Category Archives: Uganda Golden Jubilee

UG@50; A page from the book of 2062

It is the year 2062, my name is UGcitizen 4599. And this is my story.

I am a character in a graphic novel, living in the dark sprawling metropolis called Kampala, capital city and crime centre of the Central and East African Republic. I wear a huge hoodie that (hopefully) makes me look like a giant cobra when seen from the right angel at the right distance in the factory smog after a power-cut. Apart from the hoodie I have lots of tattoos and know Muay Thai.

And I talk to the rain.

Life in Kampala in 2062 is hard. Harder than Mogadishu in the 00s. Times in the Uganda Province have always been hard, but not as hard as they have been since the ill fated morning of October 9th 2012, when the Great Mama Finna’s curse on the NRM government came to pass and the whole country suffered a power and media blackout. In 50 years, Uganda has not known flat irons, chargers, Playstations, smartphones, Facebook, Twitter and worst of has had no UrbanLegendKampala.com.
Standing at the site of the former City Square, I look up at the towering statue that Mama Fina forced thousands of Ugandans to build with their bare hands as penance for daring to look at her naked pictures in a local tabloid.

Standing under the massive thighs and breasts looking up at her grim and foreboding face while the lightning flashes and the angry hail rips and slashes, I find myself feeling vague stirrings of lust.

I refuse to be ashamed.

Striding through the pages of this graphic novel into the Kololo-Nakasero Slum District, I see two small cold eyed children holding old fashioned sawed off shotguns and wearing the insignia of her Imperial Blackness, the ruling Matriarch of Kampala, Shanita Namuyimba.

Closely after the country was plunged into darkness in 2012, Shanita broke out of Luzira Maximum Prison and together with the most dangerous inmates she could gather, started a new government under an Anti-Coherency, Pro-Ratchedness philosophy of governance called Badiocracy.

The Toto BlackGuards see me and see nothing but a face in the crowd, a nobody. They do not know that beneath this hoodie is one of the faces they have been ordered to hunt down.

In February 2013, a secret meeting was held in a barber’s kiosk on a small muddy path in the area that was then called Kamwokya (you may now know it as Area K23). It was a meeting between the two powers that really ruled the City in those days.

The first was the Ghetto President; His Excellency Bobi Wine, the Troubadour of the People.

The Second was the Executive Director of Kampala; Her Ladyship Jeniffer Musisi, the Ruthless Agent of Progress.

Together they buried their differences and forged a coalition against the spreading evil of Badism. Together they formed…

THE RESISTANCE.

It is 2062, 100 years after Independence and this Graphic Novel might even have a happy ending.

Only 2112 will tell.

 

 

UG@50: After Independence, Uganda Gets Spiderman For President

After 9 years of lousy post independence governance, Uganda got a true president. The pansies were out of the way and in came the true hero, black messiah, go-getter and epitome of all things possible. Here is a story of a P.4 dropout who got a doctorate in law; a Kakwa boy who was raised by a single witch mum to become president; a hustler who started as an assistant cook in the King’s African Rifles and rose through the ranks to become a field Marshal with a distinguished Service Order (DSO), a Military Cross (MC), and a Victorious Cross (VC), pretty much all the honors one would deserve after conquering the whole British empire single handedly.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you; His Excellency President for Life, Field Marshal Alhaji Dr. Idi Amin Dada Oumee, VC, DSO, MC, CBE.

The only Ugandan who had more honors than the then exiled Magulunyondo.

A president who loved and promoted sports in this country, not just in boxing where he held the heavyweight championship title between 1951 and 1960, but his reign saw Uganda scoop the first of the two Olympics gold medals we pride in.

However like all great people, our leader oso had a weakness:  his being a shortage of fucks. The debate is he gave a lot of them literally and was left with none for figurative speech. This was evidenced by his relations with the west, respect for human rights plus his relentless and unrepentant efforts to purge the Pearl of Africa of all people Acholi and Langi.

His wishes became commands, his dreams became decrees; when he had one that the Asians were milking Uganda then they had to leave in 90 days. When he felt like the Tanzanian Kagera province would look better on the Ugandan map, then he made a move for it.

Everything about him was royal. Like King Julian, he rode around in a sedan chair carried by four Englishmen.

 

Like king David, When he saw a woman that made his 280 pound body quiver with love, all he had to do was snap at his right hand man; “Mariyamungu, tonight I make babies with that one. Bring her to me and take care of the husband”.

