Been shockingly busy — my sojourn at Uganda is coming to an unwelcome end, so any silences are entirely inadvertent. However it has not stopped me from having interesting experiences.

The other day I was at the hotel restaurant making short work of a fish that not half an hour ago had been merrily swimming in Lake Victoria. That I was concentrating all my faculties on this noble effort was apparent. Rolled up sleeves, discarded fork and knife and wide berth given to me by other guests. I don’t see why I should have to wrestle with a fork and knife to eat a fish. It ranks in the same category as eating soup with chopsticks and eating chocolate with a straw.

Anyway, halfway into the fish I hear this:

It was touch and go there between bursting into laughter and swallowing first before prudence prevailed. This is because this concern was not coming from my dear mother, who still doesn’t think I eat well. Nor was it coming from an applicant for the post of Mrs M. It was in fact from Shirley, the hotel housekeeper.

It was then that any doubts that I had about being at the hotel for too long were laid to rest. I quickly run through a check list

• I’m on first name terms with the housekeeper and some of her staff
• I have actually had a meal with some of the hotel staff
• They prepare my breakfast in the ridiculously quirky way I like it (fried eggs with no yolk, ensemble of fruit, etc)
• I no longer bother to leave the room when it is being cleaned
• I’m on first name terms with the alternate barmen, Alex and Patrick, firm allies in the war on thirst

In fact on that room cleaning note I remember the last hotel I was in had a particularly fierce looking housekeeper, and I happened to meet her at the door as I rushed out. She took one look at the room and actually wiggled her nose, leaving me in little doubt what she thought of its state. Those matronly eyes and that forbidding look forced me to subsequently clean the room before she came by later to do it!

Anyway, Shirley, the current housekeeper is a whole different kettle of fish. For starters, unlike her predecessors, she is taller than she is broad. She is also not 7 feet tall, and is closer to 5’7. Nor does she grind her teeth as she talks. Her arms are not thicker than most people’s waists. In fact, the truth be told, Shirley is what the discerning types would say is worth looking at a second time. And a third.

Another long staying guest at the hotel is a gent from Mauritius. He is shorter than he’d like to be, and his habitual expression is a look of puzzlement. Another is en extremely well constructed Ugandan engineer. This good lady prefers V cut tops with a good deal of V.

Shirley tells me the three of us are referred to as the African Union, the AU.

About two weeks back there was a knock on the door at about 7 in the evening. Shirley has the type of smile that makes you not actually start listening to what she is saying until about 5 seconds later. She had mislaid a room key and would she mind if I looked around?

Not at all, I told her.

She came in, looked, found nothing and departed. However as I let her out my Mauritian friend was just leaving his room.

I have it from reliable sources that the gears in his head were heard clearly across the corridor as they spun wildly and he drew a single conclusion — Shirley was smoothing a lot more than my sheets and interpreting personal attention and hospitality a bit too liberally.

I can now sympathize still more with people who find themselves saying this sentence

EMBARRASSMENT 101

It’s pretty hard to top Ms K or Superflyshi, but reading those reminded me of an incident where if there was an option to disappear off the face of the earth I’d have taken it with energy.

Some time ago I was attending a conference, and a shuttle bus was kindly availed to transport us to the conference centre. So I enter the coach and make my way to the back of the almost filled bus. Sit down at the seat precisely in the middle. A second later a daughter of her father, remarkably easy on the eye also made an entry. Years of discipline and the unwritten male code dictate that you are allowed 3 seconds to look before you cross the border into staring. Anything after 6 seconds is ogling. So I didn’t ogle and I didn’t stare and after 3 seconds lowered my eyes to my newspaper. She continued to make her way to the seat directly in front of me to my right (I was in the exact middle of the back bench)

Now a habit of mine is crossing my legs when reading. And as fate would have it, with me unwisely looking down at the paper, I subconsciously swung my right leg over my left and in the process smartly kicked her in the bottom as she was lowering herself into the seat.

I looked up sharply, two and two were added and turned out to be four. She looked back unsure of what to think and I looked forward unsure of what to think.

I like to think that I generally land on my feet in terms of crises but at that time the part of the brain dedicated to that job was on a go slow to protest overwork. So I find myself wondering whether to be:

1. Mortified
2. Embarrassed
3. Jocular
4. Suicidal
5. Horrified
6. Amused
7. Any combination thereof

She in turn had a totally blank look on her face. Matters were not helped by the fact that the entire thing has been witnessed by people who were having no problems in deciding how to react.

On that day I believe I performed enough to register that trademark Profuse Apology™. Anyone willing to describe their apologies as profuse must see me first.

It was only a half hour ride but it was certainly the longest I have ever taken.

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AOB

Never have I ever been so ashamed to be a Kenyan. 90 people are massacred as MPs are stuffing their greedy bellies with chicken and samosas in coast as they completely change the constitution draft to suit themselves. The President could not even be bothered to go and console the families of the victims. And now we are being tear gassed for expressing our views?

