Category Archives: Reviews

Bobi vs Bebe vs Halima vs Kyle

Yesterday we had a full report on the Battle Of The Champions, i.e. the concert where Bobi Wine and Bebe Cool competed to find out who was the best musician ever.
My colleague Erique did not attend the show but, being the super-journalist that he is, he was nevertheless able to fabricate a detailed report of exactly what went on.
Here are some of the highlights of the show.

1: The freestyle battle. Just like in 8 Mile, Wine and “Cool” went rhyme for rhyme with off-the-top raps. It wasn’t clear who won, both were able to lose themselves in the music.


He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready


2: When Wine’s Escalade and BC’s Hummer transformed into giant robots and began to box as in Real Steel. This was also inconclusive and the match ended in a split decision.

3: The dance-off: While fans of the Step Up series enjoyed the first round very much, the difficulty came with the second round when the two decided to perform ballet. It caused the judges and fans to fall asleep so no one could decide who won.

4: The Debate: With “Cool” proposing and Wine opposing the motion that Africa Was Better Off Without Colonialism it looked like he would take the lead, but the second round when Wine proposed the motion, and “Cool” opposed the motion that Marijuana and Prostitution Should Be Legalised and Taxed lead to a tie, when both debaters ended up proposing the motion.


Thank you Mr Chairman, main speakers and the house at large...


5: Ultimately, though, it was agreed that the real winner was Flavia, who hosted the shit out of that Big Brother Star Game show on Sunday. My colleague Ivan will be here with a full, detailed, comprehensive report on the Big Brother show soon. He didn’t attend it either.

Bobi Vs Bebe: A Museum Display Of Songs & Insults

I guess you’ve all heard by now that the Bobi-Bebe show was perpetrated by the government to curb inflation by taking 15,000 shillings from as many people without proper homes as they could?

The instructions to the two feuding artistes were simple. Go and perform but make it look like you’re talented. Bebe was Cool about it but Bobi Whined about it being such an unfairly hard task yada yada blah blah. So the instructions were changed.

They were told to go and do what they were good at and that’s how they decided to go and fight. People were asked to pay money for a golden chance to stroke the egos of two award-winning worldwide platinum-selling artistes who were just too meek to accept the recognition.

They gave it the fancy title “Battle of Champions”. We made several calls here at ULK headquarters but no one was able to tell us what the word “champions” was doing in the title. We reported to police and they said they’d look into the matter.

When the show started, we realized the two had interpreted the battle differently. Bebe thought it was about minding your own business and the other one also stays the other side and minds his own business and the crowd decides who ignores the other better.

He was sent a comprehensive menu of insults from the other side but he refused to make an order. He just kept performing song after song until the police decided he was being very cruel to ignore his friend’s creative insults.

Bobi, however, thought the show was about abusing each other and using songs as interludes.

He tried Bebe’s style of doing song after song but they ran out before his crowd could even complete their first beer. He kept looking around the stage like he was trying to decide whether he had forgotten the songs on top of the fridge or in his jacket pocket at home.

He said something about Bebe’s family and Bebe sang to the crowd in vengeance. Then he said something else about Bebe’s health and Bebe intensified his singing rage. Then he added something he had forgotten about Bebe’s fakeness and Bebe invited Bobi’s ex-friend, Buchaman to share the stage and shield him from the insults.

Bobi’s brother Eddie Yawe also came in to preach peace and love and all the boring things no one had come to listen to. Then Pastor Wilson Bugembe also…what the hell was this dude doing here? It was past his bedtime.

Bebe started raising funds for a certain charity and in local artiste speak, that was like cracking several Yo Mama jokes. Not funny. We came to fight, you person who has sex with mothers, not fund raise! That won Bebe another round of insults on the house.

At some point, Bebe challenged Bobi to a live band performance but Bobi preferred to stick to using condoms.

Bobi’s fury was so dangerously high that he started assuring the crowd that him and Bebe were actually good friends, a subtle attempt at striking Bebe’s Achilles’ heel.

Bobi was the lion going after what the crowd had paid for and expected while Bebe was the chicken appealing to their hearts.