Because he refused to lick ass (but made everyone lick his), haters imputed hypomania on him (a form of manic depression which is characterized by irrational behavior and emotional outbursts). Later, condescending nicknames were invented for him.

A 1977 Time magazine article described him as a “killer and clown, big-hearted buffoon and strutting martinet”. But to all this woloks, he smugly wagged his thick middle finger and giggled “I don’t see how you can hate from outside of the club, you can’t even gerrin”

So he thought; until Israeli ninjas raided his club on a 4 July 1976 counter-terrorist hostage-rescue mission where his troops experienced a mortifying 90mins defeat. But being the black hearted ninja that he was, he oso took out his revenge on a sick and helpless 75 year old grandma.

But as the luganda proverb says, even him who “dances” well leaves the platform. Our dear leader did not survive the Tanzanians; apparently they disagreed with his idea of on whose map does their Kagera province look more beautiful.

 

UG@50: How We Won Independence

You, young reader, often wonder how we got our independence without hurling boulders, screaming ourselves hoarse, frothing at the mouth and flashing genitals at the British.

Fight for independence

A Ugandan fighting for independence. NAT!!

Granddaddy Sleek was there. And he has the telegrams that brought about our independence. Telegrams, young reader, are like tweets. So it is safe to say that tweets won us our independence. It is with great pain in my lower back that I finally bow to pressure and share these telegrams. Ok only two of them are   telegrams and the rest is hate mail.

21 JULY 1960

TO SIR WALTER COUTTS

HOUSE MU CORNER, NEAR MULAGO

I HATE BUSHES SO I DON’T BEAT ABOUT THEM -(STOP)-GET OUT OF BUGANDA -(STOP)-GO AWAY FROM UGANDA -(STOP)-MUST RULE IT WITHOUT YOU -(STOP)-GO AWAY FOR REAL -(STOP)-NO LOL-(STOP)-

FROM EDWARD FREDERICK WILLIAM DAVID WALUGEMBE MUTEBI LUWANGULA MUTESA

####

01 SEPTEMBER 1960

TO SIR WALTER COURTS

KOLOLO UPPER TERRACE, NEAR KIREKA

JUST INFORMING YOU OF OUR INTENTION TO F#@K YOU UP -(STOP)-BE WISE AND LEAVE-(STOP)-A MORE FORMAL COMMUNICATION WILL COME FROM THE FISTS OF MY MUSCLED FRIENDS-(STOP)-ME I WRITE THE TELEGRAMS-(STOP)-                                                                                    FROM BENEDICTO KIWANUKA

 ####

From: Sir Apollo Milton Obote

To: Sir Walter Courtz

Date: 15th November, 1960

Walter, do not falter, at the alter, that we call Uganda-lter. My name is Milton. My friends call me Milton. You might know me as the dark guy who carries a pimp stick around. The same guy with a line in his hair. Yeah, that’s me. I’d put a photo here but that’s not been invented yet. All I am trying to say is, one Sir to another, leave now my nigger. We shall drown your cat. And its kittens. And then draw pictures of that same damn cat of yours and drown them too.

####

 From: Those ends of Bunyoro kingdom

To: Whomsoever it may concern

Date: 27th February, 1961

Dear man,

Please leave the sit for us also. You have eaten our country’s things for much years. Go away now now tomorrow or else I will send spirits to do bad manners to you when you are there sleeping. You took our counties. You will pe

####

From: DJ Mukajanga

To: Wally

Date: 01st May, 1961

Mu Lord, why don’t you go back to your country where your friends they are there? Why? You go also you. Leave our country quick like a cheetah

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UG@50: The Hunt For Our First President

Not many people know this, but there was actually a time in Uganda’s past where we did not have a president. Fewer still know that there was a time when the president of Uganda was NOT Museveni. This period is generally referred to as, that time when we had just gained our independence. Reports are as scanty as a skirt at a Sisqo Concert, but fortunately, we were there back then. How else would we confidently tell you conclusively that things went down a little something like this…

One quiet afternoon, as afternoons tended to be before Lady Mariam or Justin Bieber, the following conversation played out…

“Well Reginald, it was bound to happen, it was. I didn’t think we’d be saying goodbye like this. Fare thee well dear friend…”

“What the Queen’s Biscuits are you on about mate, they just got their independence and I wager it will be at least decade and a movie before the concept of expelling foreigners takes hold. In any case, I think all they want is a president, innit?  So give ‘em one and Bob’s your uncle. How hard can it be….”

