Today, we woke up to the news... To be precise, yestyerday we went to sleep with the news that coordinated groups of gunmen shot and blasted their way through tourist sites in the Indian financial center of Mumbai
Throughout November and indeed, for the better part of the year, partly due to the frustrations that come with the paenuts I am yet to start earning despite a university education, [education which, by the way, is being threatened by Makerere University's policy of overcharging Kenyan students,] I have been seriously considering a career in bucaneering, since it seems there is alot of money to be made there.
But seriously, authorities commented on this latest terror incidient by saying it exhibited a previously unseen degree of reconnaissance and planning. The scale and synchronization of the attacks pointed to the likely involvement of experienced commanders and very detailed planning. Several witnesses also said the gunmen demanded to see passports from cornered guests, separating American and British tourists from the others.
A previously unknown group calling itself Deccan Mujahedin said it carried out the attack.
Now, let's do a little math.
1. Such a flawlessly planned operation needs money. Lots of money.
2. Money pouring in from pirate ransoms have reached $30 million this year alone.
3. The indian navy has been protecting ships from the islamist pirates, with support from Britain and America.
4. Somalia, despite being a very failed state, has never ever let go of its strict and very extreme Islamic way of life.
5. Deccan Mujahedin sounds like an islamist group to me.
Is it just me, or does anybody else notice a thread?
Thursday, November 27, 2008
pick-pocketed
I went for a rave... I mean an overnight at Steak Out... sorry. this fellowship centre in Kampala near Steak Out the other night.
Well, as the night wore on, I went to her and suggested we dance...sorry. I suggested we praise the Lord together at closer proximity since, I pointed out matter-of-factly, even the good Lord himself had promised reward for those that worship at close quarters. She was quite open to the idea, and we got into groove just as the DJ...excuse me. The pastor unleashed 'Smooth Operator'...Ahem! I mean 'sweet saviour.'
I do remember feeling her hand in my pockets. Only I reasoned that it being a cold night, she probably just wanted to keep her palm warm. Also truth be told, I didn't really mind the sensations her other hand was causing to other areas of my anatomy which, for purposes of decorum, shall remain unmentioned. Plus there must have been something in the beer... I mean the tea, that made me drowsy.
Bottom line is, I woke up minus my wallet and cellphone, and being a safaricom subscriber, I can only swap my sim in Kenya. So in the meantime, I have to resort to my old Nokia 1011 and one of the simcards I... I mean my my roommate used to play chilles with during his reign as the local Don Juan.
I'm never going to a rave...I mean an overnight, again!
There, I met this chick... I mean this Sister-in-Christ who had my heart boiling with gratitude to the Allmighty for bringing such beauty to the world. Actually, she had quite a few other parts of my body boiling for reasons totally unrelated to gratitude, but I won't get into that.
Well, as the night wore on, I went to her and suggested we dance...sorry. I suggested we praise the Lord together at closer proximity since, I pointed out matter-of-factly, even the good Lord himself had promised reward for those that worship at close quarters. She was quite open to the idea, and we got into groove just as the DJ...excuse me. The pastor unleashed 'Smooth Operator'...Ahem! I mean 'sweet saviour.'I do remember feeling her hand in my pockets. Only I reasoned that it being a cold night, she probably just wanted to keep her palm warm. Also truth be told, I didn't really mind the sensations her other hand was causing to other areas of my anatomy which, for purposes of decorum, shall remain unmentioned. Plus there must have been something in the beer... I mean the tea, that made me drowsy.
Bottom line is, I woke up minus my wallet and cellphone, and being a safaricom subscriber, I can only swap my sim in Kenya. So in the meantime, I have to resort to my old Nokia 1011 and one of the simcards I... I mean my my roommate used to play chilles with during his reign as the local Don Juan.
I'm never going to a rave...I mean an overnight, again!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Why is mommy's tummy so big?
A couple of dozen years ago, a young boy walked up to his mother and asked her, "Mommy, why is your tummy so big?"