Bebe: Like me please. I don’t even fight or kick. I’m a good man, you see. I give back to the people and I stand for peace. Nelson Mandela.

Bobi: Don’t listen to that fool. You wanted a battle? Cool. You get what you paid for nigga, I rule. Big is me, king of the moon. Napoleon.

Police stopped the show at about 3am and the chicken ran off stage after winning most of the crowd’s favour. According to him, that made him champion.

The lion, however, stayed on probably coz the wife had brought the jacket that had the rest of his songs. Boob on no boob, Bobi was determined to go on with the show because “that’s what the crowd paid for”. And that, according to Bobi, is what made him champion.

The show just turned out to be a charity drive meant to raise funds for Africans with a singing disability.

 And now the story as told through the eyes of Samson Baranga’s camera.


Legendary take-over of Saturday Night Mix Show on Radio City

DAY ONE: 08:00 PM
SLEEK: So this is us in the studio with Mister Deejay…some guy has just called in and said he likes Mister Deejay. (PAUSE!!!).

STREETSIDER: Yo! Sleek!!  you forgot the part where he said he was a mummy’s boy… doesn’t this guy know we make our paper peddling disses?

SLEEK: Clearly he doesn’t! And have you seen the specs  Mr DJ  is wearing? Do they still make those?

IVAN: Hmmm!! Allow me…

Mr Dj museezi!!!


STREETSIDER: wooooo!!! bad man Erique inna di building!! Speak to the congregation.

IVAN: This has got to be the most Testosterone heavy edition of the show… no wait, I take that back, Keko just walked in… no, she just swaggered in, saving me from an argument with the only other lady in here. But that’s a story for some other time. Crap, Keko’s leaving. This business of being in and out just like that…

Keko on SNMS

"pshhh, these lyrics ain't got nuthin on me"

…and now another lady waltzes in, messing up my declaration from before. It was actually clever when I’d said it… Sod it, Baz, over to you…

STREETSIDER: Meanwhile, Baz, first explain that suit… Did the secretary tell you we were going to be on RadioCity TV?

BAZ: How yorl doon? I don’t know what these guys have been saying because I was rushing to get here on time. RadioCity has a takeaway downstairs that has no microwave. I shall repeat that in my radio accent. Cord sausarges, yorl.

MR DJ: hATER!!!!!!!!!

BAZ: For the benefit of the viewers, I am in a suit. Hashtag Barney Stinson. It’s how I dress on the weekend. Okay, I knew I was going to find Keko here and I didn’t want to embarass myself.



SLEEK: Go to the top of the post and click to listen to the show live.

ERIQUE: Oh wait, it wasn’t a bottle. Just a silly pile of non-alcoholic CDs. Probably Zari’s music going to be taken to church tomorrow morning for anointing.

STREETSIDER: I wish  I had your gift for seeing visions. i would use it to figure out why Cleo first ate a bowl of Vaseline before doing that last video of hers…

 SLEEK: wow!!!!

STREETSIDER: I have been a hater from birth. I hate on everything… except LMFAO.. I leave that to Baz.

IVAN: Now playing; Kanye and Beyonce’s husband. Elsewhere, Baz maintains that he really didn’t know that Radio City was NOT a TV station in a bid to explain his current choice of wardrobe. I’m looking around for a charger so I can SMS my high school teacher and shove this in his face, ” ha! look at me now! Mbu I won’t amount to much, the country’s listening to me, how do you understand me… then again the same country is watching Zari’s show….

Just realised we didn’t take pix with Keko, how on earth will people believe her when she says she was with the legends. dumb Ivan, dumb, dumb, dumb!!!!

SLEEK: So Mister Deejay is playing a Beyonce song and energetically bobbing his head to it…(cough).

Mister Deejay

Live do you understand him eh?

ERIQUE: Ivan is crouched on the floor praying. Halleluyah. He wants the legs of the chick he’s looking at to go to heaven.

IVAN: Dude, I’m praying with my eyes closed. I don’t know what  you’re talking abou… oh… that  *proceeds to upgrade from prayer mode to Fasting mode”. Turns out we are going to sing at some point… what are we, a boy band?