But it was hard. For you see, religion had successfully tarnished our people’s view on this leadership thing and despite the whole Mwanga thing of those days people were not being straightforward in their ways.

The Man Who Would Be King President

One of these people was a young man called Appollonious Milititus Obote. He was a fairly different bloke who had the misfortune of being drawn into a lifelong game of hide and seek with fashion sense.

“Curses,” began he, with a word that had not yet enjoyed a tour of the country, but risked having it’s entire life span fluffed out in the House of O, “this Mutesa guy is going to mess me up. I want to be the ruler of this country and it’s now or never…” We shall assume that this meant something else seeing as the concept of clinging to power was relatively unheard of. In fact, if we were to hazard a guess, that very concept was but a zygote.

Now, the colonial masters from pre-1962 can not be accused of holding on to power. They merely held on to the country for a bit with a morbid fear of the thereafter.

If you were paying attention, you would have noticed by now that we have introduced a new character. Mutesa was a so-so chap. He was actually quite like you and I {and that I write assuming you’re a guy} with the only difference, I suppose, being his ownership of a palace and royal blood. One of these may have heavily influenced the presence of the other, but that’s a story for another day.

He was quite content with just being there, being a king, those things what. But the country needed a President in much the same way a desperate virgin needs a cucumber, and as such, Edward could not just be there being a king those things what.

It would have been hella funny if the guys handing us our independence had actually said, “even us we want to be your president” for you see, they were British and there’s no way Brits could speak like that. From an early age, British are taught how to avoid mbogos. This essentially involves affecting an accent so refined, a cup of coffee would feel ‘local’ as it was being raised to a Briton’s lips.

Searching. For That Something That I Would Never Find

So anyway, try as she might, Uganda couldn’t avoid having a president. So the colonialists, who were also British, run around the entire expanse of Kampala looking for someone that would fill the void.

The logical thing to do, obviously, was to have someone that had some sort of experience with this ruling thing, hence the search for a king.

Uganda’s Got Talent

The first King, unfortunately, was getting set for his third marriage, or was it his Masters and as such Larry King proved a non-viable candidate. Frustrated, the king seekers moved on.

You need to understand, this was long before Ugandans had taken to bestowing fancy names upon themselves all fwaaaaa-like and stuff. Why, if you so much as had the name Ernest, you would be the envy of your peers. To spite you they would spell it as ‘Earnest’, making you feel bad, yet even you had just fallen in things.

So, the search continued. If someone was smart back then, and I assure you, some people truly were, this would have been the best time to introduce a reality show, “Uganda’s Next President”, “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire”, “Big Bother” etc. That sort of thing would have been more intriguing then, than now, because, well, there would in fact be a ‘next’ president.

Diana King, who would have made an awesome president lucked out because she was more preoccupied with finding a shy guy, but to her credit took a look at those that sought the man that would be president and told them she would say a little prayer for them.

Frustrated, the colonialists did what anyone in that position would do, they went to Buganda and offered Edward a pretty sweet deal. “Look mate, we get that you’re comfortable and all just being there, being a king, those things what, but this would be better, you would be King of the country!”

“I’m the king of the world!” shouted a young Leonardo Di Caprio.

Everyone in the room looked over at him wondering whether he was trying to plant an idea. “Shut up and get down from there before God hears you.”

Always the kind that wouldn’t take shit from anyone, apart from say, his agent or whoever handed him his scripts, Di Caprio shot back, “oh look at me, I’m scared, I’m done for, my ship is sunk…”

Now, anyone that has any knowledge of the very short history of the Titanic can attest to this being the first known case of inception. The idea took and, you know what, that’s not the story we are here to tell…

The King and I

So Edward was convinced to be in the right place at the right time. Meanwhile, from a distance, Apollonius muttered some shit about a good Muganda being a wed one. Now this was not really a big deal, given that all the women in the country belonged to the king. Yes, even Bad Black, unfortunately. No, not Mama Fina though, he dodged that pornographic bullet.

So in 1962, Uganda had her first elections as a country and they saw an amalgam of the Uganda People’s Congress and the Kabaka Yeka party come out on top with Mutesa assuming the mantle of Prezzo, for sure, for shizzy and Obote settling for Prime Minister.

As they sat on the balcony, glasses of scotch in hand, Edward turned to his confidant, “What was that about a good Muganda being a wed one?”

