tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19081093403139541112024-03-05T12:23:05.060-08:00paul kisakyeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-20047341892725786802015-07-17T00:11:00.000-07:002015-07-17T00:23:12.194-07:00You are a slave. And you don't know it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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“We keep you on this boat to row,” said the Roman soldier. “Row and you will live.” He did not have to tell them the repercussions for not rowing. They saw the results in fellow slaves being beaten and thrown overboard to drown in the turbulent seas.<br />
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That happened over a century ago. In our modern society we would rise up and riot in anger if we ever heard of anyone being treated as a slave. What we fail to understand is that slavery still lives on, and modern-day slavery is worse than ancient slavery because it is self-inflicted.<br />
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But before we go any further, let’s first look at how slavery looked like long ago. A powerful man would get people to work for him just because he was more powerful than them. Most times it was because he had conquered them in battle. Sometimes it would be because they owed him money they couldn’t repay. Other times it was because they were unlucky to be born of slave parents.<br />
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To be a slave meant that your master owned you. And because you were his property, you were not entitled to a wage. However, your master was responsible for your livelihood. He provided you with accommodation, food, clothing, medical care and entertainment. You were his asset, so he had to take care of you in order to get the highest level of productivity from you.<br />
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Fast-forward to the twenty-first century. Obama speaks of freedom for all. But the majority of us are still slaves at heart. Our employers are our slave masters. The only difference is that now instead of providing for us, they give us a wage so we could provide for our needs to be able to survive long enough to get to work the next day, and the next day, until the next pay cheque.<br />
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We may not want to admit it, but we are slaves by virtue of the fact that our incomes get spent on accommodation, food, clothing, medical care and entertainment. In fact, there is no boss who would like to pay you more than enough for those five necessities.<br />
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While being interviewed for my former job, my employer asked me where I stayed when we were negotiating for a salary. You see, she wasn’t looking at my worth, and how much I was going to produce for the company. She was looking at the least amount of money she had to spend on my transport to keep me coming to work every day. She even argued that she would provide me with lunch at work!<br />
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This slavery does not know class. It does not know academic qualifications. Whether you earn millions per month or a few hundred thousand shillings, you are, and will always be a slave if all you spend your salary on are accommodation, food, clothing, medical care and entertainment.<br />
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Your employer is not interested in making you rich. He wants you comfortable enough to keep coming to work every day. In fact, the day you stop being productive is the day you will be thrown overboard.<br />
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So how do you get out of this slavery? It’s very simple.<br />
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Stop spending all that you earn!<br />
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Not all the money that you earn is yours, my friend. It is only the money that you save that is yours. However much you earn, if all gets spent, then none of that money was yours. To steal some wisdom from ancient Babylon, from the book, The Richest Man in Babylon, “A tenth of all that you earn is yours to keep.”<br />
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When you spend money on rent, that money is not yours. It’s your landlord’s. Money you take to the market to buy food is not yours. It’s for the market vendor.<br />
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I happen to work in an industry with some of the least paid workers in Uganda. No, it’s not the academia. It is the hotel industry. According to a Kenyan chef who trained me during my internship, Uganda’s hotel workers are paid the least, compared to other hotel workers in all of East Africa. He is an old man who has worked in many hotels in the whole of East Africa, but cannot retire because he is a slave. The day he stops producing food is the day he will be thrown overboard.<br />
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I met this old chef at a very beautiful hotel. He is the one who opened my eyes to the fact that there are still slaves even in this twenty-first century. I decided to listen to this guy and learn from him as much as I could because, firstly, he is a seasoned chef, and secondly, I’ve always dreamt of being a chef. But the more I listened to him, the more I came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to be like him.<br />
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One day I told him so. He was surprised that I wouldn’t want to be like him. He knew how much I loved cooking. He had seen a lot of potential in me, and had spoken to management about the possibility of retaining me in his kitchen after my internship. But he could not understand why I wouldn’t want to join slavery, like him, till I was old.<br />
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He was so blinded by his passion for cooking that he didn’t realise that he was a slave.<br />
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I didn’t want to be like him, so I turned down the job offer at that place.<br />
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I went back to that hotel last weekend to relax and have some beer. I met the old chef. He had hired a friend of mine to work with him. My friend told me of how he was working his back off but hadn’t gotten a salary in over three months.<br />
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“Why don’t you quit?” I asked him.<br />
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“But then what will I do? I need this job. And if I quit now, I won’t be paid the money they owe me.”<br />
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He was getting used to being a slave.<br />
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As I sipped my beer, I promised myself never to settle for being a slave. Although my mind is wired with a slave mentality, I purposed to fight it.<br />
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I am reminded of the 2012 movie, Django Unchained. Django was a slave who refused to remain a slave. In a society that treated all black people as slaves, where even the black people were comfortable being nothing more than slaves, Django refused to settle.<br />
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Be like Django. Be like me. Don’t be a slave.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-24449339475700031472015-07-13T01:55:00.000-07:002015-07-13T01:55:13.209-07:00How Wordy Cakes Helps Create Unforgettable Memories<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-5e9d86c8-8682-6f90-0b28-fc53a720bb7a" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 19.1018989086151px; vertical-align: baseline;">At Wordy Cakes, we believe that an event should be memorable long after the music has stopped and the speeches forgotten. That is why each pair of our cupcakes comes with a sticker with a memorable message that the people at your event will go away with and stick on their desks, cars computers or mirrors. In that way, they will always remember.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 19.1018989086151px; vertical-align: baseline;">When Sylvester Mugabi came to us and told us about the memorial service he was planning in memory of his parents this weekend, we knew that this was an opportunity for us to help him make the occasion memorable indeed. So we went to work and designed stickers with his parents' names and photo that we packed with our special cupcakes. Unfortunately, we couldn't make it for the memorial, but our cakes represented us. And they were not just cakes that you eat and forget, but they carried an unforgettable message of love and nostalgia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 19.1018989086151px; vertical-align: baseline;">We are very grateful to Sylvester and his family for letting us be part of this memorable event. As always, it wasn't just about cake. It was about helping people express themselves in the best way possible with Wordy Cakes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 19.1018989086151px; vertical-align: baseline;">You too can contact us to help you create memories on your events. Call us today on +256771675754 or email paul.kisakye@gmail.com. We won't just provide you with cake. We'll provide you with unforgettable memories.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-4330721740309554532015-06-30T10:34:00.001-07:002015-06-30T12:16:51.773-07:00On Deserving What I Get in Life<p>I was late for a meeting this afternoon. This is so unlike me. I'm not good at driving. I'm not even good at lying. But I'm good at keeping time. So being 15 minutes late was not excusable.
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<p>Then while coming back home, I read a post by my friend, <a href="http://ortegaian.com/do-you-deserve-a-good-life/">Ian</a>, from his blog. He was talking about whether we deserve getting all the good stuff in life that we desire. For example, do I deserve to be rich? Do my habits show that I deserve to be a good writer?
</p>
<p>Now that got me thinking, especially when he talked about how he's good at keeping time. The person that he used in his story about keeping time is the same person I was meeting this afternoon. And this person made it abundantly clear that, though I was forgiven for not keeping time today since it was the first time we were meeting, he wouldn't forgive me another time. If I could, I'd have written out my oath in blood.</p>
<p>So this evening I wondered, do I deserve all the good things that life has given me? Do I deserve all the opportunities that have come my way, the ones I've accepted and the ones I've turned down?
</p>
<p>I realise that the answer is no.
</p>
<p>Even when I try to think of myself as a smart guy, I wasn't the smartest in my class. The retakes I got are my testimony. The numerous failures I've encountered in life and in business have been jarring reminders that I don't possess any superhuman abilities.
</p>
<p>But the amazing opportunities keep showing up, and I keep taking them up.