Such questions tend to be very awkward for the parent concerned, since they mostly come from children whom until a few seconds before you assumed were several gazillion years away from beginning to understand the dynamics behind gestation and the accompanying physical attributes which afflict women involved in the process of gestation. Other questions in this genre include gems such as "Where did we come from?" Or, "Mommy, why do you like eating stones and yet you beat me when I do?"
Now, if you are a parent with even the slightest inkling of an idea on what ideal parenting is, then at some point in time you must have been involved in such an excruciating scenario. It is nature's way of reminding us that whatever we think, that very active mass of matter inside your child's head won't remain stagnated in childhood forever, and of informing us that raising our kids just got a hell lot trickier.
When such questions begin coming our way from the little brats, they can take on the atmosphere of an inquisition and won't go away until a satisfactory answer or a hefty enough bribe is obtained to defer their attention. As it was, this aforementioned boy was more inquisitive than most children, and so it took a highly creative tale about the stones clearing worms in Mommy's stomach to clear his curiosity and a very huge five shilling coin to curtail another torrent of questions along the same vein.
But what goes around really does come around. Boys tend to be freer with their mothers while girls can twist their fathers round their little finger. How are these two phenomena related? Well, last week, this boy, now a fully grown man with one daughter and another one on the way, was seated in the house doing nothing in general and nothing in particular, when his daughter walked up to him and asked, "Daddy, why is Mommy's tummy so big?"
Usually, this man refers the child to her mother when she starts asking questions of this kind, but this time the daughter was very insistent. He couldn't bribe her because he was flat broke, and attempting the explanation he once heard from his mother about worms was futile since the wife in question never puts anything that even vaguely resembles a stone anywhere near her mouth.
To cut a long story short, each and every one of us, as we grow tend to go through the following stages:
1.Dad knows everything
2.Dad knows almost everything
3.Dad knows many things
4.Dad knows one or two things
5.Dad knows nothing
6.Maybe Dad does know one or two things
7.Actually Dad knows many things
8.Dad knows everything.
Well, by the time my daughter was through with me, I moved from No.1 to No.5 without going through 2 to 4. I can only pray I get to 8 really soon.
Such questions tend to be very awkward for the parent concerned, since they mostly come from children whom until a few seconds before you assumed were several gazillion years away from beginning to understand the dynamics behind gestation and the accompanying physical attributes which afflict women involved in the process of gestation. Other questions in this genre include gems such as "Where did we come from?" Or, "Mommy, why do you like eating stones and yet you beat me when I do?"
Now, if you are a parent with even the slightest inkling of an idea on what ideal parenting is, then at some point in time you must have been involved in such an excruciating scenario. It is nature's way of reminding us that whatever we think, that very active mass of matter inside your child's head won't remain stagnated in childhood forever, and of informing us that raising our kids just got a hell lot trickier.
When such questions begin coming our way from the little brats, they can take on the atmosphere of an inquisition and won't go away until a satisfactory answer or a hefty enough bribe is obtained to defer their attention. As it was, this aforementioned boy was more inquisitive than most children, and so it took a highly creative tale about the stones clearing worms in Mommy's stomach to clear his curiosity and a very huge five shilling coin to curtail another torrent of questions along the same vein.
But what goes around really does come around. Boys tend to be freer with their mothers while girls can twist their fathers round their little finger. How are these two phenomena related? Well, last week, this boy, now a fully grown man with one daughter and another one on the way, was seated in the house doing nothing in general and nothing in particular, when his daughter walked up to him and asked, "Daddy, why is Mommy's tummy so big?"
Usually, this man refers the child to her mother when she starts asking questions of this kind, but this time the daughter was very insistent. He couldn't bribe her because he was flat broke, and attempting the explanation he once heard from his mother about worms was futile since the wife in question never puts anything that even vaguely resembles a stone anywhere near her mouth.
