I have something to tell you: Your ten-year-old son is a rapist

Africa is a beautiful continent. Rich in natural resources and full of beautiful people, colourful cultures, and kick-ass food.

I love it here. It is home and it is the only place I know. I want to visit New York one day but just for two weeks, because I want to see a streetball game in Brooklyn and catch a jazz concert, but then I'll come right back.

Now, some Africans complain about what they call a negative portrayal in the Western media.

"Why only bad news about Africa? The idea you get of Africa from watching the news is that this is a desperate land. Full of disease, poverty, corruption, and war. But as I sit in Café Pap sipping my cappuccino and surfing the net on my wifi-enabled laptop, I think: 'I live in Africa. I don't see poverty, disease or civil war and I haven't given a bribe in weeks. My life is great. My life is gorgeous. Therefore CNN is lying.' "

Okay, sit down. I have something to tell you. You are the one who is wrong. CNN is right.

There are 26 million Ugandans and you can't see them all from Café Pap, so you don't realise how many of them are not living a life of Capuccinos and wifi. It is easy to forget that they exist, but they do. The number of poor people in this country, on this continent, far far outweighs the miniscule fraction of privileged spoilt bourgeoise Ivory Tower brats who sip Cappuccinos.

I have been looking at statistics all week. Ask Rev. And though I am glad to see that things are getting better (Less civil war, coups are less frequent, more stable on the whole, AIDS, water, malaria, malnutrition, communication, education on the up, generally speaking) but the picture of the runny-nosed barefoot kid who needs foreign aid is still a typical one.

Men Lie, Women Lie, Numbers Don't.

The numbers are staggering. I started off with trying to get an idea of how tiny the Cappuccino constituency is. Or at least how misled we are in thinking that everybody is like us. I got this far. There are 26 million Ugandans. In 2004 DSTv had 6000 subscribers. On a great day, the Sunday Vision, Uganda's best selling paper, sells 40,000 copies. The number of people whose lifestyle does not include reading Angela Kintu right after watching Desperate Housewives on Series, and then calling up their buddies on their cellphone and be all like, "What proggie? Mateos? Kawa!"?

25 and a half million.

Then my doddering office computer finally loaded the page and the stats appeared. Internet users per 1000 Ugandans- Four. Number of mobile phones per 100 inhabitants- 2.

25 and a half million with no cellphone number. 25 and a half million without a fucking clue about all this blogger dot com nonsense.

A quarter of the children who die under the age of five die of malaria. I get malaria like three times every year. I just run to AAR and get a jab. Meanwhile 3 million kids have died of this shit in that year. Us Café Pap guys have our choice of a dozen different doctors at AAR, so for one of you there are 12 doctors.

But Uganda as a whole, there is only one doctor for every 12,500 people. You first count 12,500 people and see how many they are.

Meanwhile, there is one doctor for every 170 Cubans. Cuba is more like Café Pap.

Now that those numbers have served their purpose: i.e. getting you alarmed, I will tell you that these stats are five years old. Things have been improving drastically and fast. Mobile phones: we all know that those are like 3 million in Ug now, and those stats were taken before they started their massive anti-malaria drive, but you get the picture. You guys, we are not Ugandans. We are a tiny, miniscule, tiny, infinitesimally minute, colossally tiny (if you'll excuse me), fraction of Uganda. Of Africa.

We are the ones with all the money, yes, we are the economy, so we are not insignificant; we are actually very important, and our greed and avarice are what keep this nation alive, but numerically speaking? How does 0.02 percent speak for the whole? How does 0.02 per cent even speak for the part? 0.02 per cent needs to shut the hell up.

So, when someone outside this land asks you what Africa is like, tell them you also don't know. You just read about it on jackfruity's blog.

Acknowledge Africa people. Recognise where your place in Africa really really is. Feel a bit of shame and a bit of guilt. Café Pap my ass.

Random Mathurrogits

1. I’m Ernest Bazanye. I duck and I weave and 12 rounds later, there’s not a scratch on me? You may not call me the winner, but I don’t call me a loser.

