreign things are the reason you spoilt kids are suffering at the unseen kick of the economy. We’re throwing them out. Mbu blueband. Just dip your bread in the tea. I know the tea has no sugar. But no blueband + no sugar = 10kgs weight loss. Smile for auntie.

Veggies are good:

Auntie knows you don’t understand how katunkuma has moved from mama’s weed pile to your plate. It’s like this; katunkuma burns cholesterol. And meat has plenty of that. Unnecessary fat. You do want to fit in those barely there dresses, don’t you? And the men? Please. It is time. Bellies are 1999-rated. We prefer tone and muscle. Quit pigging out. Pun intended.

Giving glory:

God made the sun and moon for a reason and you foreign-things-loving people have denied them their power for decades. Now, we must repent. And our beloved government is helping out. No power for…well, a long while. Bright side is you get to relive your granny’s childhood and play with battery-run radios. Now, who ever thought they’d have common history with jajja?

You see? Oba you squint? Whichever. The current situation has a dark, tasteless and unsatisfying appeal. But this is the stuff history is made of.

I knew I’d have you all smiling by the end of this post…err, typing session. Good boys and girls.



Yes. That is a jeer. We are ranting and words just won’t do. Ok. Scratch that. I am ranting. But no, scratch that again. Erique spent Friday afternoon roaming the streets of Kololo. I allow that the frown is characteristic. But the fist aimed at the sky is not. Even the askaris on the affluent streets let him be. He looked that dejected.


This is what happens when you try to take a photo of Erique frowning

So yes, we are ranting. For our country. For the pearl that has become the proverbial gold ring-in-swine’s–nose.  These are hard times, people. If you thought living in a cell phone-less era was hard work, try living in the era where you cannot afford airtime for the damn phone. And no, I cannot do without it. What am I supposed to do? Mail my comment to Facebook?

So in lieu of the harsh winds that are blowing across our country, I am venting my frustrations on those I believe are to blame. No, I cannot point to myself. I am a well-bred Ugandan who will always find cause for my unhappiness in other people’s decisions. I take after my leaders please. i.e. “Where were you when I and others were fighting in the bush for the ‘peace and tranquillity’ that now prevails?” Therefore:

The parents:

Charity begins at home. So does quarrelling. Where were you when other parents were setting up home in serious countries, huh? Dubai, Switzerland…and you chose Uganda. Even Tanzania would have made more sense. They have real beaches (we have shores!) Okay. You loved the weather. Couldn’t you have found your way to cabinet? Then I’d at least attend book launches while other people’s parents paid taxes for our 4wheel drives. Uganda. Eish.


I get that you have a sense of humour. You created Miley out of a rock star dad. Lolest. But this joke has been unfunny for a while now. Do you not get that it’s time for Jesus to come back? And save our cowardly selves? We have beds so no manger business. And UPE.


I cannot even spell you properly. You’ve lost the plot so bad, you earned yourselves a new word. It translates to:


1. Piece of crap form of governance way, way beneath the lowest level of incompetence

2. Really stinky piece of crap form of governance way, way beneath the lowest level of incompetence

I mean…when the youth of the country turn to singing as occupation and WBS airs their videos minus any shame, then you know. It is time to find your shame. Tuswaaleko.


This is a random Ugandan youth


And this is WBS TV


How a foreign currency can wreck this much havoc is beyond my frustrated mind. The country didn’t even colonise us. We are not related in any way. They sent back the first man that tried his hand at figuring this out. I believe Seya’s forgeries were patriotic efforts gone wrong. We need to find the visible connection with our shs and then break it. We refuse to affiliate with anything that further takes down our country’s value. We’re not left with much.