Rebel in a Bubble

Stop saying shit about Winnie Mandela. You know how Ugandans think that gay people are paid to be gay so that they promote the whole homosexual kingdom and take over? Well, I wonder why they don’t think that some people are also paid to promote chauvinism especially through religion! It makes more sense. And this is what I kept thinking as I leafed through Josephine Namukisa’s book, “The Warring Princess”. Recently, a friend gave me this book to read.   It’s a religious book and I was hesitant to read it but she needed my opinion and I agreed to. She warned me though and said “I get the feeling she thinks the ultimate job of a woman is to nurture children, but perhaps I misunderstood her and you grew up a Christian so maybe you’ll interpret it differently”. I’m cautious around religion nowadays, but it wouldn’t hurt to check it out and see what people are saying out there about human existence. It’s usually just speculation, anyways. So I took the book. It’s pretty small...

Reflections of a Ugandan labourer. Working in Uganda is like being a teenager, in Uganda.   I’ve been a working Ugandan for about four years now, and the things I’ve met make me wonder if I really want to stay here and work here. First, I’ve met the Ugandan colleagues and bosses, who have absolutely no respect for time, or for quality delivery. On my first job, one of my bosses accused me of being too strict. She said, “You can’t come here thinking the ideals you studied in school will be achieved. This is reality, and people don’t always do what they’re supposed to do. Learn to live with it.” I was fresh from university, and many people said I needed a few years and I would be like everybody else, and abandon my impatience with slow paces, and join the clique. It’s been four years now, I still don’t understand why we agree to do one thing in a given time frame, and then take our time to reach there. Nobody cares, you see, as long as something is done, in the end. This is ...

Nze mwana,  gwe,  gwolinyako Atunda kalonda yena Nze alondalonda ebyuma ku kkubo-  nembitunda Nga nsubbira olunaku lulikya nokiraba Mbu nange ngezezako Naye notakikola Nze mukazi atoba n'abaana kumi na babiri Omuddu,  omukomba bokisi Era nga nze mukazi awaka Nga nindirira ongambe mbu nawe,  okiraba sibyangu Oba nti otegeera okwewayo kwange Naye notakilola Nze musajja akeera mu mambya Nenkomawo mu matumbi g'ekiro Nga nfuba nyo okulabirira gwe n'abaana bo Okukakana Nga ogenze nga simanyi na kyenteganira Nga nsubira osanga onategeera obulumi bwange Naye notakilola Kati ngenda kuva wano Ngende eyo gyebatammanyi Nziruke embiro paka lwendisanga ewaka Awaka wenin'okubeera Obulumi bwange gyebuligabanibwa Eyo ebimuli gyebiyimbira Abawala gyebazanyira mu nkuba Kati ngenda kuva wano Ngende eyo gyebatammanyi Ekifo gyebanankubira engalo It's not because I think I'm better than you- no Not because I think that I deserve more Oh no It's just...

002 B.C: Ngyendo. Kanyarushokye, 60, Ngyendo, Buhweju. I’m only telling you this because I was not the only one present when it happened. Otherwise I wouldn’t have. I’ve heard stories about people who were never allowed to say what they saw or heard from the Bachwezi. But when this particular incident occurred, we were all there, about ten of us, and I remember us standing there and not saying a word, pretending nothing had happened. We were so scared of them! Anyways, so we are constructing a road right? And we arrive at that difficult spot along Ngyendo hill. There had been so many accidents along that part and we wanted to enlarge the road. It’s quite steep; you’ve passed there, right? You know how the road is suspended on the side of the hill, the valley lying below it, deep and hollow. The place itself creeps some people out. But I wasn’t really terrified, I just knew if we enlarged the road a little bit, it would make the drivers a little more confident, and the accide...

001 B.C: Omwokorezi Rwabureire Rutaza, 57, Bujaga, Igara. Listen, I am a catholic. I didn’t even believe the Bachwezi existed.   But then there were just too many stories going around. You’ve heard about the fire, haven’t you? The cows, the shrines…   There are things I just chose to ignore. And I did, for quite some time. Until I met Rwabureire. Thing is, I had heard about him before. But I thought ‘they’re all drunks, they wouldn’t tell the difference between a tree and a human’. Besides, I really didn’t like the guy. He was all, you know, you probably wouldn’t understand. He was one of those guys who looked like he didn’t know where he was going half of the time. Like he woke up and just went wherever his feet took him. He wasn’t the talkative type, no. Rumour had it that he had quite a scattered number of kids that called him father, from around Kibona and Bujaga. But that wasn’t his biggest folly. There were too many men with too many kids thriving with their...