Apollo, ran his hand gingerly through his escalator inspited afro then took a sip of his drink, glanced back at the new man in charge and introduced a phrase that was going to linger around the corridors of power for a while “I was misquoted…”.

UG@50: Uganda Before Independence

What was Uganda like before Independence? I thank you for picking me to do this article seeing as I am THAT old. I was there.

First of all, how far back do you wanna go?

 

How far back do you wanna go?

 

Uganda Before Independence, or UG@-200

Ismail Bin Walahe broke through the jungle and gazed down at the rolling hills. They were dotted with village huts. Every now and then a small army would dash down one hill and beat up the people in the next village. Ismail Bin Walahe turned back to his caravan and said, “Where are we?”

Once Ismail Bin Walahe had finally learned enough of the native language to communicate with the people in this jungle he had found at the end of his long journey from the East African coast, he was finally able to ask, “What country is this?”

“Eh mama, look at this one, shya, mbu that I hear what country, shya, me don’t quence me, eh mama, kale see this one, eh mama!” said the first big-hipped woman he asked. She had recently been assimilated into the growing Ganda kingdom and was therefore a Muganda chick.

Ismail Bin Walahe decided that he was tired and didn’t have time for her bullshit so he moved on to ask the next person.

“What country is this?”

“That what? What is a country? For us us we don’t know those things of I don’t know Country. For us us we are kingdoms for us. This kingdom she is called Buganda Kingdom,” said the man with the large nose.

“Hey, you,” a young sexy chick barged into the conversation and walked up to Ismail Bin Walahe. “ Are you a silver?”

 

Uganda Before Independence or UG@-100

“Hullo, Hertsmytheshire, Old Chap. Splendid climate in here, don’t you know?” said the elderly posh white tweed-clad man with the single disc of glass over one eye, the pipe of polished wood, the dog with a face like collapsing rubber and the imperialist grip over the nation as he glanced over at the hills.

“Roight ye are, guvnor! I reckin this ‘ere colony is goner moike queenie well ‘appy, innit?” said his squat, fat, bald, cockney, lowerclass squire.

“Oh, heavens me,” said the guvnor, “What in the bloody british blazes is that?” A shadow crossed a path on the hill below.

“It’s native, guv’nor. Place is crawlin with ‘em, guv’or. Africans all over the bleedin’ area, ya git me?” replied the squire.

“Good grief! They are dark as soot!” the Guvnor was shocked.

The native climbed up the hill and stood before the two men. She, asked, “You are a silver pure! Where have you been all my life?”

 

Meanwhile, down the hill, two black, thick-lipped, fat-nosed nappy-head chaps were looking up the hill.

“Gwe kyali wange, what’s cutting those ends up those ends?”

“Those ones? That’s those bazungu.”

“Nga they are doing what here?”

“I hear mbu they run the country these days, nti.”

“They run the country? Who says?”

“They are the ones who say.”

“Shyaa.”

“You are wakanaring?”

“Me I’ve jammed.”

“You will see.”

 

Former resident of Kampala

 

Uganda Before Independence or UG@-50

 

The governer looked down the hill at the tin roofs of the growing Kampala City and felt a stir.

“The natives are getting restless, sir. I hear talk of independence,” said the new Governer, Andrew Guvnor, looking down the hill at the distant black bodies clambering up and down the roads. “Ya git me?”

“It’s wikkid innit?” said his wololo. “I say we shoot the buggers in their bloody arses, right! An lock ‘em up on townships an’ ghettos and keep all the good stuff to ourselves!”

“Great idea! Let’s do that in Kenya first.”

 

Uganda Before Independence 0r UG@-25

At the bottom of a hill, two little black boys were speaking.

“Gwe, we go to school.”

“What is school?”

“It’s where they go to teach you to talk like as if how those bazungu’s talk.”

“Okay. We all go.”

 

Britishly

 

Meanwhile, in Nakasero, Sir Andrew Cohen was thinking Britishly.

“We’re being right rogered by the darkies in Keenia, don’t you know. It’s quite a kipper of bollocks over there.”

“Thank goodness our darkies are well-subjugated, ya git me?” said his wololo.

 

Uganda Before Independence, or UG@-1

 

Benedicto Kiwanuka walked up the hill.

“Tumbavu. Get out. We want Uganda back,” he said.

“Okay,” said Cohen.

“Where are the silvers going?” asked the middle-aged lady who liked to hang around the colonial offices.