Republic of One

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.


They called me a cow.

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.


Peace yo.


The Love Of My Life

Healing is a small and ordinary and very burnt thing. And it’s one thing and one thing only: it’s doing what you have to do. It’s what I did then and there. I stood up and got into my truck and drove away from a part of my mother. The part of her that had been my lover, my wife, my first love, my true love, the love of my life.

You want to read this story.

Vuga, that fantastic woman who is also my bestfriend sent me this story. Thank you, madam. You are full full condition.


The oatmeal dot com is the perfect place to spend your hours when you stop being productive at work. Its has all these comics that would be perfect for posting on the facebook walls of smart, witty and marry-able love interests.  Like…perfect measuring tape. If his/her reaction is violent/non existent  and not HAHAHA your links are hilarious my love, you don’t want to be yoked with that sucker for the rest of your life.

Anyway, it’s happening again. I’m making uterus juice in my panties. Again. And it hurts. And has been tainting my emotions for the last 7 days, man. Next time, I’ll know not to be alarmed when CRUSHING FEELINGS of sadness and loneliness attack me from no where like KWADOOSH! I’ll get high instead of considering death by general hatred.

(Fuck PMS!)

This bleedy business is getting me a half day off (yay) to go and writhe in my bed.

It’s also making me want to yell, “I REJECT YOUR PRESENCE ON THE FUCKING EARTH, WORKMATE. Drown in a pool of your own lumpy vomit which has propelled itself out of your body because it can’t stand you, you obnoxious, irrelevant, stuttering fool.” at my neighbour but I won’t because all that yelling will require more energy than I’ve got right now.

Workmates can be annoying sons of obese squirrel bitches. Maybe I need to move my desk to the store.

Oh. BHH happened yesterday. A wet, limping BHH partly because of the rain and partly because I was feeling wet and limpy myself. I was probably projecting.

Rhino, Safyre, Dilman and Myself( Slybard, thepassingwind and daredevil said they were coming, but they didn’t show). We talked about the music(good), the weather(wet), food(just chips? Ugh. Chips suck) and then I had to leave- which I did by boda because I couldn’t stand the idea of getting into a taxi and sitting in one long sticky uncomfortable jam from Mateos to Ntinda on my own.

I suspect that the PMS had something to do with my viohateful feelings towards the boys for not CHUG CHUG CHUGGING their beers and leaving with me.  Who wants to sit in taxis on their own on rainy days? Not yesterday’s me!

Then the post ended just like that. SMH. 


World Domination. Best believe.

People are not words.


You can’t make, bully, push, threatenwithediting, cajole, rub out, threatenwiththesaurus, cross out, stare down, intimidate them into DOING things that they ABSOLUTELY do NOT want to do.

How sad (frustrating, boring, UGH inducing) .


New Objective: World domination.

Starting: NOW!

Motto: Neyvah to give up.

Secret motto: Come on world, come on deities. Give this chick a win. Just one.

Secret secret motto: I’m not complaining or failing to acknowledge the teeny tiny wins you toss me from time to time but I want a big win. You know what I mean. GIVE!


Enter your email address to subscribe to this bombastic blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,747 other followers

The stuff I write about

My friends

Rock My Run Blog

Exercise, Music, Data and the Awesome Combination of the Three


Ambivert trying out this writing thing.

Media Diversified

Foregrounding voices of colour


Art. Travel. Africa

Idle Mutterings

Long tales and long noses

The Museum of Ridiculously Interesting Things

a collection of ridiculously interesting art, objects, ideas, and history

The Frying Pun

Truth hurts. Lies hurt. Nothing hurts. So what? Just Do It!




Read Laugh Love


This site is the bee's knees

Grown and Curvy Woman

Where Style Has No Age Or Size


Uganda's most authentic rural news. Contributors are rural citizens

Farafina Books

Telling Our Own Stories...

Miss Ayo Délé

Le blog givré, pétillant et coloré pour tout ce qui me passe par la tête : mode, beauté, art, culture, cuisine, politique, société... / The frosted, sparkling and colorful blog for all that pass me through the head : fashion, beauty , art, culture, cooking, politics, society...

Soul of Wander

The spirited adventures of an afrohemian soul seeker

%d bloggers like this: