My name is Line. Landline. I’m an 87-year-old Uganda Telecom descendant from the Nsenene clan of 041. I’ve noticed these little children called mobile phones have taken over the entire world with their wireless nonsense. They are highly undisciplined and rowdy little rascals that are nauseatingly taking over every corner of every city in the world.
Are humans so gullible that they let themselves be party to such a depraved generation? Back in my day we were perfectly structured so that if you wanted to talk to one of us, we knew exactly where to direct you. If someone was looking for Oscar in Makindye, we had poles and wires that got you there in an orderly fashion and made sure you didn’t get lost.
But look at what’s happening now. You want Oscar, you go to Makindye and they tell you “Ha! Sorry boss. He went to Club Silk to dance.” You can’t even tell how the stupid boy managed to disconnect himself from the wires and get out of the house.
Then they have these stupid slang codes that they use among themselves. Simanyi 079, 077, 075, 070, 071…these are not even codes for places. For us if someone told you Oscar was in Makindye, you dialed 041 and for sure Oscar was there. And if you dialed 043 and Oscar picked up and told you he was at home in Makindye watching TV, you’d go back home, get a stick from one of the brooms in the compound, and then wait for him to come back from Jinja and explain why he lied to you about his whereabouts.
But now sincerely my own son who I woke up one day and produced like this has the guts to lie to me about where he is just because he’s on 078? He tells you he’s at home sleeping yet you’re hearing a disco in the background. Why do humans subject themselves to this nonsense?
The stupid things also have these small TVs on them…they call them screens. Mbu for typing short letters to each other. They call it SMSing or PMSing or something like that. This is blatant prostitution. For us we knew how to do only one thing; calling. If someone wanted to send a letter, no matter how short, they would use the post office or put the letter on a bus.
I can’t even start talking about this other new thing of theirs they call the world wide cobweb. Please just save us from this disorderly generation and bring back the dignity of our days.
My name is Budget. Though my friends prefer to call me Bridget but you’re not my friend tomanyiira tompalampa. I don’t know you. Me am from State House.
I have been hearing you people complaining about me and my boyfriend UMEME. That us we don’t know how to behave in front of people. That us we ask for money anyhowly and then we make people cry. First of all, you’ll never have my man. Even if you cry how.
I know he has slept with many people before but that’s in the past now. If he cheats on me now, the best he can do with you is a one-night stand. But he will still be mine. So go and die!
Secondly, me I behave badly how? Just because I ask for money for hair, shopping, partying, eating, getting a car, clubbing, plaiting, buying things, meals, a ride, hanging out, purchasing stuff, retouch, food…those are very many things by the way and they all need their own special attention.
You think teachers have problems? Try being there when you can’t go out at night. Or being there when you have not treated your hair. You can look bad! Ho! You think other people are starving because of no money? You try being there when you want to go to Nandos and you have to use a taxi. Those things can smell!
Me when I ask for money, don’t think it’s for those things of luxury. I have real problems, my friend.
Who knows anywhere where I can buy a nice phone that can work properly? Not a very expensive one; maybe one for like only twenty seven to thirty million there there. My iPhone has jam to go on Facebook mbu I hear my data is finished. Eera Chinese phones!
My name is Sex. Recently I came to light in a very bad manner in certain top political circles. I think it was the former Vice President of Uganda who talked about me indecently. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for indecency and getting kinky and stuff. If I were restrictive, people wouldn’t like me much. And I like to be liked. I’m used to being publicly ridiculed every single day by some tabloids but please keep my name out of politics.
See, there’s good sex and then there’s political sex. I am good sex and would love the public to keep it that way. Political sex was banished by one of the ancient Roman emperors for reasons best known to him. But it was rumoured that political sex used to produce most of the emperor’s enemies which frustrated him and forced him to decree that no one was allowed to have sex unless it was strictly for non-political reasons. And that’s why I was created.
Rapists and defilers have political sex. So do zoophiles and MUK students. So it really hurts to wake up one morning just to be stiffened by some news that a politician had me. You want to know what happens when I am had politically? Look at all political sex products: Your president, Kirunda Kivejinja, Nasser Ntege, Basajjabalaba, ninety per cent of the MPs and almost the entire cabinet.
