Maybe football. Maybe

I would rather eat my hair than watch a football game.  That may change, thanks to this guy.

 

 

 

West Ham has confirmed the signing of the Ugandan-born German under 19 international, Savio Nsereko. 

 

I know it’s not reason enough, but I’m Ugandan, he’s Ugandan-born; maybe his granddad knew my granddad; oh, isn’t he a such pretty boy …

 

Or maybe I’ll just have a plate of kaweke please.

No. 432

Every once in a while I’m filled with regret about my blog posts. Like the one below: it says everything about what I meant to say, but nothing at all.

Color Blind Coding

I am generally accommodative of difference, but yesterday I made a comment to a friend that made me realize that perhaps, I am not as open minded as I thought I was.

 

Kololo is a leafy, plush neighborhood of old money and fame in Kampala.  The roads are paved, the sidewalks clearly demarcated, the houses are big and the compounds are sprawling.  While the rest of the city grapples with irregular water and power supplies, public utilities are never in short supply in Kololo.  It has street lights, police patrols and the best security.  It is that place on the hill that is so near to many of us, but so far away.

 

It is hard, almost impossible, to break into the Kololo circle.  Upwardly mobile Ugandans can build castles in praise of their new found wealth all over Kampala city, but not in Kololo.  Kololo is reserved for those who made the money before I was born.  It is a tribute to colonialism with many houses in the area staffed by two to five servants – an ayah, a cook, a shamba boy, a butler.  Real English tea parties are held in Kololo and wives of foreign diplomats gather at each others homes for lessons in African art, African music and African tribal customs.