Politics and Prose

In case you missed it, one of the most charmingly random articles I have read in Uganda’s newspapers in a long time was penned today by Literature professor and poet, Timothy Wangusa.

 

Politics of Tiny Migingo and President Museveni’ s Finger

 

Of politics, poetry and prophecy,

And especially the lofty politics of tiny things,

Such as a president’s finger in a piece of plaster

And Migingo’s one-acre rocky island

In tempestuous international waters,

I am compelled to sing.

 

And as I commence my song, I pray you, O omniscient spirit of inspiration that has since the beginnings of time sung the rise, decline and demise of empires – first enlighten me as to how many mega-tons of political explosives lie embedded in each finger and each toe of monarchs and presidents and other potentates of this planet. Tell me if the thumb and the index finger harbor similar amounts of political explosives, or if the amounts are in direct proportion to the sizes of those fingers.

 

But in particular, signify to me the political magnitude of that specific right-hand finger (opposite to the nuptial-ring finger) on which emperors and hereditary sovereigns were accustomed to wear their golden rings of authority, with which they dispensed favours to their hero-worshippers, praise-singers and wagtails, or sealed the fate of rebels and conquered peoples.

 

More from the article in The Daily Monitor here.

 

An interesting resurrection of Uganda’s political poetry.

On Nightmares, Nakumatt and Nonsense

Almond croissants, blueberry muesli, low fat yoghurt and Red Bull – the things of my nightmare.

 

I came into the city very early this morning.  It’s beautiful in Kampala this month.  It rains almost every night and the sun fights valiantly to shine through the gray clouds.  The result is a glorious orange sky with streaks of yellow streaming from the horizon.  At 6 a.m., the air is fresh, the streets are silent and mayhem and colorful confusion of the city is gone.

 

I was extremely hungry this morning, having had nothing to eat the previous day but kabalagala and a stale bun.  I knew I would have to chew on my cheek for several hours because the options for an early morning meal in Kampala are limited because my city is a slow riser and the earliest you can get a decent breakfast is 8 a.m.  Then I saw my ‘savior’: a huge billboard announcing 24-hour shopping at the latest entrant in the retail sector in Kampala. Nakumatt Oasis Hyper oyee!

 

It felt really strange driving into a supermarket parking lot at six in the morning.  Surprisingly however, I was not alone.  There were eight other cars in the parking lot.  Eight other people who like me were doing maalo in the morning.

 

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air as I approached the supermarket.  At the entrance were people looking professional and ready work.  It seemed I had counted wrong.  There were certainly more than 10 customers in the supermarket.  Cashiers were ringing up the till, an attendant at the gadgets corner was showing a customer the latest mobile phones and there was a subdued buzz of activity in the supermarket.

 

My senses were aroused.  The sun was barely in the sky and all I could thing of was shop, shop, shop.  I was filled with conflicting emotions of desire and self-loathing.  What the hell was I doing?