</p>
<p>Like the other day when a client proposed a change in my payment. I'd suggested that I should get paid half of the money before the start of the project so I could use it to fund the work, and then receive the other half after I finished the work.
</p>
<p>He said, "This money you've quoted is all yours. I don't want you to use any of it for the project. Contact my office whenever you need money to run the project and we'll provide it."
</p>
<p>Now what's that called? Favour?
</p>
<p>Well, whatever it is, I'm learning that I don't deserve what I get. And if I ever become a millionaire or a very successful writer, I'd like to remember that I never deserved any of this. There has been too much grace in my life for me to be blind to it.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-35410000505434530282015-06-28T02:59:00.001-07:002015-06-28T02:59:06.477-07:00Please Don't Read ThisThe Writivism Festival, which just ended recently, got me thinking a lot. Thinking about writing. While I didn't attend most sessions because I was either too busy or worn out from being too busy, I got quite challenged. You see, I haven't been writing as consistently as I'd like to. So this is me writing.<p>During the festival, I hosted a friend from Kenya, who almost didn't want to go attend the festival sessions because he wanted to stay at home and write. He's writing something that I hope to enjoy when he finishes it. And I hope I feature in the acknowledgments. This is because he was very impressed by the peace and quiet I enjoy at home. He said, "Paul, with such an environment, you need to be writing more."</p><p>So, I've finally decided to listen to him and start writing more. I still haven't figured out what exactly I want to write about. I have a lot of interests. But from today onwards, I'm going to start writing a little everyday. At first, I'll just be sitting at my desk, and writing everything that comes to my mind.</p><p>I really hope that one day something will click in my head and I'll start writing as much as my Kenyan friend writes everyday. Then maybe I'll write another book.</p><p>But for now, I just want to rediscover the joy of writing. And please don't feel obligated to read any of my rumblings and musings. Because, if you've read this post, you've most probably flushed a few minutes of your precious time down the drain.</p><p>It's not that I really care. But now I have to stop. Till next time when i get something more important to write.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-41215595519673103622015-06-10T22:49:00.003-07:002015-06-10T23:36:00.703-07:00Wordy Cakes: The Story So FarLate last year, I started Wordy Cakes. These are cakes with words. I started Wordy Cakes because I had experienced the power of words, and wanted to share my experience with the world. It has been a great journey so far. I have experienced some incredible moments, like when a love-struck boy sent Wordy Cakes to his girlfriend with a poem he'd written. Like when my aunt said, "These are the words I needed for the situation I'm going through right now."
<p>But you see, Wordy Cakes is a business. In the beginning, when I gave out a lot of free Wordy Cakes, there was a lot of excitement. It felt good to be able to share something that's so much a part of me: Words and Cake. It was only when it got to the tiny little details that run a business that Wordy Cakes failed miserably. For example, there was the dilemma of pricing. The people who appreciated the words that came with the cake thought that they were priced too low, given the value of the words. But the people who only wanted cake for cake's sake, and these were the majority, thought I was cheating them. </p>
<p>Then there was the issue of partnerships. I never knew partnerships were that hard. It looks like passion is a very expensive commodity. Early on, I realised that however good I was at coming up with some great ideas for product development and marketing, I was terrible at selling. So I needed someone to help me sell. Then I realised that I was so bad at selling that I even failed to sell the vision of Wordy Cakes to the two partners I'd gotten. I learnt that partnerships can be like a romantic relationship. If you want to get serious, get the paperwork done and don't date for too long. Otherwise you'll be dumped like a rotten egg because all along, your partner wanted you fresh, and now he can't eat a rotten egg.</p>
<p>I've learnt that people know how to smile and shake your hand and say all the nice cow dung when they are facing you, but when push comes to shove, only your family and close friends will be there. They are the only ones that know that cow dung can be used as manure for new dreams. In the end, you realise that you needed the hardships to show you who your real friends are.</p>
<p>I've learnt that true love doesn't come to everyone. Not every guy gets lucky enough to have a girl love them for who they are, whether they are broke or not. I've experienced that love (Patience, whenever I think of you, my mind freezes and I don't know what to say). And it has given me the strength to wake up in the morning when I'd almost drowned in depression the previous night. And speaking of depression, how come no one told me how ugly it can get? How come no one said it was possible to get so low emotionally that you're immobilised? </p>
<p>Lately, I'm learning to count all the 24 hours in a day. I'm learning to enjoy every single second of them. Sometimes life sucks, but when you look around you, you realise that you've got a lot of good stuff going well for you: like all the job offers that come around, most of which you have to say no to.</p>
<p>When I started Wordy Cakes on 18th October, 2014, I never knew I'd be seated at my desk, on a new laptop that I'm still infatuated with, typing out this blog post that reads like a eulogy. But one thing I'm certain of now, is that Wordy Cakes still lives on. In my heart where it was created, Wordy Cakes doesn't really care what the world thinks or says. I'll still get those orders, and now because it's no longer about the money, or pleasing some partner who doesn't care how cakes are baked, I'll say yes to the ones that pass the Wordy Cakes test, and no to the ones that don't.</p>
<p>What's life after all, if we don't enjoy the little things we do to change the world?</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-76490539293230241852015-04-08T10:31:00.002-07:002015-04-08T10:46:57.317-07:00Death Kissed Me Last Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img-cache.cdn.gaiaonline.com/c50f0e998cbaf22f73348424721a2b8b/http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s56/kitty_ann/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://img-cache.cdn.gaiaonline.com/c50f0e998cbaf22f73348424721a2b8b/http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s56/kitty_ann/kiss.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Death kissed me last night</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">She came swiftly and softly</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">While I was walking down the street</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And swept me off my feet</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Carried me on fluffy clouds</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And said</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Welcome home, my son</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve looked forward to this day, she said</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">But you looked so good today</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I couldn’t let you go</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">See, I have a soft spot</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">For young men like you</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Who’ve just discovered pleasure</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">But don’t know what to do with it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Sometimes I wait till they’re ripe</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Old age makes them easy prey</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I creep into them slowly</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Taking one inch of flesh at a time</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">By the time I snatch up their soul</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">They are mad at me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">For being too slow</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I don’t discriminate, my son</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I also love them young</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">When they are pea-sized</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And haven’t taken their first breath</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I like to imagine them</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Not taking their first step</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Removing their first tooth</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Or losing their virginity</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
I love the Acts of God<br />
The kind they accuse God of<br />
The plagues and floods and quakes<br />
The sound when a neck breaks<br />
Like dry twigs in a wild fire<br />
Such music to my ear<br />
When blood flows like a stream<br />
And there's no one to dream<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I take pleasure in wet cheeks </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB">I take pleasure in cracked