STREETSIDER: I hear Mr Dj just went from helicopter to mosquito because they are both … FLYYYYYY…

ERIQUE: Man dont jazz that stuff, mosquitoes cause malaria. And I think helicopters do too.

IVAN: Baz just revealed that he’d rather do be Kim Kardashian over Nicki Minaj… Erique wants to launch a new “NEKKID to Work” movement… Sleek says he’d like to eat Roach and Streetsider reveals that he actually caught his parents doin’ … IT… and says he’d rather they caught him getting it on so he could even the score…Darlyne says penises are weird. Mr. DeeJay says he gives his er, ‘dongle’ the once over every so often…

Mister Deejay: 

You know wharriris!!


BAZ: There has been a poll on air about penises. If you are listening and you are below the age of consent you heard that wrong. Your radio is busted. They said PEANUTS. PEANUTS. Get your mind out of the gutter.

IVAN: Where ‘mind’ means head and ‘gutter’ means…


MR DJ: Other stations on a Saturday night….

slow jaaaam... (snooze)


SNMS on a saturday night….


IVAN: Meanwhile… not too far away

Are you thinking what I'm thinking....

okumanya we are not created equal, for-us we can nont sweya on air, but Jay Z can… kyoka!

and now, a brief interlude…

“If you’re in a good relationship, the sex is good” – Baz

“hahaha” – #Uganda


BAZ: Hey, does anyone know what’s going down at Simba FM? Who are the studio guests there? Har har har! Just kidding. I love Straka.


DARLYNE: You should love Straka, without her you guys would be left with only Zari. I am hijacking this live blog to give ULK the much needed estrogen it is missing and conclusively state that all chicken is better than most penises.

IVAN: So we’ve been tasked with compiling top 10 reasons why you should date a legend… pssssh

John Legend power hour innadi house….oh wait, Mister Deejay, his indecisive twin, changed the power hour to Lauryn Hill.

DAY TWO: 01:00 AM

…And we are out!!!!


MTN-ULK: This Means War

Ahoi matey!

Sleek here. Are you done stuffing yourself with pork ribs and white ants for lunch? Are you done singing cheesy love songs to your boss in the hope that he’ll give you a promotion? Well yesterday, thanks to MTN, two lucky fans, Samantha and Leonard, got a chance to kick-it with two legends. They won competitions we run on our Facebook page. (Like it) Together, we went to Cineplex Cinema and watched ‘This Means War’. According to them, here’s how it went down:

(They may not mention the fact that due to the traffic, the two Legends were catapulted to the venue)

Leonard is a doctor. And it was his birthday. He’s the one who kept getting calls throughout the movie and kept whispering “I kill you!!” into the phone.

Leonard innadi house

The comps for the movie came in handy as you already know and for this, I am thoroughly grateful. I am still trying to digest the relaxed aura that engulfed the whole evening but I will interest myself in the party of four we made: Sleek, about 5 foot 8, approx 75kg muscled guy, calm, cool. Ivan, the long one, about 6 feet high, 65kg, also a calm guy, but with a struggling goatee. Sam, the only chic in the crew, about 5 foot 8, with the weight of goodness, pleasantness of a lady, without an attitude. She had Ivan yapping incessantly throughout the movie like he was on the MTN postpaid tariff! Finally, me. Well, I will leave my description up to any of the crew members in this party for I fail to find the right words to describe a being so… Anyways, the movie was a good laugh; half breed between a chic flick and a Jason Statham movie so the girls and guys got to enjoy the movie in turns with the occasional unanimous laugh. The snacks- Popcorn. The drinks- I did the Dew. Rating- I would hazard 3/5 for the movie, 5/5 for the fantastic company, 5/5 for effort (ULK,MTN), 5/5 for the crowd (who followed the cues for appropriate responses well!). The ULK dudes are a down-to-earth bunch, witty and went out of their way to make us feel comfortable around them. Are they worth all the hype we read about? erm, HELL YEAH! Rock on ULK and thanks for not writing things fwaaa!

