We need food to live, but did you know most of what you eat is poison, that every mouthful floods your veins with toxins, brings you ever closer to death? Modern humans are little more than swollen fleshy poison bags, walking the earth, suckling more poison via commercial “food” dispensaries. If you could wring out your body like a sponge, inky black fluid would gush out, contaminants from a lifetime of Standard American Diet (SAD).
The ink on this page of my diary is runny. I must have left it near an open window one time to many.
The entry I’m about to lift is dated 25-03-11. The girl who wrote this must have been going through one hell of a heartbreak because the words are so raw, so reflective of what I am feeling now. When I read her words, I was like, how embarrassing that I was wiser at 20 than I am right now. I was more open to feeling my feelings.
Confusion, regret. Been there, done that, will not waste my youth on such.
Scrape them all together, M. raid their nooks, bombard their crannies
Sweep them up into one tall pile, pointing to heaven
and then bring out the lighter fluid.
How is it that my mind has moved on but it has only occurred to my heart to start bleeding now?
Bruised and seeping but determined.
One second at a time.
Grief is not shameful. Shame is.
Grief is not shameful. Shame is.
Grief is not shameful. Shame is.
Journalling is good because later in life, you are able to help yourself through some difficult situations. It is just as wise as saving money.
Some music videos take you by surprise. One such video is the brand new offering by the Senegalese band Takeifa, called “Supporter”. Takeifa is band of siblings from the Keita family headed by brother Jac. According to soundcloud fable, Jac Keita experienced his musical calling at the tender age of 11, begging his father for an old guitar. Finally acquiring a guitar without strings, he cleverly fashioned makeshift strings from bicycle break cables.
It was P.3, right? When we were taught about the “tourism sites” of Uganda. Teachers drummed them into our soft brains for exams and then we promptly forgot them to make space for P.4 work. That sucks.
When somebody posts about their plans of holidaying in Seychelles or Mombasa or Zanzibar, your first feeling is eh maamaa. A big fat mango of Nugu. But when they post about going to Jinja or Mbale or Kabale, you’re like, whatever that one is traveling for work.
Forget the notion that tourists are white men and women in short shorts, with fat cameras dangling from their necks. A tourist is anybody with enough interest and good sense to explore their surroundings!
Take some of your salary out of the bar/ boutique and be that person with me. Spend a little on exploring the awesome rock that you live on.
Nze as Apenyo, I’ve made a conscious decision to learn more about Uganda and to travel as much as my 9-5 job will let me.
Come along? On the 8th of March, Sabili Tours is taking three busloads of people to Jinja for a day of sailing the Nile, bungee jumping, white water rafting and big, big fun. 185,000 is not much when you consider that you will be driven to and from Jinja, given a scrumptious meal and free water the whole day.
You can even bring your babies who will get a meal, boat ride, refreshments and will swim all day (under the supervision of several adults). Their package is 75 bob.
We goooo we go!
Unrelated: Go and be friends with Apenyo oso you.
I could listen to Lingala and Soukus all day, every day. I could walk tirelessly for miles, all fatigue obscured by my deep enjoyment.
When a track is particularly nice, I start to dance in my head. Sometimes this dancing enters my walk, so I can be striding purposefully to office when my leg kicks out abruptly. Sometimes, my bums perform lifts and wobbles of their own volition! I almost never know which part of my body is going to decide to bring the party out of my head.
Today morning, I remembered the way Binyavanga described how he learnt to dance Lingala and nearly died laughing. He said, and I hope I remember right, that he was able to get the hang of it by telling himself to move like he had a terrible itch in his ass that could only be scratched by him revolving his pelvis in the manic way that Lingala requires, while keeping his upper body as stiff and nonchalant as possible.
Lucky for me, my body didn’t decide to start practicing on the street.
I love dancing and I love addmaya for that promo that got me my Beats by dre headphones. Life is good.
Unrelated but totally important, March 8th is a very special date. Sabili Tours is launching the first phase of its campaign: Around Uganda in 7 trips. One of my biggest dreams is to be a full time travel writer, but you know how dreams work. You start small small.
I am Sabili’s resident writer, which means I get to go on all their trips in exchange for kalango and words. Not bad, eh?
Come and we go? More details HERE
And now, a picture of meeee dancing!
I was weaving through Kamwokya’s mid-morning traffic today, trying to get from one side of the road to the other before the cars started moving in a never ending stream when a boda guy almost knocked me down. Instead of going on his way, grateful that he hadn’t had an accident, he turned his head and yelled, “You stupid woman! Crossing the road as if you are a cow!” and other things that I didn’t hear.
I was angry and embarrassed and I mumbled an expletive at his back, frustrated that he’d go about his life not knowing what I’d thought about him in that moment.
This experience reminded me of a link that I found on Ukamaka Olisakwe’s wall about three people’s experiences in Nigerian traffic. It’s really cool. Read that post here.
I’d really love to do a Ugandan version.
If you’re interested in helping me turn this into a reality, please leave a comment or send this writer chick a message with the most dramatic/ dumbfounding/crazy/annoying/funny experience you’ve while using public transport in Uganda.
If they are many, I’ll turn everything into a Stiletto point. How do you see?
Also, mwanablaadi, all of the fun is over at Apenyo’s place. Go and follow her also.
Every once in a while someone in the comments here says, usually as an aside to something else, that no one becomes a writer to get rich. So as a point of clarification, and to give everyone else who is slightly exasperated by this sort of comment something to point at:
Hey, I became a writer to get rich. I've always been in the writing business not just to write, and not just to make money, but also to make a lot of money -- basically, to get rich at it.
This is so good, especially the stupid messages.
Also, if you follow me here and not HERE, beera mu kilaasi. I update Apenyo at least once a week.
Balamaga is even more dramatic than I am, if you can imagine that.
Whenever his tantrums start turning dark, I remind him that he found my hair and I in a relationship and I’m not going to break up with my personal style because he’s in the picture now.
Go to a quiet place (away from small animals, children and bosses) and read the hell out of his rant:
In which Balamaga describes his encounter with a random pair of boobs. Click and see.