hearts</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">When men’s hearts simmer with hate</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">When they go ahead, do my bidding.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">On such days I get so busy</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">So many souls to welcome home</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Yet so little time to prepare a banquet</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Death kissed me last night</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And through many words, taught</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">That I should get used to my state</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I only die once, just like everyone else</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maybe I should look for some friends here </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Because it will take me eternity</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">To learn how to undie. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-53876077223851708712015-03-05T01:59:00.003-08:002015-03-05T01:59:52.475-08:00Myself<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">If I met myself</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Walking down a dark street,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I wonder:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Would I tremble in fear,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Or run for dear life?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">If I met myself</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Eating at the corner cafe,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I wonder:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Would I sit in the farthest corner,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Or skip lunch that day?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">If I met myself</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Cowering in a dark corner,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Would I suck my thumb,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Or grow bumps on my skin?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Would I ever stop running </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">from myself, from myself?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Would I ever stop fearing</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">what I’ve become?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Or will I keep hiding</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB">from myself?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjThcyuQVxzlN5OcGS7d9_ZVOXwWm4vpfvZ15o1_d_U22o-yhJWkDmOJISZuH6-62w6ZxtJFov9Zw7mpOSgX9oWffFB2_jCPuNVJXKiUJ2FLwVrk_YsLmigkwrQ90ZZ4QugGouLkwGV-ftA/s1600/Me__myself_and_I_by_latoday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjThcyuQVxzlN5OcGS7d9_ZVOXwWm4vpfvZ15o1_d_U22o-yhJWkDmOJISZuH6-62w6ZxtJFov9Zw7mpOSgX9oWffFB2_jCPuNVJXKiUJ2FLwVrk_YsLmigkwrQ90ZZ4QugGouLkwGV-ftA/s1600/Me__myself_and_I_by_latoday.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-90038919380555417462015-02-23T22:22:00.000-08:002015-02-23T22:22:48.148-08:00I AM THROWING AWAY MY SMART PHONE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9CGInagGf6WFLvTyOD_C2jW9nw8xsyT5rsgaK7DKFc4KDNhfbaVactkg89QVPk6LmyRayilUU-735tQhI0Th1W6DwyboTv3Q8tUUD8p7oTJNn6AkZZVpGngQQqAVuQ8X7brVe-FZkCfTM/s1600/hand-holding-mobile-smart-phone-blank-screen-isolated-white-33693770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9CGInagGf6WFLvTyOD_C2jW9nw8xsyT5rsgaK7DKFc4KDNhfbaVactkg89QVPk6LmyRayilUU-735tQhI0Th1W6DwyboTv3Q8tUUD8p7oTJNn6AkZZVpGngQQqAVuQ8X7brVe-FZkCfTM/s1600/hand-holding-mobile-smart-phone-blank-screen-isolated-white-33693770.jpg" height="318" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For the longest time, my friends wanted me
to get a smart phone so I could join Whatsapp. Last year, around this time I got
myself my first smart phone. I love being able to text with one hand, so I got
a small phone, the LGE405. It has served me well until last week.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I've decided to spend less time staring at the
tiny little screen. This is because I realised that I was looking at life, at
least most of life, through a four-inch window.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Instead of seeing the blue of the skies, I was
seeing the blue of Facebook and Twitter. And there was more green in my
Whatsapp than in the trees outside my window. Human beings were starting to
become smaller and smaller. Flesh and blood was turning to avatars and status
updates.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">My need for human connection led me to
social media, but I ended up hugging my phone at night, under the covers,
typing away, sending words to some disembodied human who was also most probably
somewhere in their bed, under the covers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am tired. I am bored. And I am
unplugging.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s only after going offline for a few
days (of course I’ve had a few minutes every now and then of checking out
Facebook and replying Whatsapp messages) that I’ve realised how addicted I’d
become to my phone. It felt like there was an IV line running from my phone to
my arm, supplying vital fluids to my body, without which I’d die.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I know I won’t die. And the world won’t
stop spinning if I go offline for a few days. So while I won’t swear by the
Almighty God that I’m completely going offline, I am going to try to check my
phone less times. I am going to resist the urge to reply all incoming messages
immediately. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I am going to breathe slower, take the
world less seriously, take up a new hobby (farming?), write a little more, and
see more people.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And it won’t be through the tiny window
through which I’d decided to watch the world. I’m going outdoors!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I love concerts. But it’s incredible how
some people watch a full concert through the small screen of their smart phone
or tab. It’s interesting how people go out to the beach and instead of taking
in all the beauty, decide to capture small pieces of it on their phones. I can’t
imagine how much life passes us by while we’re looking at tiny, little windows.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maybe you would also like to put away your
tiny windows through which you view the world? You’ll be amazed at the beauty
around you.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-3063960388673123262014-11-06T02:16:00.004-08:002014-11-06T02:23:24.943-08:00Learning The Art of Saying No<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3rMWk2rvbGEYBuDqZAMmY1978pTF5iGKfuoZKdMpxT3iT6EOANssUuwbuAQlViQ39hMPyIs2QMlQm4fqwvt_wRQ4GmsJIzd715MmUATXq1Ifc79kqW5fFjrl8iwqw06ePHxzGJHNzSa2/s1600/DSC01398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3rMWk2rvbGEYBuDqZAMmY1978pTF5iGKfuoZKdMpxT3iT6EOANssUuwbuAQlViQ39hMPyIs2QMlQm4fqwvt_wRQ4GmsJIzd715MmUATXq1Ifc79kqW5fFjrl8iwqw06ePHxzGJHNzSa2/s1600/DSC01398.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It’s almost 3 weeks since I started
Wordy Cakes and it has been an interesting experience. Seeing happy faces
brought to life either by the quote they’ve found in their pair of Wordy Cakes
or just the taste of the new Vanilla Wordy Cakes is very priceless.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have had the opportunity to
share in people’s birthdays and celebrations. I’ve helped people tell their
friends how much they mean to them by using a pair of Chocolate Wordy Cakes. I’ve
just made two deliveries today where the people who ordered bought more pairs
of Wordy Cakes to share with their workmates. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A lot of love is going around
lately. And I am thrilled to be in the middle of it all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I am especially thankful to the
people who have invited me into their space so I could share in their stories.
Wordy Cakes is about sharing incredible stories of love and hope. And that is
what we are going to do for a very long time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As more and more people have
joined social media, there has gotten to be a physical disconnect from their
friends and family. This has got to change. I want to be a part of that change
with Wordy Cakes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That is why, when you ask me to
make for you a wedding cake, I might say no. I don’t say no because I don’t
know how to make wedding cakes or because I hate weddings. I say no because
right now, wedding cakes may not help Wordy Cakes to spread this love that we
want to spread.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
While wedding cakes are at the
centre of a very beautiful event of love, they do not help tell a story. They do
not speak the way Wordy Cakes speak. Wedding cakes just make the wedding more
fun. And a year later, you may never remember how that wedding cake made you
feel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And there are lots of people who
bake wedding cakes and will be very happy to do a better job than I’d ever do
for you. I can even refer you to some of my friends. My friend Khairoon, of
Sheba Confectionaries makes incredible cakes for weddings and birthdays. You should
check out her <a href="https://facebook.com/shebacakes" target="_blank">Facebook Page</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
So what would I do instead of
baking for you a wedding cake? I would make for you 200 pairs of Wordy Cakes,
each with a special love message to your wedding guests. Now that would be an
interesting story to be a part of!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You see, Wordy Cakes is not a
bakery. Wordy Cakes is the newest way to say “I love you,” “You’re my best
friend,” or “Have a great, productive day at the office today.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’d most probably make more money
if I baked wedding cakes, given the fact that a lot of my friends are suddenly
getting married (I guess I’m at that stage in my life). But Wordy Cakes has
never been about the money and will never be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’ll most probably say no a few
more times before I get comfortable saying no. But I am learning the art of
saying no. And I believe that five years from now, I will be glad I said no to
the things that didn’t push the vision of Wordy Cakes in order to say yes to
the things that push us forward. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And five years from now, all of
you will be happy Wordy Cakes came into your lives.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-1660764738782536842014-10-26T12:51:00.000-07:002014-10-29T03:04:16.516-07:00My Wordy Cake Story<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">My name is Paul,
and this is my story.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">From December