The Man, The Dentist, The Legend... not in that order

Leonard left out the part where he went screaming and hugged the canvas when the pretty star was about to be killed….

Samantha is a dentist. She had a small doll she’d stroke whenever Ivan would snort.

Samantha ondi mic

(sigh, dreamy look) The movie, she was very very nice. A chick flick you won’t find at Zai plaza. Now don’t judge the hosts too harshly over the choice-there were also guns going off in the movie albeit pink ones with pastel bullets. And the ULK people, they were nice too but not too nice (You see, legends don’t do things fwaa, them they do things ninja style). In fact the best part of the evening was the running commentary by my neighbour, Ivan. These legends are  r.e.a.l.e clever in 3D. Good people. The contest was not a joke (winning ith not tho thimple) and these Urban Legends are for real (oxymoron! #winning). Leonard and I had the best time, until at the end of the movie when the lugaflow congratulations was played (our money!)
I’m done here. Now pay me you people, I’ve said everything you told me to.
@ Ivan nga my hard corn disappeared in tricks?

Samantha attempts to grab Leonard's hand as he forces the popcorn to get digested

Dear readers, my name is Ivan.

I did not have any relationship with anyone’s hard corn. The only corn I partook of was the one coming from the canvas in front of me. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to do a review of the movie, but it can’t hurt, right? It’s a chick flick. There are no two ways about it. It spends about 85% pandering to the whims of those of the female persuasion and then 15% to the guys that happened to walk into the cinema with them. Put delicately, it’s like a Thai Transvestite. Every so often you figure it’s all woman then without warning you see the manly bits.

My neighbor was a budding translator so that more than anything made up for the experience. I didn’t even mind that she was in pure awe of my 32 pack {nanti she is a tooth person}. Every so often we conspired to spill beer on the people in front of us, but that posed logistical concerns such as, where would we get another beer to replace this one? Who are these people in front of us? Would MTN maliciously change our callertunes….

Elsewhere, Leonard kept dabbing at his eyes at what were the right moments in the flick, claiming that watching all those bullets fly made his eyes sweat. Sleek for his part maintained a very calm demeanor probably trying to create the impression that this shit was not new to him. He watches spies tussle it out for white chicks that dance to Montell Jordan songs on a day to day basis.

If you choose to ignore {as I have} allegations of hard corn going walkabouts and the hint Samantha dropped when she passed mint flavored gum around, it was like something out of a movie.

And now, a word from our sponsor:

MTN Y’ELLO WEDNESDAY. Buy one ticket and get one free

  1. Dial *140*4#
  2. You receive a confirmation SMS with a code (SMS costs 1000 Shs)
  3. Present this code at Cineplex Cinema The Hub Oasis Mall
  4. Buy one ticket and Get one Free

Awoomee!! The fans turn irate and beat-up a Legend for his money

The Zari Show: A Must Watch Documentary About Being Local

If you are the sort of person with the time and brain cells to waste, you may have wondered over the last week, “Who is this Zari?” Or you may have asked, “What is this Zari?” You probably mused, “Why the hell is this Zari here in the public consciousness in the first place?”

Her reality TV show, Zari The Boss Lady, answered all but the last question. That one is a riddle for the ages and may never be satisfactorily solved.

The show begins with the sort of tacky blinged words that we used to see in those cheap Master P No Limit albums back when most of you were too young. If you have been influenced by hip hop culture, which destroys morals and corrupts the youth, then you probably saw Zari’s name done up by some cheap geek in diamondish pixels and thought, “Not tacky and vulgar at all.”

Alternatively, you vomited a little bit in your mouth.

The title has her name, has her pouting behind the words and has the subtitle, “The Boss Lady”, and the three letters T.B.L. filling up the space left after “Lady”. We soon understand that TBL stands for This Broad is LOCAL! as she does thing after thing after thing to show us what an illmannered and poorly bred brat she really is.


Me, me, me! Me! Me me, I, me!

Let’s start with the office scene. She wants to show that she is a businesswoman. She does this by leading a camera into her office at Brooklyn City College. It is in Pretoria and has a branch in Johannesberg, but none in Brooklyn City.