2. I tell you what I think, but I won’t tell you the truth. This is my blog. If I stop lying I’d just disappoint you.



3. I asked one mycar what he thought of boda bodas. He replied, “Filth, vermin, scum, pieces of shit, bastards, plonkers, goat-turds…” and then I left because I didn’t have all day, and he didn’t look like he was about to wrap up.

This is the thing though. I know you mycars want bodapilots dead. But what is your beef with me? I am just the guy on the back, I am not the one skipping lanes, why do you want me to die too?

I have tried to be reasonable. I have tried to give stern looks to angry drivers who just tried to sideswipe my pilot and consequently, me, into the pavement, and I have tried the finger. But that doesn’t work. So, this is your last warning.

I have a buddy in Ntinda (fuck blogger for killing my links: http://2bnileavenue.blogspot.com/2007/03/sht.html) who runs a clothing store. Selling things like “sheer velour boustier” and “fitted woolen jacket with sheringbone pink piping” and stuff, but it is actually just a front for his gun-running business. I will go to him and get a fully-automatic Mack 11 and a carton of hollow tip bullets and a shoulder holster to wear when I ride the boda. Then we shall see who will mess with me.

Fuck around and turn this into mad max.

4. This beat is hot! Tumtumtumtum… I thought I had finally got to link it properly but blogger.com is a bunch of maggots at the bottom of a Fumbleland pit lat. Cut and paste into your browser please: http://www.sundayvision.co.ug/detail.php?mainNewsCategoryId=7&newsCategoryId=453&newsId=555887

5. Maybe you find the methods and the policies and the structure of the aid industry suspect at the higher levels, but you cannot hate on the footsoldiers.
Every time I see a young American or European aid volunteer I am humbled. I have nothing but deep and honest admiration for these people.
The chick didn’t have to. She could have stayed in Little Rock and spent the year eating pizza and watching movies and dancing to the latest Justin in the nightclub. Instead she chose to be in Rakai making a vital contribution to improving the lives of people who need help.
People who are being neglected by their own countrymen. Like us privileged Kampala people. Who are too busy eating pizza and watching movies and dancing to the latest Justin in the nightclub to go dig a borehole for our compatriots.

Two Nations Come Together To Fight Enemies Of Development

The Minister of Heritage, Culture and Social Services in Kenya and the Minister of Tourism, Sports and Culture in Uganda have embarked on a joint project to improve the lives of the citizens of both nations.

The project is called FNARN and, as the name implies, the goal at the end is to Find Nameless a Real Name.

"Yaani, it is embarrassing to us," says the Kenyan minister, Kipseget Chege. "Ati one of our most popular musicians dayn't have a real name. Kwani he thinks we don't have enough problems now ati even our singers are called sijui what?"

"Wharrabout!" concurs his Ugandan counterpart, Oulanya Columbus. "And then the guy is ever in Uganda being there-there as if singing in KIU. Without even a name! Wharrabout!"

FNARN has released a shortlist of names earmarked for veting at committee level later this month. They include:

• Marauding Mongoose
• Dongaboy
• Swankla
• Frimpmont Squad
• Hollaton

More to come...

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UBHH

Uganda Bloggers Happy Hour. AKA National Geek Conference. Such delightful people. I wish I had met you lot five years ago. Then I wouldn’t need all this Prozac.

 

We chattered and chattered and quaffed Tuskers into the falling dusk. The King of All Yuppies, His Royal Matanda, held an intense debate with the Last Surviving Communist, while the rest of us went inside to watch a man named Ken Love choke on his Rs. I hate that guy.

 

There were awards.

 

Mataachi won best post for KIM 10, but he wasn’t able to receive the award in person. He sent this message via satellite. “Konishiwa bitches.” (I am paraphrasing.)

 

Ish said, “Yeah. And you do what?” when she won hers. (Or something like that.)

 

I received more than one vote. I would like to make that point.