last year, I had a very secure job. Then some circumstances pushed me to ask
for a one-month leave, for the month of October. That was when I started
thinking a lot about what I want for myself and how I would love to shape my
career path for the rest of my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">While I had a
discontent for my job, I knew that at the end of the month, I could go back to
it and all would be well, I’d keep waking up every morning to go to work and
coming back in the evening, worn out and unfulfilled, to sleep and wait for the
next day to repeat the process.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then I went to
Gulu.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I can’t really
explain why I had to go to Gulu. But I was at a point in my life where I needed
to be alone to think and reflect. I realised that this was my life to live, and
that all the decisions I made had consequences. At the time I went to Gulu, I
was almost broke. I had to choose between eating well and sleeping well. I
chose to sleep well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">After paying for
my room at a decent hotel in the middle of town, I went and bought bread to
make sandwiches from my room.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">On my last night
in Gulu, I did what I’d been putting off for almost half a month: I wrote my
resignation letter. It was quite long. Halfway through it, I started crying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I don’t know why
I cried. Maybe I cried because of the sudden freedom I felt. Maybe it was
because I was scared about what I would do afterwards.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">But I knew that
I had done the right thing. So I hit the Enter key and the letter was sent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">By the time I
got back to Kampala on Friday night, all I had to my name was UGX25000 and a
light heart. The next day was my birthday.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I spent half the
day lying in bed, thinking about the last 23 years of my life and what I would
do with the next few years of my life. I thought about love. I thought about
money. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I cried some
more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">That evening, on
18<sup>th</sup> October, the idea of Wordy Cakes started forming in my mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhmkpUaP-ZHFlgMYfiMJkRbeQKTPiTrg80MuShuq_EFBaVxQqK1t0QReY1LO7kryo2Qzxo17OR0IEJyvlek4IWP1miKqI1DeOctmbYy2sKEMiEZk5Lf4l-4fnrCBqHIOq3op5IKLqsAJ3/s1600/cakes-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhmkpUaP-ZHFlgMYfiMJkRbeQKTPiTrg80MuShuq_EFBaVxQqK1t0QReY1LO7kryo2Qzxo17OR0IEJyvlek4IWP1miKqI1DeOctmbYy2sKEMiEZk5Lf4l-4fnrCBqHIOq3op5IKLqsAJ3/s1600/cakes-2.png" height="276" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One Wordy Cake, sitting on a quote</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-GB">I have always
loved words. And I love cooking. Wordy Cakes would be the intersection between
these two passions. But what has always driven these two passions is my love
for people. I’ve written on this blog about how I am a human tourist. I really
love watching people. And I love listening to people’s stories.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Everyone has a
story. Some stories are very passionate love stories. Others are heart-rending
tragedies. But I have realised from my own experience that words have a way of
shaping people’s stories. Hope knows how to dissolve despair. Love, with the
right words, can drive out fear. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">There is power
in words. A lot of power. That is why I created Wordy Cakes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">There are a lot
of stories being written in people’s lives around me. And I want to be a part
of them. I choose to do that with a pair of muffins sitting on a few words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Already, I have
seen how these words have warmed the heart of one lover towards another.
Someone has already used Wordy Cakes to say happy birthday to a friend. I’m
starting to receive orders to create special messages for people’s loved ones.
And I get to be a part of these stories.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’d love Wordy
Cakes to be the encouragement to face a long, draining day at office, and the
inspiration to create a great innovation that would change the course of
history.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAmMMWVjwFMlUA9DVUtfJEYKBLICtRwI9QhdDLD2Guo6d0uLujUije7500heNOm-u9q83DGZrevD5cknvxo6LIBKwgt55QHUIWcXCeNzaPX0wTrQ2Sp5uKozzhL5sVXjrX33hLlcCemrv/s1600/cakes-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrAmMMWVjwFMlUA9DVUtfJEYKBLICtRwI9QhdDLD2Guo6d0uLujUije7500heNOm-u9q83DGZrevD5cknvxo6LIBKwgt55QHUIWcXCeNzaPX0wTrQ2Sp5uKozzhL5sVXjrX33hLlcCemrv/s1600/cakes-1.png" height="208" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This quote made someone's day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I dream of a
time when a terminally ill father will smile after receiving a pair of Wordy
Cakes from his son. I dream of the day when a pair of Wordy Cakes will carry
the words, “Will you marry me?” I can’t wait for the day when two estranged
lovers will be reunited by a pair of Wordy Cakes with the words, “I’m sorry.
Please forgive me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">In the first week
of operation, I’ve received a lot of support. Many people, both friends and
strangers alike, have told me how this is a brilliant idea. They’ve made me
feel like I’m an entrepreneur, like I know what I am doing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">But I am just a
regular guy. I’m just a guy you’d pass by on the street without a second
glance. I just happen to be passionate about words, food and people. And I have
this deep desire on the inside of me to make a difference, however small, in my
corner of the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">What makes me
happy is when a girl closes her eyes to enjoy all the sensations that come with
a bite of my chocolate muffins. What gives me joy is seeing the light coming on
in a guy’s eyes when he reads the quote in his pair of Wordy Cakes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Of course I know
that I can’t keep in the clouds. There is a lot of work that goes on in making
this dream a reality, like baking the perfect chocolate muffin and looking for
relevant quotes to go with each pair and sourcing for financing. I’ve already
started getting so very many challenges, ranging from the realisation that I
need a smarter phone than the one I have to the realisation that I need a
larger oven than the one I have.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am quite
confident that this dream will live on, whatever the cost. I may have to look
for a job at some point to keep a roof over my head or this crazy idea might
buy me my dream Subaru Legacy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB">But what really
matters is that I get to be part of people’s stories, one pair of Wordy Cakes
at a time.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijYa3nYi_S4cBdfv7ePtKcRW31gmXWHIJfJVZpaEdUPyCyMH2vlh3JKFPAo36HgaKI8YalIwlJsSoOobPNPuuaFLR1ipZjSBJEcJwPjtZqg131xWNBeHz04BNtAdLYP5gDPE4VZl3gbfg0/s1600/cakes.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijYa3nYi_S4cBdfv7ePtKcRW31gmXWHIJfJVZpaEdUPyCyMH2vlh3JKFPAo36HgaKI8YalIwlJsSoOobPNPuuaFLR1ipZjSBJEcJwPjtZqg131xWNBeHz04BNtAdLYP5gDPE4VZl3gbfg0/s1600/cakes.png" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pair of Wordy Cakes, begging to be devoured</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">Photo Credit: Stella Nyanzi</span><br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-47646646878673882662014-10-16T10:28:00.000-07:002014-10-16T10:28:00.918-07:0023 Things You Didn't Know About Me<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
</div>
<ol>
<li>Though I love
cooking, I don’t like cooking for myself. I’m still hesitant to buy pans at my home.</li>
<li>I hate to admit
that my favourite colour is blue, because almost every guy loves blue. It takes
me a lot of self will not to buy a blue shirt when I go shopping for clothes.</li>
<li>I started wearing
glasses when I was 12, and all my friends said I looked ugly, I should put them
off.</li>
<li>I’ve been reading
books since I was a kid. I actually don’t remember when I started reading books
for fun. I’ve still failed to drop the habit.</li>
<li>I never grew up
watching TV, even when it was available. So I don’t know how it feels like to
be addicted.</li>
<li>I’ve been dumped
by the same girl so many times I can’t count. Never thought I’d ever get over
her.</li>
<li>I am left-handed,
but eat with my right hand if I’m using my hands to eat.</li>
<li>I rarely edit
most of the stuff I write.</li>
<li>My favourite band
is A Great Big World.</li>
<li>I don’t have a
favourite musician.</li>
<li>I’m a collector
of music. I’ve got over 50GB of music on my pc and I’ve never listened to all
of it, but I keep collecting more and more.</li>
<li>I have thousands
of ebooks, most of them stolen, and I hope that one day I’ll be so rich that
I’ll buy copies of them to stock my library, and atone for my sins</li>
<li>Bananas are my
favourite fruit, followed by jack fruit.</li>
<li>I am extremely
introverted.</li>
<li>I don’t have as
many friends as Facebook thinks I have.</li>
<li>I love classical
music, though I won’t play it when my friends are around, lest they look at me
like I’m from Pluto.</li>
<li>I wrote my first
song when I was about 8 or 9 years old. I still remember it, but you’ll never
catch me sing it.</li>
<li>I’m not afraid of
the dark.</li>
<li>Writing scares
the sh*t out of me. I’d rather drink myself into a stupor, which actually has
never happened.</li>
<li>If you dumped me
on an island, all I’d ask for would be my 4-year-old laptop and WiFi. I can get
almost everything else I need.</li>
<li>I love wearing
dirty jeans.</li>
<li>The Shawshank
Redemption is my all time favourite movie</li>
<li>I turn 23 on
Saturday.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-86625047951535876842014-10-16T10:23:00.000-07:002014-10-16T10:23:13.462-07:00The Art of Drifting<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">While enjoying my bus ride to Gulu, I kept