Because there is no city called Brooklyn.
Zari has her staff sitting around her desk in a cramped office whose door is labelled “C.E.O’s” and they squeeze and jostle and are filmed illustrating to us that Zari is their boss.

The overall impression is what you would expect from watching some chick in a tiny office getting her ass patiently kissed by people who know they are too good for this.

It is up to Jonathan, a camp white South African, to rescue the scene from complete boredom, as she orders him around, sending him back and forth for clothes. He is her houseboy. We have an interview section where he complains.

You know how in reality TV shows they have one person being mean and their victim complaining? Yes, that happened here.

It was so obviously set up just to make this show look like those Reality TV shows of those of E! that it made WWE wrestling look as
real as BBC World News in comparison.

I not only crave, but feel deserve attention, so bring it

Look, I wanted to think that Zari was actually a normal human being who just had a bit of bampaane. I wanted to think that she wasn’t just a bad joke in spite of all her media-baiting shenanigans. I wanted to think she was not an asshole.

But she is, bambi. She is one of those people who suck.

And it was evident in spite of the contrived and staged scenes. Like when she was driving a minivan full of hers and other people’s children. Her hand was turning the steering wheel of a car and, there, for all of us to see, was a mobile phone in her hand. Was she driving while texting? Fucking idiots do that a lot. They think that the people who have accidents and kill kids after texting while driving only do that because they want.
Now, some of you people reading this probably also drive and text. I have the utmost respect and love for our readers, but the truth is texting while driving is a thing for jerks and you will kill someone.

They reached their destination, mercifully without ramming their cargo of toddlers into a bus because Zari was too distracted punching in lols and smileys to watch the road. Then she opened the door and cast the rubbish she had been eating onto the ground.

Zari is a litter bug.

Have you seen any part of Kampala and thought to yourself, this place is filthy! It’s full of rubbish!

Yeah, it’s like that because of people like Zari, man.


The show closes with her and her friends planning a party or something. If you ever hear of people planning kids’ parties and wish you could eavesdrop, this is going to be rivetting to you. If you don’t care about parties you are not invited to that don’t involve beer, you are going to come to the conclusion that you just wasted half an hour of Umeme.

Boss Lady, my ass. Just a pampered, spoilt, ill-bred brat who needs to get over herself.

The Lantern Meet #illuminated

Last Friday, I run into a friend of mine shedding tears outside National Theatre. I can tell that a lump has already formed in your throat; you are yelling at the monitor “Give her a hanky mehn, give her!”

Well it was a guy. You may know him as the bespectacled guy in  Inspire Africa on your TV screen. You may also know him from reading his blog. So there he was, crying. From a safe distance, I asked “Eh you man, wasap?”. He told me they were tears of joy; the lantern meet of poets had killed it yet again.

Since you quit watching TV when you discovered copies of ‘That’s life Mwattu-3D’, I’ll educate you. The lantern meet is a group of young poets who meet every so often to discuss, ahh correct guess, poetry. No Abid, wrong guess, poetry not new age techniques to use to get in touch with aliens. So in all these deep discussions, the poets bring forth one show a year. So you missed. Where were you? (ED: Rhetoric)

They had a show on Friday and one of Saturday. Everyone I met on Friday was gushing “oh em ghee”, skipping and hugging everything. So FOMO drove me there. The reviews increased my expectations.

Lantern Meet recital

It is the East, and Jimmy Jones 75 is the sun... Photo by: Legendary Edgar Batte

So come Saturday, I was seated so close to the stage that if I moved my head even slightly, I’d be staring up a lesu. And real men don’t do that. The show started by some guy in shades going on stage and ordering us to seat back, relax and enjoy the show. That’s the last we saw of him. He probably left and went to continue research on how mice react to poetry. His name was Leonard.

Then three narrators, who were keep coming in throughout the show, got on and started painting pictures with words. There was Solomon, a very theatrical character who I’m sure would have preferred to swing onto stage with lights flashing and fireworks going off, Wobusobozi Amooti, the sage and Yvonne, the one with a beautiful, commanding voice. Every time the three said some amazing stuff I’d reach for my quill and look up to find that they’d moved on to say more amazing things and I’d forgotten what they’d said earlier…they need to learn to stutter these people.