 

Some awards were given out in a small ceremony at my keyboard after the UBHH, like Coolest Blogger Alive: It was a tie between Magoo and Cheri. Sweetest Phrasemaker? Scotchbiscuits with her capacity for sudden flourishes of glitter had that locked, until Twentysaba started gushing about the ladies present, so that is another tie.

Cocklewarmer of the year was, naturally, Mrs Minty Adam.

 

You would expect the Where The Hell Are You award to go to my heroes Jay and Degstar, but it ended up in the hands of Lissingmink.

 

Voted Most Likely To Grow Fat And Develop Large Floppy Man-Boobs: The One.

 

Rookie of the year (averaging 32 ppg in her first season): Heaven! Stop acting surprised.

 

You guys said Kenyanchick can’t get an award because she is only a Ugandan in an honorary capacity, but I say, Award Her Anyway (AHA).

 

Bracelet Award: Without a doubt. Life shines, Dee.

 

I could go on all day, you know. Cos it’s only lunchtime and I haven’t even given Carlo the Fresh Prince Summertime Award…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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O~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o
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Random Thurroggits

1. In this internet cafe they advise patrons to avoid porn sites and offer this option instead: "Ask any of the staff members to set you up with an adult movie." Wait till Nsaba hears about this.
2. Where the hell is Bikozulu? Miss that guy.
3. One day I will put up a post about UBHH-- the greatest gathering of minds since CHOGM. Maybe soon. First I have to get over 27's incredibly lucid analysis.
4. Borat was the stupidest movie ever made. Really. I had to kill an animal, decompose it, and then shove my head into it's rotting belly just to get rid of the trauma.
5. Whatever Douglas Adams is smoking, I want some.
6. Have you ever tried to buy a rolex in the rain? If you have, don't you feel even more jealous of people like me who just call the cab guy and tell him to drive down to Bon Apetit and fetch chicken?
7. I don't think I have ever ever been more random than this.

At this point I would have liked to link to Angela Kintu's latest article, but Sunday Vision has not put it online yet. Tomorrow I will. If not, follow the instructions belo...

Higher Learning

First the apology for the long and unexplained absence. I was ill, so I had to go to my mummy’s house where I could be surrounded not only by the warmth of love, but also with home-cooked meals, Series Channel and NBA games on ESPN.
But I am better now (thanks for praying) and am back in the squalor and dinginess of Chez Baz, where I spend the nights alone, eat chips out of a paper bag and watch PPTV. Which is, as always, a non-stop array of reasons to tug at your hair out by the roots.

This Sunday, the day I got back, I landed on the Celtel University Challenge on UTV. Universities from East Africa go head to head in a quiz contest. This week it was Ndejje versus Moi University .

It was a bloodbath. A massacre. Ndejje 50 points, Moi 600.

Let me say that again.

50.

600.




One more time.

50 points.

Six fucking hundred.

Needless to say Ndejje University students have become very scarce in the region since then. Either they are in hiding, or they are pretending to be O’level dropouts because they don’t want to admit their affiliation with the sort of LOSER who gets thrashed by FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS!!!

(For Ndejje students, 550 points is what you get when you subtract 50 from 600. A little something called Maths.)

Man, have you guys no pride? Didn’t it occur to any of you when you were down 200 points to just cut your losses and go home? Just put up your hand and ask for permission to use the toilet and then, once you are outside and alone, start running and don’t stop until you are in Luweero. When you get there, find a witchdoctor (I hear there are a dozen per square mile in that area) and ask him to sacrifice a hyena or something. Whatever it takes. Cos you neeeeeeeeed help!

Fifty points to six hundred. People are going to think Ugandans are dwanzis. Wharrabout.


UPDATE:

I got the numbers wrong. Apparently they got four questions correct in the fourth quarter and that bumped their score from 50 to 200. So when I said Ndejje had been crushed in a humiliating Humiliating HUMILIATING fashion, that was so SHAMEFUL it probably caused their TESTICLES to SHRIVEL up and die (in the case of the chick on the team, her metaphorical testicles.) so that they would never ever get kids and that these genes would stop here and now... I was still right. This is not an apology.