looking out the window at the passing terrain. Something stood out for me: the
farms. Every few kilometres, I saw men, women and children hard at work in
different farms. Some were growing maize, others cabbages, and some other
plants I don’t know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then there were these farms that weren’t
being tended to. They had weeds growing in them. Some of these farms overgrown
with weeds were next to well-kept farms.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">One word kept coming to my mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Drifting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Whenever someone stops proactively doing
something, drifting sets in. Usually, the consequences are not desirable. When
a farmer drifts, weeds grow. When two people in love drift, the love dies. When
an employee drifts, production plummets. When I drifted, nobody visited this
blog.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">If there’s anything I’ve learnt from my
travel to Gulu, it is this concept of drifting. Looking back on my life, I have
realised that it is very easy to drift. As soon as life starts getting
comfortable, money starts coming in, and I drift.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have realised that I’ve done a lot of
drifting this year. I have taken the path of least resistance and it has choked
my creativity. I’ve learnt that whenever I don’t deliberately choose to think,
my mind will wander. If I don’t deliberately choose to write, I get worse at
it. I’m now starting to write again, and it is no longer as easy as it was
before I drifted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I used to jog everyday at the beginning of
the year. Then I got so busy. I tried jogging after two months of not jogging,
and I realised I had drifted. My body told me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am now evaluating my life. And I’m
shocked at how much I’d drifted. I’d gotten used to swimming downstream with
all the dead leaves and chaff instead of upstream. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">You should also evaluate your life. Are you
drifting in your career, relationships or hobbies? Do you need to get more
deliberate about doing something? Remember, change rarely comes without action.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-13800810637627923282014-10-15T08:43:00.003-07:002014-10-15T08:43:40.125-07:00I Think I'm a Human Tourist<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">When the thought of getting out of the city
for a day or two crossed my mind, I had the option of going anywhere I wanted
to go to in Uganda. I decided to go to a place I’d never been to: Gulu. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“There’s nothing to see in Gulu,” a friend
told me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And that’s exactly why I chose the place. I’ve
never really been into sightseeing. I don’t really know how to stare wide-eyed,
open-mouthed at waterfalls and wild animals. They don’t really get my blood
running.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">What gives me a rush is watching people. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I love seeing two people, completely in
love, who can’t get their hands off of each other. I love watching an irritated
bus driver, or a beautiful hotel receptionist who doesn’t know how to smile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That’s why I’m in Gulu.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This guy with a cart loaded with pineapples
spoke impeccable English and had a contagious smile. I had to buy a pineapple
from him. The lady at the hotel I’m staying at is so nice and courteous. Even
after trying out other places to see if I could get a less expensive room, I ended
up coming back to her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">An old Indian woman rode a motorcycle
around town. She passed by me a couple of times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then the huts. I don’t remember seeing so
many huts like the ones I saw today on the 6-hour bus ride. We passed by people
who didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. They definitely didn’t look
like they badly needed the new iPhone coming out next year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Four barefooted kids in school uniforms
waved oranges at us. I guess they wanted us to buy the oranges. But the bus
driver didn’t stop.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I lost count of the number of churches I saw
on the way. What was interesting was that more than once, I saw a brick church
surrounded by mud and wattle huts. At least the gods get revered in this part
of the world. I wondered whether the priests can afford bicycles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And oh! The Gulu Archdiocese has a very
beautiful cathedral.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now I’m in my hotel room, the sun is
setting, and it still feels like I’m in Uganda. Northern Uganda doesn’t feel
any different from Central Uganda. I can’t wait for tomorrow when I’ll go tour
some more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Human beings are really beautiful.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-13240709617199672342014-10-07T08:15:00.002-07:002014-10-07T08:15:59.099-07:00This Part of my Life is Called Facing Reality<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This part of my life is called facing
reality. I asked for a month’s leave from work. Well, given the fact that my
performance wasn’t that good and my boss wouldn’t really miss me, I got it
immediately. It’s been a week into my leave now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For the first time since I left school, I have
completely nothing to do. I could decide to go on a road trip. I’ve actually
thought about it, though I haven’t yet figured out where to go and where to get
the money to take me there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For the first time in my life, life feels
uncertain. Well, partly because I may not go back to my job after this leave.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am told that a lot of grown up people
feel like this. So I am not alone. The best way I can describe this feeling is
that it is bittersweet. I love the freedom, not having to answer to anyone for
once. But I’m scared about how I will be able to pay the rent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That’s why I started a bakery. I haven’t
made a single sale yet. But I’ve got the equipment, the space, and the skills. I
also have a partner who believes in my dream and is helping to finance it. Soon—very
soon—I’ll have to get out of my reverie and start working.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Lately I’ve been taking lots of walks, with
earphones in my ears, listening to audio books. I’m learning quite a lot. I’ve
also found out that Kampala isn’t that big of a city. So, except if I’m late or
tired, I’ll keep up with the walking. It’s healthy. And I’ll save lots of
money, which money I don’t have.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’ve read a lot about starting and running
a business. I’ve gone to lots of seminars and conferences. But I’ve never put
any of that knowledge into practice. I just hope all of that knowledge will
help me somehow, or else I’ll be back to looking for a job.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I even did a written interview with a media
house in town for the position of a sub-editor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This morning I visited a bookstore. As always,
there were lots of books I wished I could buy, but didn’t have the money. My eyes
got wet. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I was standing on holy ground. Bookstores
are holy grounds. One day I’ll have my books in them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So this evening, while waiting for a
meeting to start, I decided to power up my computer and write this blog post. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">This part of my life is called facing
reality.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-79563853878539897302014-09-15T06:49:00.001-07:002014-09-15T06:49:33.935-07:00On Circumcision and Start-ups <div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I have had so many excuses for not writing,
the most prominent being my day job. But all those excuses have gotten silenced
by my heart, which can’t live without writing. I hope this will be the first
article among many that I’ll write before the end of the year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now that’s no way to start a blog, but why
wouldn’t everyone cut me some slack? I haven’t written in a gazillion months! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So, today I’d like to talk about
circumcision. And start ups.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">A few months ago, a guest came to the
guesthouse where I work. She was on the team trying to popularise non-surgical
male circumcision. And she had lots of dildos to show for it. So one evening we
got talking and ended up talking about her work. She described to me the whole
circumcision process, its pros and cons and even encouraged me to get
circumcised.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It’s just yesterday that our conversation
came back to me as I was thinking of what it takes to start a business. I realised
that starting a business is like getting circumcised. At first, you don’t want
to do it. It’s so painful and you could lose your pee-pee if the doctor doesn’t
do it well. And it takes some time to heal and be able to function well again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And even after the guest with a bag of
dildos and a PhD convinces you to go get cut, even after you make up your mind
that you really need to get cut, you decide to nurse some procrastination. You say
you’ll do it next week, and when next week comes you push it to next week until
the year ends and you still have your foreskin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And then you get a girlfriend and she
demands that you go have the simple procedure done or else... and for the first
time you realise that it’s now a matter of life or death. So you go to the
hospital. The procedure is over in just ten minutes and now you’re a certified
