First I was alarmed when I read your latest post then I got irritated when I couldn’t post my comment because unlike the rest of the world, you, and Gug, are still on blogspot which regards taking comments as being akin to Kampala without potholes n dust n floods. Never to be.
Then I took a taxi into town to meet with Alice, you might remember that I’m handling the launch of that not so new product of hers that allows you to fly off wherever and whenever you want. Which brings me nicely to the point of this blog. You punked out and ran. Now I’m mad.
We had this discussion eons ago – in your old car, the one that had a toy Beretta in the glove compartment? – where I pointed out that for your being less than reserved about your feelings on things of national import, you could, should, expect to pay a price. And you, in that – some would say arrogant – devil-may-care way of yours said, “fuck that. I mean really!!” me, I just said “kale.” Indeed you went on to say exactly what you wanted when and where you wanted. Then as it turns out – if I’m getting this right – your views on other people’s sexual preferences were what finally broke the camel’s back and resulted in the late night visit to your house.
Chief, what did you expect? A formal protest note delivered to your lawyer? A picket of your Nakasero hill office? A boycott of your radio talk show? Public burning of your newspaper articles? Or perhaps an invite to the Media Centre to share your divergent views in a bid to “reach a consensus and chart a common way forward?” dude please, I think not.
Someone came into your yard, not your house – just the yard – which isn’t that hard to get into seeing as your wall fence is like all of 3 feet or sumthin, and left waste matter + chicken blood on/under your car and guess how you react, you freak out and you run. Negro please, you had it easy. In case you forgot, we still have safe-houses aplenty here in Kampala and my next door neighbour – who worries me with the depth of info he possesses on things security related – and is a bit of a chatty fellow, has assured me, he’s been to the one at Summit View in Kololo where they keep Rwandese, men and beautifullll women, and it was not a pretty sight/smell. No sir. They wouldn’t have looked kindly on your personal butler, bespoke suits and silk ties, to put it mildly.
Now, I love your dad man, eccentric chap that he is. He was my dad’s boss in Jinja when we was like little, did you know that? Yeah dude, last Saturday night we was watching Heroes and he was telling me how he’d promoted and transferred my dad to a factory in Tororo from Nytil in Jinja. Now my dad, he didn’t want to give up being Personnel Manager over 3000 people to go manage 700 people in Tororo, on top of leaving his young wife and me, all of 3 years old I was, behind. So he came to your dad and prevailed upon him to reconsider – and when your dad looked upon the loveliness of my mum and the angst of my dad, he found it within himself to rescind his decision. And my dad was mighty pleased so off they went to the Nytil Staff Club for a pint or two. The first of very many “one for the road Abbas” (the barman)!
Knowing now how much I owe your dad – dude I could have grown up speaking Iteso instead of English! – Then you’ll understand when I say that now was not the time to begin playing happy families. Was it not you who sat me down in your corner office and taught me how to stand my ground that time when I pissed off certain members of the First family? And see how well that turned out. And now you take the easy way out? WTF?
Granted you’d prefer to live those ends where you can say whatever you want, wherever, whenever and to whomever then go order a double frapachino mocha latte with lashings of cream and sprinkled with cinnamon, which you’d take whilst writing another chapter in your book, all the while chilling in Central Park. Kawa, even me I’d rather still be living on Kings Road in Old Trafford, Manchester but, I. will. not. go. back. because. I. was. scared. I’ll go because I’ve had it up to here with graft, potholes, load shedding, the dust/mud of the Northern Bypass, the proliferation of white Japanese cars, public crotch grabbers, green tap water, Gen. Tinyefuza as the next Police boss, the Ugandan Police – we’ve had one too many memorable run-ins, public hospitals with no drugs, the mabira forest giveaway, the sale of public markets and schools to private individuals, Jose Chameleone, Nsaba Buturo and boda bodas. Everything I’d miss about Uganda, God bless her.
You have it easy, you can basically talk smut on the radio then call Alice and be on the next plane out. Kati, what about those of us who maybe think and speak like you but lack the luxury – basic though it may be – of the easy way out? What then huh? Don’t we still say what we think and believe? And when the goon squad show up and desecrate our ca… wait, we don’t own a car… when they fall upon us with AK47 butts, pepper spray, tear gas and truncheon, do we take the next bus to Nairobi? No siree, we dig in and take this shit like…well… a man. With balls. Big brass ones.
For a man of deep seated convictions, you’re – in my considered opinion – displaying a certain lack of cojones. I was at your house you know, that Thursday night and Saturday as well, wondering why your mum was all up in the area and no-one knew/was saying where you were. I’m not even hurt that you left, just numbed. Shit, do you think they’re following me now that they might have seen me at your house, playing with (read kicking) your dog, getting the morning paper from the delivery boy and watching movies all night long? Should I call Alice?
So, may I have your Paolo Coelho books? I figure you won’t need them much those ends. By the way I had to lie to my mum that I didn’t know where you were after you came back without going round to see her. Now that you’re back in Boston, do me a favour, call her, she’ll hold your hand and pat you on the cheek you poor man. But on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t call her. They will find out where you are and I don’t want them following my mum and tapping our phone calls because you were seen coming out of her house. And by the way, I have your “Star Wars; Revenge of the Sith” limited edition dvds. I’ll hang on to them because in the event that you get assassinated they’ll be worth a lot some day.
Bon Chance mon ami! ’Twas real.