Saturday, October 4, 2014

Horrible Bosses Are From Hell


Horrible Bosses Are From Hell

How can a widely revered man also be the epitome of a boss from hell???? When hell was carving out the most horrible bosses, the most senior demons took care with creating my boss. They poured enough sweetness into him to make him lure in ambitious juniors. They also poured four times the amount of vindictive portion into him. When they were stirring the mixture of his character, they put spadefuls of meanness, treachery and bile to make him a bad case of Tormentor. They also rubbed into the mixture buckets of immaturity, micro-managing and sourgraping. And then they put the mixture into a kiln of domination and conquest. He boiled there to the core. As he hardened, they smeared sardonic charm and prolific wit into his curved form. They breathed evil brilliance into his nostrils and he came alive with a smile and a scream. When he awoke, the bossiest demon whispered instructions into his ear.
"Go destroy junior souls and break down old institutions. Go and spread your repressive spell all over the earth. Go taunt and torment your juniors. Crush their spirits!"
And then my boss was released from hell and straight to Uganda where he was born. Can I write my resignation on perfumed pink paper?

Sunday, June 29, 2014

"Once you learn that, you’ll never be the same again"

"When you grow up you, tend to get told that the world is the way it is and your life is just to live your life inside the world, try not to bash into the walls too much, try to have a nice family, have fun, save a little money. That’s a very limited life. Life can be much broader, once you discover one simple fact, and that is that everything around you that you call life was made up by people that were no smarter than you. And you can change it, you can influence it, you can build your own things that other people can use. Once you learn that, you’ll never be the same again.



Saturday, June 28, 2014

‘African time’ is an insult to ‘Africanness’



At one of our public universities, I once asked my students to anonymously evaluate me.
I implored them to be as honest as possible. And, indeed, they poured. One of the most striking comments was: “sir, I don’t mind you, but you are annoyingly punctual”. Yes, ‘annoyingly’!
While reading out the comments to the rest of the class, one student clarified that they were used to lectures starting about 15-20 minutes late. In some cases, without any notice to students, a lecturer will not show up.
As this anecdote illustrates, poor timekeeping has been normalised in our society, to the extent that keenness to time has come to seem abnormal!
As such, when you are planning any activity or occasion, you have to include about one or two loose hours for the latecomers. If you plan to start at 10am, then you have to indicate 8am on the programme. Indeed many will arrive after 10! Arrive at 8am if you are ready to look odd.
The common excuse is to generalise the bad practice as ‘African time’. In other words, one is saying that they have not done anything unusual – they are simply being African. With a few exceptions, if you plan to invite a government minister or other ‘big people’ as chief guests at your function, you may always need a plan B.
They will assure you of their attendance and ask to be reminded of the start time, only to turn up late and mess the whole programme without any expression of remorse! And when they finally arrive, everything is halted to welcome the ‘important’ guest who will take his/her front seat with a smile, indicative of an inconsiderate sense of importance.
When their turn to speak comes, they will talk until cows come back! Because most MCs want to ‘respect’ them, they will not treat them like other speakers. They won’t give them time reminders. By the time they are done with their lengthy speech, there is a crisis at the function.
Those who had been given 15 minutes on the programme to make their presentations are now cut down to five. Both because of the sudden time-cut and their own poor timekeeping, the other speakers will also eat into each other’s time. By this time, the cause of the disaster has already left. They rarely stay to witness the chaotic consequences of their poor time management.
I have also witnessed occasions where the chief guest kept informing organisers that he was on his way, up to the end of the function! What we see in the behaviour of these leaders in a way reflects the behaviour of the wider society. We are a people not so keen on time despite the observation that this costs us a lot.
Important meetings are cut short and rushed because they started late; teaching time is eaten into, hence not covering some of the course content; people wait for hours to be attended to as office-bearers turn up late or delay at lunchtime conversations!
Unfortunately, there is often no price to pay for the latecomer. Not even a price of shame, for it is normal to be late. In his autobiography, Prof George Kanyeihamba narrates an interesting encounter with his former colleague, Hon Jaberi Bidandi Ssali, who would arrive late, and without apology, for meetings he was supposed to chair.
When Kanyeihamba one time raised a point of order to ask as to the precise time the committee was to start its meetings, Bidandi responded that Kanyeihamba was so worried about time because of his long stay in the UK and was yet to adjust to African time. Kanyeihamba recalls in words that must be emphasised: “I vehemently protested saying that there is no such thing as African time. One is either on time or late. Full stop. Thereafter, Honorable Bidandi Ssali would come on time and often remark that he did not wish to offend George”.
We cannot continue degrading ‘Africanness’ by claiming that late-coming is African time. I actually believe that the roots of this euphemism are from the sarcasm of visitors from outside Africa in a way of trying to politely mock us. We ought to desist from owning the stereotype and using it as justification for the bad habit.
Mechanisms should be put in place to ensure that time mismanagement becomes costly for its perpetrators. This should go together with nurturing our children at home and in school to grow up with time consciousness, to learn that poor time keeping is not endemic to Africa. It is a construct that we can and must deconstruct.