entrepreneur!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And now the pain starts.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-5024414614698314722014-07-31T01:57:00.000-07:002014-07-31T02:36:04.517-07:00Water Under a Bridge<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Water under a bridge</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Flows slowly, quietly</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Until a storm rages</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And the rain falls.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then the bridge floods</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And the river cries</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And the wind blows</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And we’re all wet</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Nothing stays the same</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">The storm doesn’t care</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">We’re blown off the bridge</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">And float downstream</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">When the rain stops</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Water under the bridge</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Flows slowly, quietly</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But we’re no longer there</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVbxyOkMi_1r4wEpDLi-ov95MvSyB4knH02hHb6Bfnr7iprx-aIEpVpAIiZlRZ6TCHTgYbIctkqLBh1ThciGot5puwfLdo5kfIsjR19RDx8H24GWo_bW1lEzrrHRu_hNru9hMVKBcqVDk/s1600/Water+under+west+bridge1+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRVbxyOkMi_1r4wEpDLi-ov95MvSyB4knH02hHb6Bfnr7iprx-aIEpVpAIiZlRZ6TCHTgYbIctkqLBh1ThciGot5puwfLdo5kfIsjR19RDx8H24GWo_bW1lEzrrHRu_hNru9hMVKBcqVDk/s1600/Water+under+west+bridge1+(1).jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<span lang="EN-GB">
</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-29869868588000997312014-01-22T12:03:00.000-08:002014-01-22T12:03:53.718-08:00Open Your Heart to Love<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I want to be the one who holds your hand</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And leads you through this hard and stormy
world</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I want to be the one who dries your tears</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And tells you everything will be okay</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">You don’t have to be afraid</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Open your heart to love</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I want to be the one who knows your fears</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And holds you in my arms ‘til monsters die</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I want to be the one who makes you smile</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And makes your face wet with tears of joy</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">You don’t have to be alone</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Open your heart to love</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Don’t be a mannequin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Don’t turn into a pillar of salt</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">My arms are open wide</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So open your heart to love</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The flowers are blossoming</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Look out, see the bright shining sun</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Reach out and kiss the stars</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And open your heart to love</span></div>
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<![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-51635202013091696782013-09-13T05:18:00.003-07:002013-09-13T13:06:03.897-07:00To All Young Women Who Break Our HeartsToday I am going to share with you a post from a Facebook friend of mine, <a href="http://adoniawaibale.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Adonia Waibale</a>, that I would like all the ladies, especially the young ones that keep breaking our hearts, to read.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">Forgetting Tracy Amazing</span></strong></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Did I just call a woman amazing? Oh yeah that's right, everything about her was amazing especially the way she dumped me without breaking my heart - i still have no clue how she managed that but when she left she took all the pieces with her. I still have nightmares of her chocolate skin, big twinkling eyes, lips that could act like cushions and her smile was more beautiful than the horizon where day fades into night. I'm haunted by these images. Her bosom, well crafted with surgically equivalent breasts and hips as wide as a six lane free way; her posterior was molded by Leonardo da Vinci himself. Her legs straight like eucalyptus trees; when she walked all her accolades flourished in chorus complimenting each other. And in that moment beauty made enough sense to last me a life time. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
She was the perfect score for an SAT and she was my score long enough to know how it feels like to be an A student in a biology class. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Tracy Mirembe was her name, her pleasure was my purpose, well, it was until it was useless to keep all the promises we had made in all coyness. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Whenever we hung out i worried because she commanded attention like a top less bartender, I'm not the jealous type but you should have seen the way men ogled at her, sometimes i felt she was virtually undressed the minute we walked into a bar. In the genesis of what is now clearly a bad idea I enjoyed commendations from my peers who appreciated my taste in women, infact I believe many of them thought I had punched way above my weight. They called her deep waters and I was only a star fish marinating in her waters. Time and again i simply nodded my head also in total awe of her beauty. It was here that i started writing my vows- 'I will love you till all the oil in bunyoro is reclaimed, I will stay with you until bwaise gets her independence from poor drainage." Such was the magnitude of my commitment to her. I promised myself that i would spend all my bonus payments on pampering her and my actual income would be dedicated to things like her hair. All the fish in the sea disappeared, the few that remained were no match to her; now i only had eyes for her. But as it has become the play these days, she had her eyes on something else and it's now that I realize it wasn't me. Deep into her eyes there stood, erect a faint image of me and each time I held her close it felt like the last time. For months I attempted to marry her vanity with my imperfections and find good reason to fight for her. I know nothing is meant to last but i was hoping to prove Boolean wrong. I could have given her all my love, I could have been more than just a knight in shinning armor. I could have been her Mr amazing. But here I am writing stories in her memory, inking her memory away into a canister of 'has beens' and girls I hope get hit by a bus or something more heinous. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So Tracy, if you are reading this, I hope you are not happy, i hope you have kids now and those curves of yours are no more, i hope those breasts sag all the way to your belly button. It's my humble prayer that you got married to boda boda guy and that his helmet is the only item of luxury. Please don't think I hate you, I only enjoy a good rant and you seemed like something I could rant about.</blockquote>
<br />
So, Ladies, the next time you think of breaking a guy's heart, please remember the <a href="http://paulkisakye.blogspot.com/2013/05/emotional-rape.html" target="_blank">Emotional Rape</a> you subject us to.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-4405620350738080742013-08-13T12:43:00.001-07:002013-08-14T04:40:31.610-07:00How I Lost My Pentecostalism<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I grew up in a church where Jesus’ words,
“Unless you are born again, you shall not see the kingdom of God” meant “Unless
you join this church you shall not go to heaven.” I felt privileged to be among
the chosen few to go to heaven because even Jesus said, “Many are called but
few are chosen.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The road to hell was very wide and almost
everyone was on it, enjoying the temporary pleasures of the earth. But my
church taught me to keep on the straight and the narrow, because only a few lucky
people like us found it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">There would be more souls lost in hell than
those redeemed in heaven, I was taught.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I believed it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">But that was before my brother, Alex passed
away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Alex was a devout Catholic. Many of us at
home had turned Pentecostal, but however much we evangelized to him, he refused
to convert. I was very worried about him and decided to delegate a good chunk
of my prayer time to him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The last time I saw him, we passed by a
ramshackle Pentecostal church on our way to a restaurant for lunch. It was a
Monday. And they were having “Lunch Hour,” their two-hour lunchtime
prayers. The wooden structure had less than a dozen Pentecostals in it but the
sound system was deafening.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I would have liked it if they had been
playing music. Instead, the pastor, or whoever he was, was shouting incessantly
into the microphone at God in a mixture of Luganda and tongues. He was telling
God how good He was but by the volume and forcefulness of his voice, if you
didn’t know Luganda, you would have thought he was having an argument with God
and was winning it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">However, though I was a committed
Pentecostal Christian, this was one part of Pentecostalism I never understood.
