Monthly Archives: April 2012

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Stuck in time with twisted titles

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Jazz music is around us all the time and the untrained are always stumped on what to do when it is playing. I used my spare time last week to interview jazz enthusiasts to try and get tips on what one ought to do when suddenly surrounded by jazz. This can happen anywhere. In a taxi. In a restaurant. On a boda boda. You need to know how to react. Since this column is all about elevating the way you live, here are the tips.

Do not try to do paka chini
You may own the sturdiest pair of legs in the room but jazz music doesn’t present you with an opportunity to show them off. Sad, I know, but true. Instead, nod your head sagely, whip out your phone and type furiously. Doesn’t matter what you are typing; just hold the phone in an iron grip and concentrate till beads of sweat form on your forehead.

Stay calm
Shouting when jazz is playing is generally a faux pas; do not say anything in any tone you’ve heard a politician use. Speak as though you are being paid per word saved.

Close your eyes
Encourage everyone around you to close their eyes. Stand up and make an announcement if you have to. “Hey guys, like I totally dig this song so…”

Sing along
For you who loves to form a fist and sing into it when Bieber is doing his thing on your radio station of choice, you are in for a disappointment with jazz. Enthusiasts speak strongly against holding your chest, getting on your knees and mouthing out the words. Humming is acceptable but within reason.

Dedicate
When a jazz song you like starts playing, call that person you are gaga about and don’t say a word; just put the phone next to the radio speaker. This might be a bit of a challenge if you are in a taxi and you are in that seat at the back but as David Tumusiime, the one who writes Taxi tales, will tell you, big tings a gwan. This, in English, means ask for faasi till you get to the speaker

Say intelligent stuff
Jazz inspires people to say the most profound stuff. Archimedes had headphones blaring jazz music when he had his eureka moment. You too should say some intelligent stuff when jazz is playing

Determine your nickname today

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All those who were cool in school have had a nickname or two. Many times however, nicknames are chosen for us without seeking our consent (so are our real names but that’s not the issue here). But is it right? Should you be ok with being called ‘porno’ your entire life? How would you feel if I told you that it is possible to determine your nickname? Wouldn’t you want to look me up and pay me top dollar for this information? No worries; I’ll proceed, here and now, to give you the information free of charge. I’ll still take the top dollar though; my number is +256 (0) 7. I hope the editor leaves that bit intact. So, onto the nicknames you should ask your friends to call you.

Fly

If you are Greek and you’ve recently landed in the country and you are still at the airport, in the terminal, feet in the air, reading this paper, and your name is Flypopocus, then you could convince your friends to call you Fly. Think about it.

You walk into a bar “Hey Fly, long time man” (fist thump)

Your boss is recommending you for a promotion “This young man here is Fly. Give him the promotion”

Your friend is complementing you “My Fly friend doesn’t walk to work”

Flu

For you the young, driven, hungry, sometimes sweet, sometimes angry Aussie called Florence Ursula, insist that your friends call you Flu. Think of all the awesome things that would come from having that as your nickname.

Your friend warning another friend “Say that one more time and I’ll send Flu your way”

Poo

If you are Russian, and you like Vodka and you are reading this off the internet, and your name is Poopchoski, then you need to re-brand. Tell your friends you want to be called Poo. Short. To the point. Think about all the good things that would be a direct result of your amazing nickname

You are at the pool, swimming, working up a sweat and your friend, at the poolside, is asked whether he’d like to swim “No, I don’t. There’s Poo in the pool”

 Published on Sunday, April 15  2012

Eat your meat first, here’s why

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Easter’s here. It is an amazing time send some of the carbohydrates floating around in world to the lower part of your belly. It is also a great time to spend time on urbanlegendkampala.com. You can also use this time to re-evaluate the unrealistic goals you set at the beginning of the year. At this point in the year, you know for sure that ‘to be a better person’ isn’t working out; we know that you put laxatives in your neighbor’s dog food.  ‘To drink less’ isn’t going too well since we know about that time you drove into your gate at home. Today however, the message I’ve been instructed to bring to you is one that should have been delivered on the day we got independence. I bring hardcore facts on mealtime; why you should eat your meat first (as opposed to saving it for last):

Hawks may swoop in and take your meat

You might be in a cozy restaurant, with nice jazz tunes playing in the background, carefully doing justice to all the greens on your plate and saving the meat for last. Keep this in mind;

Fact one: When its meal time, a hawk several meters off the ground can see a tiny mouse on the ground.

Fact two: That hawk in fact one can see your meat. It can swoop in and take it; that would be tragic. Why should a hawk take the meat you’ve paid top-shilling for? It probably won’t enjoy the meat anyway. Or maybe it will. But the point is it didn’t pay for it. There’s also the small issue about whether there are actually hawks in Uganda. Homework

Hawk

meeeaattt....

A strike may break out

Given how many strikes we hear breaking out in this country on a daily, there is a finite possibility that one may break out before you get to swallow your meat. Tear gas. Running. Chaos. Mayhem. No meat. It stands to reason that you eat your meat first. Do it now

The waiter may spill a drink on you and then spill said drink in your food

Customer care being what it is in this country, the waiter may slip and add inedible contents to your plate. Like the Guinness meant for the guy in the dark corner. So eat your meat first.

Published on Sunday, April 8  2012

Be thankful or else

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We usually get so caught up in life doing very many things; running around trying to get a ninja costume that fits well, mooing in office meetings and pointing at the newest recruit, keeping tabs on our intake of carbohydrates, finding new and advanced techniques to sneak food into a library, feeding laxatives to our neighbors cat and spiking the water in the aquarium. We get so caught up doing all these things that we forget to be thankful for the small things in life. When done reading this, you ought to be a changed being; you ought to see beauty in every raindrop, a sunset in every blade of grass and to feel a world of gratitude with every breath you take. Presenting, things we totally forget to be thankful for;

That flies fly

 

Imagine those cretins didn’t fly but walked instead. Or worse, tiptoed. You’d be seated at a posh café somewhere in Kampala, reading a book, looking sophisticated and all things nice and then a fly would tiptoe into your fries. Imagine your shock when just as your one free hand reached for a fry as you chuckled over a witty Ivan Musoke line, you picked up not a fry…but a fly. (Insert horror soundtrack)

Fly

I have eyes on you

Flies that walk would creep up on your food while you were updating your status saying the national park you are in so beautiful while you were seated in a steamy room in Makerere food market sucking soup out of molokony.

That mosquitoes make noise

Picture a life where mosquitoes didn’t make that annoying sound. We’d all die. By ‘we’, I’m referring to all of us who live in the tropics. That means you, dear reader. You’d be dead. I know grim, right? I didn’t want to say it, because of the humanitarian heart that God put in my chest, but the editor insisted I put it there. I was at pen-point for thirty three minutes before I gave in.

The mosquito would silently position its proboscis (kudos to my Science teacher) on the fleshiest part of your right arm and proceed to drain you of your hard-earned blood while you slept, dreaming of walking on a pink moon. But thank God the little ingrates aren’t silent; that way we can send them to their makers by making it clap.

Published on Sunday, April 1, 2012