The poems were on everything under the sun; Love. ‘Shall I compare thee to a warm rolex…’. Father’s advice to a son. How women became the men they want to marry. Armageddon. Get off your ass and do  your part as a citizen. Us who drink lots of milk are well-fed and have heavy tongues, we say harrrroooo not hullo like a poor, unhealthy man. Is it worth it hustling to get you? Domestic violence. Nodding disease. Why so much sad news? I want to hear about me, my culture, my history. A clown leads us, why do we sit by? .Everything.

As if the engaging themes weren’t enough, the costumes were quite a sight. Sailor Gilbert.Gangster Gloria. Terrorist Daniel. Suspenders here. A cigar there.

And then they took it a notch higher; students from Nabisunsa girls took over. S2s, S4s and a few S6s presented. Naturally, there were some pretty raw ones; ‘my life, so sweet’. And there were those uncomfy ones; ‘But what do men really want?’ And there were those that made you cough to stifle a manly tear. Domestic violence. Love lost.

Lantern Meet

Even me / I can't flee / I am for Freedum / you bum Photo by: Legendary Edgar Batte

Colin, next time don’t answer calls while us we are trying to write reviews.

I didn’t like the fact that the next poet would come on almost as the one presenting was leaving stage; there was no time to complete your loud, irritating laugh or to wipe your tears. It made sense later when I realized the show took over 2 hours;  any gaps and it’d have taken way longer.

The show was amazing. And the fact that very young talent was showcased reveals that this thing will keep going on.  Right from their first show in a very small, not-so-well lit room to this one, the poets have been raising the bar…and they took it a whole lot higher this time.

Spoken Word Rwanda(SWR) goes down this weekend…we gon cover that too.

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The Uganda Top Ten Articles Of 2011

We’ve had quite a year here at the ULK headquarters. We had our first near-death experience when the cable that powers the site was unplugged by masked gunmen, then there was an oily saga that involved several ministers hitting each other with pillowcases while shouting at each other to retire, then there was the laying off of our tea lady for trying to ‘borrow’ the water-powered car we’d assembled, several interviews with award-winning swindlers, then concerts, parrteeeiiizzz, sausages, walking with legs, and revolutionary benevolence.

Our friends at Google analyzed your responses to err’thing and using their findings, we compiled the top 10 ULK articles of 2011. Thanks for being part of the journey. Stay legendary!


Klear Kut’s Humble Origins: An Eyewitness Account


One of the most common Ugandan habits is this thing called tying on celebs. Once a person becomes famous, everybody crawls out of the woodwork such as Mutundwe and Kyebando, claiming that they know all about such and such a singer, actor, rapper or internet website writer. To quote Streetsider, “What Baz is saying is true.”

However, what you are going to read is not tying. It goes beyond. Let me assure you that Klear Kut and I go waaaay back. I saw them loong ago and I can prove it through a series of paragraphs. As follows.

I was a young MUK Educ student on teaching practice, struggling to manage a classroom of rowdy international school students. I had only been informed that morning that, contrary to my expectations, the ban on caning was actually seriously enforced in international schools, not like Fozzie Bears Senior Secondary School, which had been my first choice.

So the class was busy wiping the floor with me. Whenever I would ask a question they would answer it, making me feel like an idiot.

For example, I would ask, “What factors lead to the migration of Bunyoro Kitara Kingdom in the interlaucustrine region?”

Somebody would put up their hands and answer. Msssw.

I would ask, “What is the square root of 4563?”

And someone would put up their hand and answer. I would not even know if their answer was correct because, I mean, it’s the freaking square root of 4563. Who knows that shit?

Then I would ask “What is photosynthesis?”

And again hands would shoot up and answers would be given. Some of them I would not even understand, because international school students have like axa and back then I was really local. That sort of thing would confuse me. I would ask about photosysasy and they would answer about phoddosynthesis.

