Why you have been Zoned!

Lately, the trends have changed and within  this scope of existence, are all kinds of “zones”- the friend zones, brother zone, uncle zone, granpa zone, boss zone…..the list goes on and on; Oxford is trying to acquiesce on an average term to describe all that entails the zones.

Recently over an exaggeratedly loud radio in a taxi to our different residential destinations, our ears couldn’t help but listen to whatever station the driver had decided to tune into. What transpired is what sparked loud conversation. The “norm” ( I say this because some of the passengers stated it) usually is that it is always the women calling into radio to wash their dirty laundry as well as rant and rave about an issue so odd or one that listeners will sneer at them for having failed to endure.

The story                                                                                                                                                    So on this fateful drive, a man called in to WEEP!! Yes he did; his voice started by breaking and before we knew it, he was crying out loud and shouting endless curses on national radio. He lamented about how he had gone out of the ordinary to please a girl close to his heart, gone ahead to spend a fortune in a bid to secure his undying love. He did mention a loan close to 2.5mil (you are allowed to gape) he had acquired from the bank to “invest in this relationship”. He kept saying he loved the girl so much nothing could convince him otherwise. What got him into this downcast was recently while they were out together on what he presumed was a date, she received a call inviting her to another date with a one eddy. In his presence without remorse, she accepted adding that she was currently hanging out with her chubby friend who cared and spoilt her more than her brother ever could. Again he wept… eehh I swear at this moment, I laughed for I perceived this as one of those set-ups to sell the show. Now you should have heard the opinions that erupted after the silence was past.

But anyway, our focus is on why you have been zoned;


Dear men,

Girls ( disclaimer;I don’t speak for all of them but well at least the majority) are sharp (digest that), they aren’t waiting to be shown direction, on the contrary, they know to where they want to sail. See girls love a good love story and nothing beats the passion with which they narrate a story where they are the character. Even better, their listeners are always their best friends with whom they easily chat anything; even the minutest detail of what is going on in their beautiful lives. That includes; the man in their lives and how he let the cat out of the bag about how he feels about her. These are all steps of a strategy, you miss a single one— Fixation happens.

The sadness that comes with assumptions is haunting. To live on “maybe” is not appealing at all. It has never been. Those things of “he is being nice, possibly we are dating, what if his nice is just that…. Nice?” so dear men should be aware that the same way they may apparently dislike assumptions/mixed emotions, girls like guys that are straight with their intentions. If you don’t ask that which you seek, ahbeg, there are several people trying as much to please her as well. And that qualifies you to whatever zone she will feel fit to place you and because you haven’t put a distinction, in the long run the constant pop ups of your unendless familiarity will breed a contempt or rather a zone…

This even brings me to the question, since when do men shy away from stating their intentions? Going as far as being indebted?! Tsk– Girls will accept gifts with an “awwhh, you are so sweet” and the blushing that will light your face will be the foundation of your coward heart-breaking (In future).

You are only being nice if you don’t state your intentions. Otherwise be wise to gellout of the zone.. some of you are chilling in the Granpazone and you are there being hopeful… Hahahaha 😀 😛

P.S—thank me later


School Made Me Better

#UGBlogWeek   #Day7

The moon hangs high and bright across the dark clouded sky. The night is young is common say among the youths whose party hormones alight at dusk. I hear the sound of crickets in the bush close by and thousands of toads hoarsely croaking—it must be the mating season for like boda men would to a customer, the noise cannot be differentiated. The bats; oh how they swing across the sky with their webbed wings jollying in their night sight, making twirls, hoops and loops. The night is truly young for a proposal, a wind massage, a sip at wine or ice dipped champagne; with these sunny days—anything can happen and yet at the feet of our elders shall we prefer to bundle. Expectant to hinge our audible and imaginary senses to the words, yes Words that should roll off their long-lived tongues. I shall pass the telenovella or constant beeps of this evolved gadget for this experience: I wonder if you ask my opinion for should you, Verily, I think you should come along.. Yes undivided attention is the only requisite for the elder has a story to tell or is it rather remind us?.

First with the tales; “tell me your best tale child” they ask.. with disbelief you wonder, ppss i do too for this is less of the expectation burning deep in the pits of expectancy. I came to listen to the good old tales and not interrupt at all. They could be mythologies, fables even but none the less, tell me of origin, talk of strength and the hunting, children of age before and ancestors, talk of spears and not the guns, talk about why they have lived longer thus the mystery they carry. Talk about why they are such treasures the museum is but a door with a two inch padlock and yet with a smile they hold onto their shawls, lessos, back cloth and mushana and narrate of goodwill and famine and work that bonded them in the community.