So please madam Specioza sijui Wandiwhat, you either have me properly in your bedroom with no sign of anything political or you just leave me the heck alone. And having me with another politician is also out of line. If you’re into politics, you must neutralise me by having me with a non-politician.
My name is Wheelchair. Bebe Cool’s Wheelchair. Yeah, my name is one among the few with apostrophes. How cool is that? All other names are lame.
I write to you because I’ve noticed a declining trend in the way the media mentions me. No one talks about me anymore. No one! Not that I’m complaining but I’m not even in the classifieds section of any newspaper or even the front page of Red Pepper. Red Pepper! What, Otunnu qualifies and I don’t?
So he dresses in curtains. So human hair keeps eluding his head. So he staged a peaceful violent demonstration. So what? You have no idea how many riots I’ve been in, do you? Neither do I but I’ve been shot at many times. Nine times. Well, not exactly nine times but I hope to have nine bullet wounds on me some day.
Today’s New Vision and Monitor had S.6 stars pasted allover the front pages. I’ve also been in S.6 before. Don’t think just because that what what. In fact after S.6 I joined university where I got a Bachelor’s Degree in Bebe Cool’s Lame Affairs (BCLA). Not that I’m complaining but S.6? Pfft! I should be on those front pages.
What’s wrong with editors these days? Do I have to be in NRM to be talked about? My boss was part of Ragga Sevo’s campaign entourage. I want to be back in the news. Am in NRM!
Bebe’s Cool’s Wheelchair.
My name is power. No, not electricity. He’s my distant cousin on my parent’s side. I am the sexy girl who has stolen every African president’s heart and other parts. And I’m proud of it. Because am sexy and beautiful and pretty and hot and fly.
But that’s not why I wrote. It wasn’t to tell you how sexy and beautiful and pretty and hot and fly I am. I just hate it when people unfairly call me a continental whore. Others just flat out call me Bukenya. That’s cruel. I’m not the one who hits on myself. Those who want me hit on me, I say yes and they stay with me coz I give them something their women will never give them.
You think Kibaki didn’t want to break up with me? He did. But then he thought of spending the rest of his life with the Lucy, he shuddered and ran back to me. Poor thing. Kagame. I briefly flirted with one of his gay rivals and she was arrested. That’s how good our sex was.
Mugabe. Oh, that bad bad baaad wolf. I don’t think I need to explain why he keeps dozing even when he’s walking. Gbago. My new West African catch. Friends kept telling me he wasn’t the right man for me but already he’s willing to die for me. That’s real love. I feel so bad about cheating on him with Ouattara but the dude is sexy. You wouldn’t blame a girl. Besides, Gbagbo is a weird name. Imagine being called Mrs. Gbagbo. Eew!
Museveni. Now this one is nasty. He’s my favourite too mostly coz he gives me his all. When I’m with him, he cares for no one and nothing else. I like keeping him in bed for hours (years even) coz man does he like a bumpy ride (wink wink). He likes it when I whisper “another term” while we’re at it. It makes him feel special and yellowy. I’m sorry, Janet.
I also sincerely apologize to every family I’ve broken up, every life I’ve destroyed in the name of satisfying my fetishes and every country I’ve torn apart coz of my selfish desires. But damn it am sexy and beautiful and pretty and hot and fly. Choke on it.
My name is Christmas. Merry me. I am known and respected the world over. I don’t mean to blow my own whistle but prrrrrrrrrrrr! I am the greatest thing that ever happened to every family on this planet. Imagine what life would be without me. No, matter of fact, don’t imagine. You’ll just start crying.
I write to you coz I’m not happy with the way Ugandans celebrate me. It’s like they don’t get my significance. First, it doesn’t snow here. But after thousands of years of wishing and waiting for a change, any right thinking public holiday would give up. So I’m now at peace with that.
Then you enter a home and find them using cotton and toilet paper to decorate Christmas trees that they stole from their neighbour’s compound the previous night. You how would you feel if they used toilet paper for your makeup? And then they incessantly listen to the same Boney M album from years ago on tapes that they rewind using pens.