The author is a lecturer in Ethics at Uganda Martyrs University, Nkozi.

adapted
http://www.observer.ug/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=32461%3A-african-time-is-an-insult-to-africanness&catid=37%3Aguest-writers&Itemid=66

Sunday, June 15, 2014

40 and still more to do



Today I am turning forty years old
with my own Ipsum Car-keys jingling in my hand,
my three babies on my broad black back,
my dreadlocked head has the PhD from London,
my name confirmed in the service of Uganda's oldest university,
my wardrobe full of long three-piece bitengis,
my fourth passport nearly full of cross-border stamps,
my heart: fool of a loveless marriage to an estranged man,
my life full of love from doting parents, three sincere sisters and a few firm friends,
my faith in religion is at a healthy place of querying dogma,
my spirituality is wholesome with eclectic belief,
my right ear-lobe has six holes while my left has just two,
and my forty-year-old body still boasts no tatoo.
Today I am turning forty years old
without enough cash in the bank - the story of my life!
I still have to learn how to save and invest!
I still have to pay off my three remaining debts!
I still have to learn to bake, cook and fry!
I still have to resume my building project!
I still have to start gardening flowers or an orchard of succulent fruit and spicy herbs!
I still have to complete my first monograph!
I still have to brave my first pap smear!
I still have to build regular exercise into my lifestyle!
I still have to learn to stop working without taking a break!
I still have to start dance classes, start dance classes, start dance classes!
I still have to learn how to live well, love deep and laugh much.

Stella Nyanzi

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Still I'll rise


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou

The Allure of Married Men


I am officially a pariah. You would think it was a choice I made but No. There was no voting involved and none of the Museveni – Mbabazi drama with somebody vying for my pariah position. No polls were conducted to weigh how I felt about it. I was knighted a pariah. It crept up to me and became an extension to my already existing triple threat of a name bonding and mutating like the T-Virus in Resident Evil.

It would seem that saying that you can never date a married man in the middle of an argument with your girlfriends can silence a room. Don’t look at me like that, if I had known I would never have let the words escape my mouth. But wait scratch that…on second thought I would have gladly screamed it out on top of the Clock Tower. My girls were looking at me like I had suddenly grown Cerberus’ three heads and spoken in Parseltongue. The attention seemed so good that I repeated it and still the silence continued. Jemimah suddenly guffawed, called me a lunatic and that broke the silence. Suddenly I was awash with torrents of reasons why married men are awesome. Confounded I caught snippets of conversation that made me realized that I was a virgin, a total greenhorn to the changing trends of the ever revolving social existence. I was, as they say a certified social outcast.

So what was it about married men that had females eating out of the palm of their hands? Was there a pheromone outbreak in married men that was spreading like the Black Plague and infecting every girl in sight? What is it that these Pied Pipers have that lets them have their cake and eat it too? Being a bit of a curious cat I thought maybe getting a married boyfriend would get me the answers but that had my moral compass spinning out of control I gave up the idea. I got creative and decided that my friends would make excellent lab rats (I mean what friends are for if not for experimentation).  Of course the lab rats (Oops I mean friends) had be fed and watered so I made a get together out of it and got muchomo, 2 boxes of Namaqua and of course some black forest cake (God knows girls go nuts for cake) until they were ready to spill their guts.

In the glow of relaxed satisfaction I found myself in a lucid moment where I saw the world in a whole new light.  With trading stories came the comprehension that the world did not exist just as I envisioned it. In my world married men are usually represented with older men graying, blackened teeth, distended stomachs that could house food to feed a small village and the smell of Old Spice. I had completely forgotten that they included the likes of the so handsome Brian Mulondo, Ben Mwine, Maurice Mugisha, Boris Kodjoe of this universe who were still young, debonair and exuded sex appeal and maturity like dark chocolate. I would probably lose my mind to them like all the other females.

The thing about wedded men at present is that they are strong, confident and are settled all the things that the feminine specie is looking for. The guys we went to school with are viewed as hustlers and salesmen of pipe dreams, castles in the air and promises of green pastures when they can barely wipe their asses (Don’t curse!! Not my words). The allure in married men is like that phase where you dated a bad boy. You know it wrong and won’t last but you find it irresistible that your inner goddess is released and your wild, darker alter ego can go on a rampage with no reservations and judgments if only for a few day pockets of time.
One friend (name withheld) narrated to me of the little bubble of happiness she lived in while dating an Adonis of a married man. Their romance begun with sharing a related social circle, spying each other across the room, his offer to buy a drink, her flash of a beautiful smile proceeding to giddy giggles, his whispered promises of an unforgettable night, her glazed lustful eyes, their drive to the nearest hotel, the trembling anticipation as he rushes to unlock the door, the fumbles to get tear everything off and finally the culminating to an orgasms of defining magnitude. After that they were both hooked and were junkies that would anything for the next fix. Her life revolved around shopping sprees (reason he tells the wife he is broke and why can’t she pay anyway), the sneaking around sleeping in different hotels (reason he is away on so many business trips & workshops) that was just an aphrodisiac. She described it as being on a year long high, unnoticing of the time that flew by.  