I don’t know how to shout, and so I wondered why in the world one felt the need
to shout while talking to God. It’s not like God is near-deaf. Or, if one was
praying for the benefit of the others in the room with him, why amplify one’s
voice with a sound system that cost more than the structure under which they
are meeting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It’s Lunch Hour. Go and join them,” Alex
said, rubbing in the fact that it was totally absurd, what these guys were
doing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Nah! I’ll pray over my food,” I said, as
we entered a restaurant.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That was the last day I saw Alex.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">One and a half months later, I received the
news that Alex had passed away. I’ve never felt so heartbroken and
disappointed. I had spent half of my life praying that Alex would cross to my
Pentecostalism so he wouldn’t go to hell, and God hadn’t answered my prayers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I didn’t go for the funeral because I was
in the middle of exams at school. But as I cried, I failed to picture my
brother burning in the fires of hell, just because he had refused to believe
that one had to pick a certain church over another one in order to go to heaven.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then God started ministering love and
comfort to my heart. He showed me how much he loved me and hated to see me so
heartbroken. That was when I got a glimpse of God’s love for the first time—the
light that had been hidden from me by Pentecostal dogma.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That was when I started to lose my
Pentecostalism.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-6552720476028415572013-07-27T09:16:00.001-07:002013-07-27T09:16:53.516-07:00I am Coming Out of the Closet
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">A friend of mine came out of the closet a
few months ago. It is now common knowledge that he is gay, at least among his
close friends. Well, I am happy for him. In Uganda, it takes a lot of balls and
guts to say you are gay. But he is very lucky. His mother did not throw him out
of the house.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I would like to think that I might be as
lucky as he was. So I am also coming out of the closet too. Finally.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I am straight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I am sorry if I have disappointed you. It’s
just that, I would like to know, why is it that the gays experience the
pressure of having to come out of the closet yet us, the straight guys, have it
easy? Everyone should reach a point in their life where they are expected to
come out of the closet. And it should be ok whichever closet you come out of.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Late last year I wrote a story that I submitted
for a competition called <a href="http://writivism.com/" target="_blank">Writivism</a>. I titled it <a href="http://readerscafeafrica.com/2013/06/emotional-rollercoaster/" target="_blank">Emotional Roller Coaster</a>. Recently,
my story has caused a lot of debate both online and offline. It is about a gay
guy who has his first heterosexual encounter. I can’t really tell what I was
thinking while writing this story, but I enjoyed writing it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">After all the debate it garnered, I started
thinking about the issues the story raised, especially regarding homosexuality.
My gay character enjoyed the sex he had with his female best friend. (Do gay
people enjoy straight sex? Someone educate me!) The next morning, he wakes up
confused. He had already come out of the closet as a gay guy. Would he now have
to come out of the closet as a straight guy?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">So while I’m advocating for us straight
guys to also come out of the closet, I suggest that the closet should remain
open, so that we can go back when we feel like we are threatened. I’ve heard of
middle-aged men with wives and teenage kids who finally figure out that all
along they’ve been gay. Now I don’t know how that happens, but as for anything
to do with closets, I am open for dialogue.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I will stop here, because I clearly don’t
know what I am blabbering about. I just wanted to simply come out of the
closet, but because I’m a writer, felt like I should write more than a few
sentences.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">As an afterthought, I think I should now
join some straight club. Anybody know any straight club?</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-20752299152908675302013-07-26T10:07:00.001-07:002013-07-26T10:07:41.394-07:00Coming To Kampala: a short story
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The bus came to
a halt at the traffic lights on Jinja Road. It was the first in line, and I
thought the driver had to feel disappointed for having been too slow to beat
the red light. We were finally in Kampala. I expressed my excitement by
inboxing Lillian.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“On
Jinja Road. Will be there in a few minutes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">She
replied immediately: “Can’t wait to meet you!” and added a smiley at the end. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That’s
why I liked Lillian. She was always online, and I was assured of never getting
bored whenever we chatted on Facebook. Lillian had this infectious smile that
drilled dimples in her cheeks, accentuating her beauty. Her large, innocent
eyes sparkled in the light and were always happy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">On
Jinja Road, the light turned orange, and the driver started the engine again.
He turned the key in the ignition, and all the engine did was cough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He
looked at the orange light. Sweat broke out on his forehead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
engine coughed again. It stopped.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
old, gangly driver, with hands trembling on the steering wheel, turned in his
seat, looked directly at me and said, “Banange, get out and help me push the
car. It won’t start!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
averted my gaze from his tired eyes and looked at myself in the rear-view
mirror. I was dressed in a new, cream dress shirt. My suit was recently
dry-cleaned. I was going for the best date in my life. I hadn’t taken all my
time and effort to look impeccable for my girl, travel all the way from Mbale,
to get myself dirty just a short walk away from my destination.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Banange,
munnyambe,” the bus driver pleaded with us, glancing at the orange light. Any
time from now it would turn green.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
could get out of this bus and walk the rest of the journey. I might be a little
late. I might get my new dress shoes dusty. But that was better than getting my
suit dirty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Four
men stood up and walked out to help push the bus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
driver’s hands were shaking so badly they could barely hold the steering wheel.
He turned the ignition. The engine started and died almost immediately.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Three
policemen were looking at us from across the road. The driver saw them and
said, “Those policemen are going to come and fine me!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
skin on his arms had developed goose pimples. He drew in quick breaths.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">He
started the engine again as the men pushed. The bus shook, but stayed in the
same place.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
stood up, ready to get out. Not to help, but walk to my date. It was getting
late. My reputation was hanging on the line right now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
light turned green.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
driver turned the ignition again and revved up the engine. The cars that had
lined up behind us started honking. Loud, angry noise. Two of the policemen
started walking towards our bus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
engine coughed one more time. The car moved a little. The cars behind us honked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
policemen were now a few feet away from us. The scowls on their faces carried
question marks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
four men outside pushed again. The bus came to life and started moving. It
accelerated in speed and the men who were pushing started running after it so
they could get back on. The driver smiled as he drove past the bewildered
policemen. He increased his speed as soon as all four men were back on board.
He had a silly grin on his face that he seemed unaware of as he bobbed his head
to the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kadongokamu </i>song that was
playing on the radio.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
sat back. I had been on the edge of my seat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
fought the urge to gawk at the buildings on Jinja Road. They were tall and
their glass, tile and aluminium surfaces glinted in the evening light. When we
reached Uganda House, I said, “Maaso awo.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
bus stopped and I got off. I checked my phone. It was four-thirty. I refreshed
my Facebook inbox and read Lillian’s latest message.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Where
are you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“I’ve
just arrived at Uganda House,” I replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
saw what was to be our meeting point—Cafe Bravo. I entered and was immediately
welcomed with the strong, sweet aroma of coffee. I stared at the exquisite wood
panelling and the large display of mouth-watering pastries.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
checked my phone. Lillian had replied, “Ok”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
typed, “Where are you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“On
my way.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">So
she wasn’t here yet. That was good. I made a beeline for a table in the corner
so I could sit facing the entrance. I wanted to see her as soon as she came in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">A
waiter approached my table, gave me the menu and asked, “Would you like
anything, sir?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“Let
me go through the menu, then I’ll call you,” I said. He left me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
opened the menu and started perusing through it. My jaw dropped. My eyes became
saucers. The chicken was twenty thousand shillings!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It
dawned on me that I was going to leave Kampala broke.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
checked my phone. I didn’t have any new message from Lillian. I almost asked
her where she was again, but I thought that I would come off as desperate. I
put the phone on the table.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
waiter came back to my table. “Are you ready to order, sir.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“You
see,” I said, “I am waiting for my girlfriend to join me, then we shall order
together.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">What
I didn’t tell him was that I was afraid if I ordered before Lillian ordered,
and she ordered an expensive dish, I might not have enough money to settle my
bill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
waiter left again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
waited for Lillian.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Just
as I picked up my phone to ask her where she was, she entered the cafe. The
sunshine entered with her. She scanned the cafe till her eyes landed on me.