See then under the shadow of the moonlight, is when I met Kintu and his Nambi, such young love, friendship and sacrifice in the face of jealousy and death. Does this make Buganda very lucky to have had a hero?.   I don’t know for probably it is just another legend to have the children not playing in the mud at the neighbors but it is such a worthy tell (tale) for no child is left without mouth agape and mind on trip—you wish to remind yourself of how your Social Studies teacher narrated or is it that in just a twinkle you teleported back to where you first listened to the story from?!! Me too, me too.

To that, while I was asleep, I was woken up by the stamp of large masculine feet for yes one of the brothers between Gipiir and Labong loved to chase down prey for a meal all through the day he fashioned a spear for himself (much like the story about Cain and Abel only that it happened in Northern Uganda. I must want to travel, you must want it too; Don’t you?  For the people before donned backcloth, hides and skins and sang out loud at millet grinders with plenty of kids a different kind of “Sonko”, they dated in forests while shirtless men on the rocks deflowered girls– all this emphasized adventure what we now like to call “old age o is it stone age?” . We jolly in the new developments; yes me too!!.

In all this, each single day I wake up to a painful query of whether “School made me no better” It possibly may have not but one thing for sure is it gave me stories; stories that were an account of school fees, stories that made my country and yours much more vivid, stories that make sense only now, stories that gave a warmth…. stories… On this last day, i will not curse school... I will appreciate school for it made me better—God bless the missionaries that came to Uganda and exchanged education for was it ivory oba??

On single schools

#UGBlogWeek  Day2

I personally believe the idea of single sex schools started in the United Kingdom because that is the Queen’s country and girls there need to be groomed in anticipation for the throne. Yes even the boys as well. Have you watched the elegance with which the men in movies whose originality is England or Britain carry themselves? Yes that is what was intended when single schools were introduced in this our beautiful nation. They were to teach poise, elegance, grandeur and appropriate behavior among the ladies and gentlemen in that the end product of that molding respected time, dressed decently, kept a natural aura and an unforgettable presence. That they ate 12 forks of jabbed food, tolerated no nuisance or lazy talk and were to be great sports men. That they sat and made sure their skirts covered all flesh on their legs. That it was a man’s responsibility to woo the lady and  the lady didn’t not have to be suggestive in anyway—matter of fact she was supposed to be curt and assertive..

I am sure if you have studied in a single school before, the tale isn’t entirely that smooth. I attended a single school boarding section twice.. once in primary; that was from p4 after I had cried to be taken there because the shopping my elder sister was given amounted to a full suitcase (all things pertaining to a child’s eating imagination—not after watching Home Alone and seeing how Kevin played with biscuits, chocolates and sweets). The second time was from senior 3 all through to end of my A’levels. Now in Uganda, yes some parents will ensure to take their children to certain schools because of the tradition known of them but also ( this is trend now)—parents take their children to single schools for fear of them being “spoilt” by the opposite sex..  I studied there because of the latter.

In both schools, we didn’t walk swiftly with heads stiff neither did we eat manya 12 forks( eehh I know people that would walk to work because of this food injustice). We ran carelessly with skirts being lifted  by the wind mindless of our fading inelastic panties, we asked for double (you guys haven’t seen food mountains yet) of posho and weaveled beans some of which was  kept for later in the night after night prep—we called it “cold power”. We talked with food in the mouth and used our hands as we sat on dirty the dining floor—licking at the mashed posho filled soup streaming down from our fingers to the backside of our hands. We laughed loudest uncaring of a fly anchoring in our mouths, we gossiped into the night, we dressed to cover our nudity and not impress, we were late and even though we knew the repercussions, we still lagged our feet, we dressed our feet in slippers even on compound, we took the ground to be disciplined by bamboo without nothing as much as muffle (hmm the heroes we were). We didn’t make up; what for?—we just smeared Vaseline. We didn’t bum force neither did we have anything on our backside anyway. The boys didn’t shower; they just perfumed their “kavuka” body scents. This list is an endless one…

All I am here to say is, schools made us no better (okay atleast me). We didn’t buy into what they were selling us—we lived by our preferences (ain’t that so?!)  Be there nodding in denial yet you only used to be the neat humble and well kempt kid because apparently the boys were coming to your school or because the girls were coming for a seminar so you pulled your school blazer that was the cloth you put between the suitcase base and your items so you wouldn’t have them rusted.