That lasted until it started to dawn on her that she was starting to fall for him and she was falling so far in that abyss she could not stop herself and who could blame her. The remarkable sex, the pampering and all the excitement has a way of working with your mind. It started to dawn on her that she wanted more than hotel rooms, stolen kisses and whispered phone conversations. She wanted the whole packages until it hit that he was and could never be hers at least not permanently. He was hers just for a few hours of a day but never hers to hold, cuddle, confide and even go home to. The man already had a wife and children for that. So commenced the pleas for him to stay longer clinging to him if only for a little while, the prohibited phones while he is home, questions of his whereabouts and all the while her insecurities started to show. He was patient at first, understanding even all the while being firm and reminding her that they were just having an arrangement. In poor taste he let her go for misconduct and failure to adhere to proper mistress etiquette. No matter how much courage you muster up when getting a shot at the doctor it doesn’t take the pain away and neither did the preparation she made matter. The breakup ate at her self esteem filling her with self loathing, regret, heart wrenching pain that would not go away no matter how many tequila shots she threw back. That was the price she paid.

The famous adage goes “It’s better to have loved than to not have loved at all” but personally I think I would want to pass over on this particular torment. I have had the fortune or misfortune to know wives whose husbands have been unfaithful and the anguish and hurt that they felt and dispersed nearly floored my heart. Clinging to their love children, warm tears flowing like rivulets on their beautiful faces these powerful beings who are career women, mothers, wives, sisters are bereft of any oomph to fight and live forever in doubt of how worthy they are in their own capacities. To be on the other side of the looking glass has lent me an empathy that gives me the courage to make a choice to have no part in causing this pain to another woman. As one guy’s mother said “If they are cheating on their current wife what makes your relationship so special?” This mother is so right and I know this because mothers are usually right.
In truth I have been tempted and given so many chances to date married men who want to offer me the world but saying no and sticking to your word is where the true test lies. I never did like to share my men anyway. I am generous to a fault but when it comes to a guy am not budging on that. I am one of those girls who want to be your only one and would make you the sole guardian of her heart. I do not get this sharing thing, perhaps it makes sense to some people but I can’t make heads or tails of it.

Falling in love is a tricky business and who we fall in love with is sometimes beyond us a game play between fate and destiny but I would consider letting the taken ones go and finding somebody who is just all yours and a perfect safe haven.

Adapted
http://florentinacherries.blogspot.com/2014/05/the-allure-of-married-men.html

Sunday, May 4, 2014

The Eagle Has Landed


Cliche Title,I know, but I am the queen of all things cliche. It is such a huge crown but I carry it with such grace. A few weeks ago I went to a book launch, i had actually gone for the great finger food they serve at the end of such dos but that was the day it all changed for me. During the launch while i stuffed my face with amazing food and made some small talk, one of the writers said something to me that made my jaw drop. It actually took me a while to pick up that damn jaw and whipe the drool. I barely remember what I had said to her but i will never forget what she said to me. I was probably whining about how I want to be a writer but I don't have the balls, (writers have such big balls). She looked square at me and told me, "If it is your wish to write, My dear ,you will write and you will write good." Sounds pretty basic and easy the way she said it, right? Hehe, That is one of the most cryptic things I ever heard. It took me a while to wrap my head around her words. For days I processed what she had said to me, I thought of nothing else but the words she had spoken. I am obsessive and slow like that. Then it finally hit me like a tonne of bricks. Go ahead write, that never killed anyone. And that my friends is how this blog was born. Deciding that I was going to write was the easy part, but what in the world was I going to write about? I still have not figured that one out but here we are. A long time ago I asked a writer friend of mine,(turns out i have a lot of those), to give me some tips and tricks of the trade, He told me, "write about what you know." Another mind boggling statement from a writer, Why in the world do they always have to be so damn cryptic? I eventually decoded it and decided to write about what I know. Here is why i write, because it feels right. See what i did there with the write and right. hehe I am getting the hang of this writing thing. I write because no one else can tell my story like I can. I write because , in this insane world we all need that thing that grounds us, music does that for a lot of people but for me writing is my drug/ poison of choice. I want to dedicate this first post, (Do people do that on here? hmmmh), to that writer chick at the book launch. It probabaly looked like I was paying more attention to the finger food than I was to you but I was actually listening.

Phatie

adapted form http://iphatie.blogspot.com/2014/05/hello-world.html