There was a hint of recognition. I smiled. She didn’t smile back, but her eyes
moved from mine and continued scanning the cafe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
almost stood up and waved my hands to catch her attention. She turned and
walked back outside, like she had forgotten something there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Fidgeting,
I grabbed my phone. No new message from her. I frantically typed, “Where are
you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I
looked out at the girl I thought was Lillian. Long, manicured fingernails were
tapping away at the screen of a smart phone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The
answer was instant. “Stuck in jam.”</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-23529849749118598442013-07-20T07:28:00.002-07:002013-07-20T07:28:47.866-07:00The Rat
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Once upon a time, there was a rat. It lived
in my house. I had never seen it, but I was almost sure that it was there. I
was also almost sure that it might not be only one rat. Maybe there was a whole
family of them—mother, father and baby rats!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I did not know whether it was as big as a
shoe or as small as a large cockroach.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">There was a rat trap behind the fridge. There
was another one on top of the cabinet. There were two under the sink.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I had never seen this rat. The only
evidence I had that it actually existed was the fact that the bread I kept
putting on the rat traps as bait disappeared every night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then one day I decided that I was going to
catch this rat. I borrowed webcams from my colleagues at work. In total, I had
three webcams, one for each rat trap. And my iPhone’s camera was for the fourth
rat trap, the one on top of the fridge. Today I wasn’t going to sleep. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I sat in front of my laptop in my living
room watching the live feeds from all four cameras. Thirty minutes into my
surveillance, I started dosing. I went to the kitchen and made myself some
coffee and a sandwich. I chastised myself for going to the kitchen. I could
have scared away the rat! I checked the traps again. The bread was still there.
I got some more bread from the bread bin, broke it and distributed it to the
traps. Some more bread for this crafty rat wouldn’t hurt. Today was the last
day it would steal from me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I went back to my couch and my laptop and
watched the rat traps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I thought I should play music. It was eerily
quiet. But what if the music scared away the rat? I remained in the quietness. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Maybe I should switch off the lights. Rats
love darkness. But then how would I see the rat on my live feed? I would have
to try my luck today. I sat back in my couch. I watched.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I looked at the time. It was ten-thirty. I
had been watching for only twenty minutes so far. It felt like an hour. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">What if the rat came out at four in the
morning? Well, then I guess I should have a full flask of coffee. Maybe even
get a book to read. Have one eye on the book and another on the screen of my
laptop. I surely wouldn’t miss a movement near the rat traps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The couch was very comfortable. I felt too
lazy to get up and make myself more coffee and pick a book. So I stayed and
watched the rat traps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I woke up to the glare of sunlight coming
through the window. My laptop’s screen had blacked out. I didn’t bother to put
it on but rushed to the kitchen to check the rat traps. The two rat traps under
the sink were devoid of bread. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And I was sure the other rat traps also
didn’t have bread on them. I gathered my surveillance gadgets. I’d need my
iPhone for Facebook, Twitter and WatsApp. And my colleagues would need their
webcams.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-69823372488061060432013-07-07T00:40:00.001-07:002013-07-07T00:40:32.368-07:00Peace
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Breathe in </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Breathe out</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Close your eyes</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Can you see me? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Be at peace</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Don’t struggle</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Patience, my child</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Hold on</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Be still</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Be calm</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Spread your wings</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Can you fly</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">In your wings</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Soar high</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">If you think you cannot</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-54652973581848810102013-05-26T07:31:00.002-07:002013-05-26T07:49:45.336-07:00Emotional RapeRape is such a bad thing. Whenever I hear or read about rape, anger boils within me. For a man to stoop so low as to defile the most beautiful of all creatures ever created is beyond my comprehension. But it happens. The perpetrators get locked up and we feel that justice has been served, at least on the surface, where smiles can easily mask the pain that shatters the poor victim’s heart into a million and one pieces. <br />
<br />
I don’t know how a girl feels like when she is raped. But I surely know how a guy feels like. For I have been raped before. Now please don’t try explaining to me how it is physiologically impossible for a guy to be raped. I know the biology involved in copulation well enough. And I am not talking about physical rape. <br />
<br />
I am talking about emotional rape. <br />
<br />
When I was a teenager, I read a great book on dating titled, Dateable. It taught teenagers how to become dateable. I have forgotten most of what was in that book, but one thing I have never forgotten was the statement, “Girls give the physical to get the emotional. Guys give the emotional to get the physical.” If you don’t believe it, go have a serious chat with some teenagers. Ask them what they want in a mate. <br />
<br />
The girl will say, “I want someone who cares about me, someone who will understand me and holds me.” She won’t talk about sex. Reason: girls don’t have sex. They make love. She wants a guy who will kiss her tenderly and give her warm, cuddly hugs. Very emotional. <br />
<br />
But the guy will say, “I want someone who is great in bed.” Of course if he is shy he will first circle around this answer, giving you a long paragraph of nonsensical words before settling down to one thing: sex. For the guy, all other reasons come fourth, after sex, sex and more sex. Very physical. <br />
<br />
Then they go to church and the pastor tells them that they cannot have sex until they are married. The pastor says that the Bible says so. No discussion expected. <br />
<br />
The girl does a victory dance. At least she is sure the guy who will lay his hands on her will have to first commit to her by taking her to church for a church wedding, white satin gowns, flowers, jewelry and all. <br />
<br />
The guy smiles. Isn’t it such a nice thing to first get married before having sex? Well, if God says so. But that is before he gets into a relationship with his dream girl. <br />
<br />
A few months later, guy meets girl. The sparks fly, the butterflies fly and a full-blown romance starts. The guy is so caring. He understands her and even makes her laugh. He holds her and gives her warm, cuddly hugs. The girl couldn’t dream of a better relationship. She has got all she ever dreamed of. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the guy has not yet realized what he has always dreamed of since the onset of puberty. They can’t have sex until they get married. The Bible says so. <br />
<br />
That is when the emotional rape begins. <br />
<br />
While the girl gets emotionally satisfied, the guy can’t get physically satisfied. He feels emotionally raped, the same way a girl would feel physically raped if the guy got physical satisfaction from her but never gave her emotional satisfaction. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t even realize that he’s being raped over and over again. There is no section in the penal code that describes emotional rape and provides legal action against it. Even if he realized that he was being raped, who would he report to? What evidence would he present? Unlike bruised vaginal walls, bruised hearts cannot be examined. <br />
<br />
And when he asks for sex, he is labeled a jerk. He is called selfish. And the emotional rape continues while he suffers silently. <br />
<br />
<br />
By the way, have you gotten yourself a copy of my new ebook? If not, get it <a href="http://paulkisakye.blogspot.com/2013/03/im-giving-my-book-away-free-of-charge.html" target="_blank">here</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01596871661932225059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908109340313954111.post-56485801179238700122013-04-21T05:34:00.000-07:002013-04-21T05:34:00.148-07:00The Hymn<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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About three years ago, I entered my dad’s car and rode with
him to Jinja. To be a little more accurate, I was dragged to Jinja. And as I
entered his car, I felt like my life as I knew it was about to end, like I had
fallen off a cliff and was careening to a very certain death—the death of my
dreams of writing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My dreams of writing were being sacrificed at the altar of a
more honourable vocation—Hotel Management—and I was being driven to the best
hotel training institute (or so, I am told) in Uganda.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We had just driven a few metres away from home when the last
verse of Amazing Grace hit me like a meteor falling from the sky.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When we’ve been there ten thousand years</div>
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Bright shining as the stars</div>
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We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise</div>
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Than when we first began.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Those four lines played over and over in my mind, each line
warming my heart and filling me with an inexplicable joy as I sat next to my
dad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you ok?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad had seen the silly grin on my face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I immediately wiped it off and nodded. Yes, I was ok. I was
more than ok.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was given a place at The Hotel and Tourism Training
Institute. The course would take me three years. And though I didn’t know how I
would study Hotel Management for three years, I knew that three years were just
a molecule of time in comparison to eternity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dad called me every single day for the first month of
school. He was worried that I might throw in the towel after a few weeks of
school. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t throw in the towel. I completed my three years. My
last paper was on Friday. And I entered my bed at 6am this morning after
spending the night out with my friends.</div>
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<br /></div>
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***</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I went to church. For the first time, I was
twenty minutes late. I was surprised that I didn’t doze through the sermon. But
I guess it was because I was excited to be leaving Jinja after three years of
school. I couldn’t wait for church to end so I could go and pack my bags. Dad
is picking me up in the evening.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the sermon ended, we stood up for the closing hymn:
Amazing Grace.</div>
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