Come on! I know I’m 2010 years old but I’m just a teenager who constantly craves new music. And stop spelling my name with an X. Unless you want me to just pack my bags and go back to the village.
PS: Call him Santa Claus. Not Father Christmas. He’s not my dad.
Am Broken English. I know. But thats my name. I do’nt know why my mother choose to name me a verb. My friends they call me Mbogo. By now am sure you have seen that my English is more properly. My mother forced me to go to school to study how to write this letter. Anyway I just write to thank Ugandans for all the hospitality theyve give me for over 60 years now.
Ever since I migrated into here in the 1950s, have been given world-class treatment only. Everywhere I pass I feel like family. Whenever I move around the country and I hear the way Ugandans misconstruct English sentences like Verbal World War III, my heart goes up. And it stays there.
Every university student speaks English words like Rafiki toilet paper. Like they have a multi-generational grudge with the langrage’s great grand parents. The way radio presenters in Kampala force accents and the way respectable figures in public misuse words is so adoreable.
I d’ont really have a generous way to reward you all but I only pray that God strengthens your suport and dedication to messing up the langrage. Because most of my suport it comes from the educated population, I strongly recommend the Ministry of Education for doing such a wonderfull job. That’s why for me I like the people here. God bless you all.
My name is Pothole Nkyaliwo. I come from the Pothole clan in Uganda and I’m a brother-in-law to Kampala Central of the City clan. Him and his brothers married from my clan and when we came together, we became the City Pothole clan. We are a very big clan; which is the reason I am writing this letter.
When our clans amalgamated, we earned the right to become an independent political institution fully supported and funded by the Ugandan government. We work very closely with the Uganda National Roads Authority (UNRA) to ensure that our right to exist is protected.
I don’t understand why people keep urging the government to get rid of us. Apart from only widening the gap that already exists between our clan and Ugandans, you will achieve nothing. I’ve seen pictures of my friends and family pasted allover The Monitor, New Vision and Red Pepper every single day. I even saw a picture of my mother on Lumumba Avenue.
If you haven’t noticed, so far the government has done nothing. That is because they fully appreciate our right to exist and will continue supporting us. So stop wasting your time and leave us alone.
My name is Jigger Dee and I’m a representative of the jigger population in Busoga region. Kodheyo. I write to you out of so much anger amassed over the past few weeks due to the hatred Ugandans are continuously showing for us Basoga jiggers. That’s racism.
We are only here to show our undaunted support for poverty. When people are suffering because of serious poverty and lack of concern from the government, we come in to complement the suffering and that, ladies and gentlemen (and Lady Gaga), is a very essential community service.
Why aren’t you hating on Karimojong jiggers or Baganda jiggers? How about our brother jiggers in Bushenyi also? You keep being negative about us in the media and tainting our public image. You even refuse to attend our album launches and instead send chairs to attend on your behalf but life is round. One day you’ll become jiggers also and you’ll see. Heh! Kale!
My name is Rock Music. After reading one of the recent Issues of New Vision’s City Beat magazine, I am concerned and perturbed by rumours walking around that I am involved in a clandestine affair with Rachel K. This is to inform the general public that contrary to popular insinuations, until yesterday, I had never seen, heard of or even met anyone named Rachel K. I have never had carnal knowledge with that woman.
I only met her yesterday through a close friend, Goddamn Local Music, who disclosed to me that miss Kiwanuka (Rachel K) desperately wanted to be a part of my life. In fact, my friend played me a few CDs that showed Rachel K cruelly forcing herself on me. The things that came off that CD were extremely painful and psychologically torturing. However, out of sheer respect for her, I didn’t file for assault. I respectfully said no to her advances and walked away.
I humbly ask the media and everyone else involved to please stop linking me to that woman. In the same vein, I’d like to make it clear that I’ve never moved out with Angela Katatumba or anyone from Blu*3. The latter are the ones who tried to hit on me one Thursday night at Steak Out with their song, Strong Woman (Which really agitated me because they are already in a serious relationship with my friend, Goddamn Local Music). I hope my plea will not be ignored.