My Wordy Cake Story

My name is Paul, and this is my story.

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.

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.

Then I went to Gulu.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But I knew that I had done the right thing. So I hit the Enter key and the letter was sent.

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.

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.

And I cried some more.

That evening, on 18^th October, the idea of Wordy Cakes started forming in my mind.

One Wordy Cake, sitting on a quote

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.

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.

There is power in words. A lot of power. That is why I created Wordy Cakes.

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.

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.

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.

This quote made someone's day

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But what really matters is that I get to be part of people’s stories, one pair of Wordy Cakes at a time.

A pair of Wordy Cakes, begging to be devoured

Photo Credit: Stella Nyanzi

23 Things You Didn't Know About Me

1. Though I love cooking, I don’t like cooking for myself. I’m still hesitant to buy pans at my home.
2. 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.
3. I started wearing glasses when I was 12, and all my friends said I looked ugly, I should put them off.
4. 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.
5. I never grew up watching TV, even when it was available. So I don’t know how it feels like to be addicted.
6. I’ve been dumped by the same girl so many times I can’t count. Never thought I’d ever get over her.
7. I am left-handed, but eat with my right hand if I’m using my hands to eat.
8. I rarely edit most of the stuff I write.
9. My favourite band is A Great Big World.
10. I don’t have a favourite musician.
11. 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.
12. 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
13. Bananas are my favourite fruit, followed by jack fruit.
14. I am extremely introverted.
15. I don’t have as many friends as Facebook thinks I have.
16. 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.
17. 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.
18. I’m not afraid of the dark.
19. Writing scares the sh*t out of me. I’d rather drink myself into a stupor, which actually has never happened.
20. 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.
21. I love wearing dirty jeans.
22. The Shawshank Redemption is my all time favourite movie
23. I turn 23 on Saturday.

The Art of Drifting

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.

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.

One word kept coming to my mind.

Drifting.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I Think I'm a Human Tourist

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.

“There’s nothing to see in Gulu,” a friend told me.

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.

What gives me a rush is watching people.

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.

That’s why I’m in Gulu.

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.

An old Indian woman rode a motorcycle around town. She passed by me a couple of times.

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.

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.

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.

And oh! The Gulu Archdiocese has a very beautiful cathedral.

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.

Human beings are really beautiful.

This Part of my Life is Called Facing Reality

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.

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.

For the first time in my life, life feels uncertain. Well, partly because I may not go back to my job after this leave.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I even did a written interview with a media house in town for the position of a sub-editor.

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.

So this evening, while waiting for a meeting to start, I decided to power up my computer and write this blog post.

This part of my life is called facing reality.

On Circumcision and Start-ups

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.

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!

So, today I’d like to talk about circumcision. And start ups.

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.

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.

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.

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!

And now the pain starts.

Water Under a Bridge

Water under a bridge

Flows slowly, quietly

Until a storm rages

And the rain falls.

Then the bridge floods

And the river cries

And the wind blows

And we’re all wet

Nothing stays the same

The storm doesn’t care

We’re blown off the bridge

And float downstream

When the rain stops

Water under the bridge

Flows slowly, quietly

But we’re no longer there

Open Your Heart to Love

I want to be the one who holds your hand

And leads you through this hard and stormy world

I want to be the one who dries your tears

And tells you everything will be okay

You don’t have to be afraid

Open your heart to love

I want to be the one who knows your fears

And holds you in my arms ‘til monsters die

I want to be the one who makes you smile

And makes your face wet with tears of joy

You don’t have to be alone

Open your heart to love

Don’t be a mannequin

Don’t turn into a pillar of salt

My arms are open wide

So open your heart to love

The flowers are blossoming

Look out, see the bright shining sun

Reach out and kiss the stars

And open your heart to love

To All Young Women Who Break Our Hearts

Today I am going to share with you a post from a Facebook friend of mine, Adonia Waibale, that I would like all the ladies, especially the young ones that keep breaking our hearts, to read.

Forgetting Tracy Amazing

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

So, Ladies, the next time you think of breaking a guy's heart, please remember the Emotional Rape you subject us to.

How I Lost My Pentecostalism

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.”

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.

There would be more souls lost in hell than those redeemed in heaven, I was taught.

And I believed it.

But that was before my brother, Alex passed away.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“It’s Lunch Hour. Go and join them,” Alex said, rubbing in the fact that it was totally absurd, what these guys were doing.

“Nah! I’ll pray over my food,” I said, as we entered a restaurant.

That was the last day I saw Alex.

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.

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.

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.

That was when I started to lose my Pentecostalism.