These single schools though…..*holds a placard …My money…

And MoES said; Let there be nursery school

#UGBlogWeek  #Day1

I grew up in Jinja, matter of fact I studied my pre-primary and primary levels of this education transit there. I will lean more on my time in nursery school. I attended a nursery school there called “Jinja Sunbeam nursery school (any OB or OG here??!)” you’d think the sun rose and set there and yes that is what our dear headmistress fed us on at every class gathering. Now truthfully speaking I don’t know what i did in nursery school apart from deep my tiny short fingers in green liquid and place them on a paper which earned me 95% and a sticker on my forehead, sit in a room with a bunch of many other kids, some playing crybaby mode, some aerating the room with the scent of “pupu” only to be checked and be found guilty of turning their panties into toilets, some would pinch…. Ohh the Pinch….

About that there was this girl, let us name her Nalweyiso. She was terribly short with no future hope of growing taller than an elf, she was beautiful with a baby face; one that endeared the teachers, she had long hair like she was half-blood so teachers still swarmed around her. Now she was the girl that always came to school in her daddy’s car (smiles), ushered out only to show off her kiwi polished shoes, neatly ironed yellow uniform with the new bag hanging at her back. She seemed to want to only make friends with nice looking kids (kekeke). Now Nalweyiso liked to sit at the back of the class and two weeks into middle class, there came a boy, he seemed to be so timid and always showed up in green trousers (not the fitting kind lately) and a green short sleeved shirt—this was his look every day… So mr. green boy was given a seat at the back of the class as well next to her queen self—Nalweyiso…Two days later and Nalweyiso could not keep her hands to herself, they itched for tactility—she was gifted in the art of Pinching… She pinched so hard, she would twist her mouth even her body angle to administer a pain onto the receiver. She also pinched me by the way… mssteeww. Therefore on a daily, Mr. green boy fed on her pinches in all parts mostly his calf, thighs and butt. Bambi poor boy would spend most of his time suffocating the cries he would rather have wanted to scream out loud (Boys don’t cry). When a teacher usually came to seek about his discomfort; the look Nalweyiso cast him was enough to make him shudder and shake his head painfully negative. Mr. green boy decided he had had enough of the bullying so one time as everyone held onto file folders that held their report cards in a haste to find their parents on graduation day as champions that qualified to go to P1, he walked up to her pulled at her white dress (that tore) and punched her in the abdomen. So miss snob me cried all the way home on my graduation day…. (HAHAHA guess I deserved it)

Now for real, I don’t know what I learnt in nursery. Because still in primary 1, we sang A, B, C, D…….. and  a, e, I, o……. (ah am dozing already)… I swear School made me no better… Lately i hear the fees can go as high as a million (hmm this evolution though)—Kale if my parents had given me that money back then, i would have started up an animal farm and at 6years—I would be a Muhanga…… 😛

Daily Prompt: Joke

via Daily Prompt: Joke

He stared deep into her brown eyes

Noticed her freckled blushing cheeks

sucked in her scent that smelled of full bloom lilies

He hit the sidewalk with the heel of his tap-dance shoe

He wanted her like he did the stage for his survival

and yet he was scared she would take him for the joker that he was

She loved to laugh- so loud her eyes glistened

She loved to walk with hands tangled for warmth in these snow filled days

He was out of tricks for at his best, the girls had sneered

Up to no good wasted chap

Earning just a few shillings to make ends meet

He couldn’t bring her to his torture

She looked so fragile and delicate

He smiled for her anticipating self

Made a bow, kissed her knuckles and walked away


She stared at him leave

Her heart stinging with pain beyond the iced morning

With his back to her, he didn’t see why they called her a joke

Wiping away teary drops that would make a begger jolly on a hungry stomach

He toyed with her, making her believe, hold hope

And yet she had sworn she didn’t mind being a joke

At-least he laughed whole heartedly while he was with her

Until he overcame his cowardliness,

She would wait on him, She would pay for a front row seat at his shows

Just to watch his eyes as he spoke

Just to clap loudest

Just to know he will know she came

Just to be his Joke!!