But one thing in the class was really perplexing me. Three guys in the back of the class.

“Woo izi dat one yin da back deya dat she is wearing gaggolz?” I asked. Man, I know how some of you when you me when I meet people with axa you find yourselves trying to catch up. With me it’s the opposite. That’s when the Buwambo Village Kyaddondo busts out for real. “Dat boy deya she is wealing gaggolz. Wat is da liason?”

Somehow the class understood that I was asking about the boys in the back who were wearing shades.

The whole class put up their hands. They answered: “It’s called ‘Swagg’, yo! Recognize!”



“Watyis da names of dat one?” I asked, pointing at the one who was grinning as if he had a lot of money.

“His name is Thomas,” sighed one chick who had spent the entire lesson staring at him, reapplying her mascara every two minutes.

“Chomash? Thomweth? The Mith?” Back then English names were a challenge to me. I was used to Nabiwatta and Sekumulango and Eggyi.

The Mith just got up and pulled a wad of notes out of his pocket and threw them at the class. Then he sat down, grinned and said, “They call me Confetti Tom.”





I hastily pocketed the notes I had managed to collect and turned my attention to the next one: a tall light-skinned dude with cornrows and about eight girls hanging off each arm. “You youngaman, allwov dos are you gallofleens? Now if you are of schoolugoingy edge, who is defilingy who?”

He replied, “I am this bad man from Rubaga.”


And I just thought. Ebyo nabyo bwebityo? Evyo navio bwevityo.




Suddenly one kid leapt up from his desk in the corner. He didn’t have to say anything. I could recognise instantly what was happening. It takes one nuggulist to know one and I could see that this student was burning with the darkest and most potent nuggu possible. He snarled out a rhythmic diss freestyle and leapt over the desks to where Mith and Navio were and prepared to … I don’t know what he meant to do but before he could even start, a punch of the sort we expected from Golola last weekend showed up out of the blue and connected with his fist and he flew all the way over the desks and landed back in his chair, the impact of landing forcing his Geography book open to page 12 The Formation of The Andes.

The fist recoiled back into the arm of the guy who threw it, and he tugged at his chin. At the time he was as school student so there was no beard.

“Yye gwe aani musajja ggwe? Nga olimukambwe!” I stuttered in awe.



“JB, aka J-Baller,” he said.




Now, I have lied to you about only three members of Klear Kut because they are the ones around. I have not told you mbu I went to another class and found Langman and Papito. Maybe next time. For now, don’t miss The Mith, Navio and JB who will be tearing it up at the Xplosion this weekend. Alongside Madtraxx, Nonini, P-Unit, Lillian, Jackie, Jackie’s awesome legs, Rabadaba, Rabadaba’s security detail, House of DJs, House of DJs big phat Monique-phat beats,  and others such as female fans in tiny dresses. Garden City Drive Through Cinema. Even go to facebook and like the event page because I now know some hip hop lingo I can assure you, in the appropriate language, that it’s going to be disengaged from the hook!

Live Report: Legends & The Sanyu FM Lounge

Wednesday November 2, 2011

10: 20AM: Sleek innadihouse, giving you information on what is going on on Radio Sanyu right now now. Real-time.  Streetsider is in the studio, on The Lounge, talking to Em.

Em: So, mehn, you man, tellyasi about yowaselef?

(I think my radio batteries are low)

Streetsider: (stammer)

ED: The guy stammered a bit. AC does that to him.

Em’s teasing him about his newly-acquired stutter. She’s also asking him what he had for breakfast. She says  she offered him the juice…what else did she offer him eh? Some grass? They’ve now gone into a commercial break.

“What is the point of being serious? Life is short.”- Streetsider on Sanyu FM 10:22am.

“He has told them he is called the Streetsider, we are waiting to hear his real name..” Em

Em: How many bloggers are there on Urban Legend Kampala?

Streetsider: Legends…how many legends…

Em wants to know how much it is to attend the party on Friday. Streetsider says it is free; we are celebrating our birthday…mbu asking people to pay to come for your birthday is “some straka stuff”.