To cut a long story short, each and every one of us, as we grow tend to go through the following stages:
1.Dad knows everything
2.Dad knows almost everything
3.Dad knows many things
4.Dad knows one or two things
5.Dad knows nothing
6.Maybe Dad does know one or two things
7.Actually Dad knows many things
8.Dad knows everything.
Well, by the time my daughter was through with me, I moved from No.1 to No.5 without going through 2 to 4. I can only pray I get to 8 really soon.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Of PAMA and logic.
The 2008 PAM dropped by when I had gone to pay my final respects to a very sadly departed aunt, so although PAM is now old news, I question your perceptive abilities if you thought the subject would just slip by without a word from me.
I won't comment on the sideshows. That will take too much space, time and more importantly, words. you see, according to my second-favorite blogger Baz, a blog shouldn't be more than a thousand words. I guess that means a picture is worth more than a standard blog since it is said that a picture is worth more than a thousand words, but that is just Baz. [By the way, Baz, what the hell were you thinking with that pic last sunday? As an ardent fan, I feel duty-bound to inform you mbu that was a very bad joke indeed.]
Anyway, back to PAM. Now, with the possible exception of the Obsessions winning Best Hip Hop in 2004 and yet everybody knows that Obsessions are to hiphop what Abdu Mulaasi is to, let's say, Gospel KrautRock, no category has proved more controversial over the years than Artiste of the Year award, mainly thanks to whatever concoction it is the judges must drink before they choose the winner. [No disrespect to J's fans, but honestly, you can't convince me that she deserved to win this year. Last year maybe, 2005 Very Definitely, but not 2008.]
But that is not what I want to dwell on either for this year, believe it or not, the category was actually awarded logically, by which I mean the way it was awarded contained valid demonstration and inference, on top of being possessed of reason, both intellectual and dialectical. [Wikipedia, I admit.]
The last time this category was logically [albeit inexplicably as regards the winner] awarded was in 2005 when Mesash/Meschach?/Meshack/Whatsthespelling Semakula won both male artiste and artiste of the year award. Previously, only the inagural 2003 awards had followed logic [Previous parenthetical content NOT applying. Jose was really HUGE then and richly deserved it] in awarding this category.
Heavyweight king
The best movie ever.
OK. Not the movie. But you must admit, the karate was stunning!Anyway, that year PAM decided that Jose Chameleone was the Artiste of the year.
The same thing happened in 2006, when His Excellency Yoweri Kaguta Museveni took it home despite Iryn Namubiru and Whatsthespelling taking the female and male awards respectively.
His Excellency
In 2007, Jaberi Ssali's pride and joy [who is also his worst nightmare.] took the male artiste award,
and when we thought Sophia Nantongo had just served us with the best example of how NOT to dress when she stepped up in her bra-showing greens to pick the female artiste award, Ronald Mayinja EMPHATICALLY staked his claim with the WORST belt I have EVER seen when he went to collect the Artiste of the year award.
I'm drawing dangerously close to a thousand words, so I'll wrap up. My question is, how could Jose, His excellency and Ronnie not take the male artiste awards in their respective years and yet still won the ultimate prize?
Kwani are they Hemaphrodites?
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Big boys do cry.
The word "Cry" means "to utter inarticulate sounds, usually with tears." It usually happens during moments of great emotion.
I'm a pretty reserved, quiet person, not given to crying. As a matter of fact, I have once been described as 'frigid in the emotional department' by some lady whose affection I craved but wasn't up to declaring my affections in the manner of a character from one of Shakespeare's or Danielle Steele's numerous literary works.
But I do cry sometimes. Like on May 21st this year, at the exact moment this happened...
I'm a pretty reserved, quiet person, not given to crying. As a matter of fact, I have once been described as 'frigid in the emotional department' by some lady whose affection I craved but wasn't up to declaring my affections in the manner of a character from one of Shakespeare's or Danielle Steele's numerous literary works.
But I do cry sometimes. Like on May 21st this year, at the exact moment this happened...
And on the morning November 3rd, when this picture appeared on the screen as I was watching CNN's Wolf Blitzer.
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