Being Empowered to be a Witness

We need to be prepared beforehand because opportunities will always knock at our doors,, the defining  however will be if we can execute whatever responsibility it requires of us. Yesterday I sat through a sermon listening keenly to what the lord would want me to take home as message for my soul to meditate upon. The pastor stood at the pulpit and paraphrased as well as recounted the series of sermons we had the previous month “It was about the Holy spirit, how we get baptized by the Holy spirit, the gifts of the Holy Spirit, why we need him” he went on to emphasize like it had been done the previous month “Having the holy spirit is a personal experience for as Jesus planned to leave earth for heaven, He promised that he would send a helper; who would be with us, quicken our intellect, counsel and comfort us, who would dwell in the inside of us, him who would intercede before the throne of God on days when we are lazy to communicate and adorn his majesty, him whose gifts are love, patience, faithfulness peace, joy, humility, kindness—(Galatians 5:22) over and over the pastor asked us to “Desire the Holy Spirit” and continued to say the out-pouring of the Holy spirit on us starts by “Speaking in tongues” but he also queried why most Christians stop at that and yet what the Lord wills for us is to spread the gospel.. the whole truth. To be a witness, To stand out and stand firm for the gospel. Therefore yesterday the pastor spoke of being empowered to be a witness. He defined a witness as a person who testifies to other people what he has seen, heard and experienced.

Now yester night as I flipped through channels on telly in search for what to spend my insomniac night on, I landed on Yusra Mardini, who is competing under the International Olympic Committee flag as part of the refugee team in the Olympics (now only the legit people are following these 😉 ) she at 19 (i wonder what i was doing at 19 in August) won the first heat in the women’s 100 meter butterfly.. Now there are dozens of amazing teenage athletes at the 2016 Olympic Games in Rio, but nobody has a story like hers– Many people have their lives thanks to the efforts of Mardini and her sister just over a year ago. The sisters were fleeing Syria along with 18 other people when the refugees’ dinghy began sinking in the Aegean sea during a trip to Greece. The motor had failed, nobody on the boat could swim except the sisters. It’s a story that often ends in tragedy, but they ensured that didn’t happen. The two women leaped out of the boat, into cold waters and pushed the boat three hours in open water to prevent it from capsizing — eventually making it to land. It was a move that not only saved the lives of the 18 people in the boat, but ensured the sisters lived. Read more–> http://www.sbnation.com/2016/8/6/12393220/yusra-mardini-olympic-athlete-swimming-syria-refugee-team-saved-lives-rio


How you smile when you know you are the cool kid at the Olympics!!

Apparently if your mind hasn’t caught the idea I am trying to drive home, please ask the Holy spirit to quicken you (desire for his power). See you are in a particular place at a given time, doing a particular job, speaking to those people even herding cattle and goats (leave the 10bn story out of this) for a reason, better yet for a season–(when the rain wets the trees, eventually when the sun shines, the leaves glisten more) that when that time is past, you have been groomed, certified to face bigger challenges—Opportunities come to those that are prepared; Oui I believe so too. That only when you stop tirelessly searching will things come to you, that you maintain your loyalty that even when the is furnace turned 7times hotter, you will not be burned. Yes I am speaking of a couple of various things intertwined—Here is where I tell you about patience and endurance for attitude is what people think you are and character is what you are, so what attitude do you exhibit? And yet we are all into scramble and partition- we sometimes want people to be tolerant of us and yet we are never willing to return the favor!

How about you stop walking with that serious “am out to accomplish the tasks on my schedule” look and extend a smile, a word of encouragement, share something peculiar and charming about why you are thankful for life, about why you love God for you can’t begin to understand the psychology behind our interaction with the people around us.. You have status?! Great—use it to benefit the people that look up to you. Abeg don’t start saying you are not sure when and how to start sharing about the kingdom of heaven— Every morning when you wake up, that is your mission as long as you have been blessed with the gift of life and most interesting is every time has been planned out, every hour is a product of the previous, every action has a reaction says Newton but must you need spanking to share about Salvation? Nay, Salvation is meant to be shared harmoniously, beautifully and empirically.

Now how about you smile at whatever it is you have set out to do this week, your job may be more boring than a day without electricity, your boss may be the cause of your constipation, expenses maybe running out of your constrain.. Share that frustration, there is a person willing to listen, even stay up the night with you as you weep, better even keep a secret without fear of it getting out of the comfort of your privacy. Sharpen your abilities, your loss is going to profit you some day but above all testify about what you have seen, heard or experienced.. No you don’t need a pulpit—you need a listener and anyone can be that listener.

Happy new week people..