Em: So Streetsider, have you ever been in love?

Streetsider: (removed by ED)

Em: So have you ever had your heart broken?

Streetsider: (breaking down into tears. Removed by ED)

Em: And are you in a relationship?

(ED:  Em seems to be enjoying Streetsider’s discomfort)

Em: Tell us about the other legends…

Streetsider: (snitching) There is Me…I’m the dark guy…the guy with the dark side…then there is Erique, he is psycho…there is Ernest….the one with a head fixed on rather loosely…Sleek is the smooth and suave one…there is Ivan…the one who knows how to have a good time…tell a good joke…

Em: Do you enjoy working with them?

Streetsider: I do, but we  can’t have a sensible meeting…they just be laughing….

Em then asks Streets to send some shout-outs. Streets hollas at all ULK fans, and goes on to mention all your names. You should have listened in, you’d have heard your name. He then somersaults out of the studio.

Thursday November 3, 2011

10: 18AM: Erique here supplying you with the downlow on what Sleek and Em are doing on air today. I see Em smiling at the jokes Sleek is about to hit her with, now she’s laughing, she’s cracking up…and it’s a gooooooooaaaaaaaalllllll!!! SLEEK IS BLUSHING! He’s laughing with an accent even. Harrharrharrrrrrr…

10: 20AM: No I can’t see them, dwanzie. My radio lights red. That’s how I know dude is blushing. And it heats up. That’s how I know Em is smiling.

10.22AM: Sleek was asked to comment about a Kenyan song. Gay! That was for the soccer match you made us lose you goons. But I don’t hate you fully. You’re my neighbours so I’ll spare just a half kilo of like for you. Can I be your friend on Facebook?

10.25AM: Oooohhhhh hear! Sleek started using the accent. Trying to match up with Em, I think. The pressure is oooooon!

10.26AM: Sleek nti we have male dancers at the party.

10.28AM: A caller just called (duh!) to win a ticket…and failed! Because he doesn’t know the damn party he wants to attend. Bladefoo! Oh wait, I understand. The belly dancers. Okay. Forgiven. I unbladefoo you.

10.30AM: Roger just called in to also win a ticket…and he…failed?! Nti he had no kara to listen to the show. But he has kara to win the ticket.

Jyeah! Someone won! Now that’s proper coolness. I’m growing up to be like him. Matter of fact let me go and grow now.

Friday November 4, 2011

Sleek here. I went, I yapped on air as Erique said in this post, now I’m behind the keyboard. Baz is behind the mic this time. The Legends don’t seem cut out for radio…

11:00AM: (static…gurgling sounds in the background)

11:03AM: Baz spent the first three minutes of the show talking into his ka-torchi phone saying “Is this thing on?”

Finally, Em somersaulted to where he was and shoved it in his mouth…the mic that is. Excited at the sound of his voice, Baz then said “Baz innadihouse on-the-ones-and-threes. Mic check mic check one two

(pleasantries exchanged. Then Em reads the day’s relationship problem. See it here.  Click.)

Em: So Baz, what would you advise this lady?

Baz:  This lady’s problem is scary…lady with a problem,  if your man’s too tired to perform in the evening, he should pay his dues in the morning…

Em: (light bulb!! The room becomes too bright even)

Baz: (unfazed by the light) We need to ask ourselves why the man is not performing. He may fail to perform because he has worms. Empathize.  Or he may have stomach problems and fears to fart while getting jiggy. Buy him tabs…


(Kyamuzi has called in and wants to win the tickets. But he doesn’t know what the tickets are for.

Isaac then calls in and also wants the tickets. But he doesn’t know who the party is for

Juma Mukiibi calls in to win the tickets…he says Urban Legend is a group of musicians

Kim also calls in and wants to win the tickets…that they are for a show at Boda Boda…that some people are launching a magazine

11:52AM: (Nathan finally calls and wins the tickets.)

Sometimes fellow country men make writing funny things very easy. There are actually people out there who call into stations to win tickets to stuff they have no idea about? I blame it on the fuel prices.  People can’t drive to work so they stay home and make random calls to stations.

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.