And as for this guy James Muiruri who thinks MPs (including his MP parent) are the salt of the earth, my friend I will not change a single word of what I wrote about Kenyan MPs. Despite clever shadow boxing around the issue he completely failed to exonerate Kenyan MPs from the morass they have placed themselves. There is nothing abstract or vague about what I said.

As a matter of fact, expect another one real soon.

Between powdered water, a chocolate teapot and a Kenyan MP the latter is head and shoulders above the rest.

Sting – Roxanne

#1 – Strange World This!

I’d never have thought it possible but my Anatomy Of A Kenyan MP touched a raw nerve with someone! I kid you not! He defends them, and he says “criticisms levelled against most Kenyan MPs fly across the face of sheer logic and common sense.” Of course the first line of his defence, “I happen to be a son of a sitting Member of Parliament” knocks much of the wind out of his sails …

I’m dying to see how many Kenyans agree with him. Please, let me know.

#2 – More On Uganda

Food
The more of this repast that I consume the more convinced I am that I get a raw deal back in Kenya. For example the streets are festooned with gentlemen and ladies operating enormous charcoal grills that are busy roasting assorted foods, chiefly chicken and skewers of assorted meats. The streets smell delicious, enough to derail a son of the soil and future captain of industry into saying things like
M: Er, Hamis
Hamis: Yes sir?
M: Is that chicken those fellows are roasting?
Hamis: Yes sir.
M: (Thoughtfully) Chicken, you say?
Hamis: Yes sir. It is a delicacy.
M: I’m hungry. (Encouragingly) Are you hungry Hamis? You are? Excellent. Then I suggest we have a short stop here. The car is tired. Besides, we won’t be missed for 15 minutes

Names
When it comes to naming their towns, sons and daughters, Ugandans are at the top of the game. Multiple syllables and repetition are the name of the game. Thus we have sections of town called Bugolobi and Kitintale. We also have sons and daughters of Uganda called Sserwadda, Ssentongo and Tumukunde. This is a change for a chap like myself used to Kamaus, Otienos and Mwendes. Pronounciation is not as simple as you’d think, as I discovered quickly

“Ah, Mr Sentongo. Pleased to meet you.” I say, rising and offering my hand.
“Ssentongo,” says the gentleman with a smile, his sensitive ear effortlessly detecting my omission. “Pleased to meet you sir.”

It’s a matter of good manners to get these names right, especially when writing them down. Misspelling Ssali and Ssimwogerere is ssomething that you sshould sstrive to avvoid. Plain good manners.

Mosquitoes
Unlike their counterparts across the border, Ugandan mosquitoes are the very picture of drive and industry. They punch in at six thirty in the evening and spend half an hour of chatting with the lads over the previous night’s day’s adventures. At seven sharp they set to work. It is irrelevant whether you are in a noisy public place like a restaurant — they are not shy about their work and will commence operations with gusto, biting for all they are worth. Waving your hands does not distract them. In fact they will welcome the draught that will cool them from their industry.
Sleeping without a mosquito net crosses the border between bravado and foolishness. The mosquitoes will pick your locks, jimmy the windows and get into your room and will have their way with you, and you will invariably spend the next couple of days acquainting with yourself with the ceramic of your loo as you suffer the throes of chronic malaria.

Shoutouts
“Hi, this is Bob from Kampala. I want to send a shoutout to my father, and I want you to play for me a song as a special dedication to him – Sexual Healing”

Boy George – Karma Chameleon

As twists of fate go, my beloved old man is also in Kampala on business and I can’t think of a better way to pass time than spending some time with this gent. When it comes to interesting tales and dispensing sound advice this gentleman is hard to top.

Again he is on site at the Sheraton making sure that the builders keep the floor at the bottom and the ceiling on top. While waiting for him to appear from the depths of the building I spent time with one of the security guards. Unlike the security guards back home armed with nothing more than a glorified toothpick, painted black in the fond belief that it looks threatening, guards in Kampala are altogether a lot more liberal when it comes to tools of trade.

Hamis, the gentleman I was talking to was dressed in some sort of blue uniform and cap and his preferred deterrent to the shadowy elements of the dark side of the law was not a baton or a torch, but a silver coloured, pump action shotgun. Leading him skilfully along a path of small talk and favourable comparisons of his country’s security position vis a vis my own and drawing in for the kill was a moment’s work. Within a few minutes John Wayne and Clint Eastwood were puny Davids to my Goliath.

I was holding a shotgun.

When it comes to making large holes with people around them, Hamis confided in me, a shotgun was hard to top.

This was easy to believe. I was angling the gun to look down the barrels when Hamis flicked a speck of dust from his shoulder and wondered if it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to get my finger out of the trigger guard, lest I open an avenue to the skies for the shotgun throgh the back of my head.

Contrary to popular belief, a shotgun cannot be carried in the cavalier fashion so popularized by numerous movies where heroes pick one up with the ease and dexterity of a fountain pen. A shotgun is extremely heavy, at least the one I was carrying. I asked the gent if there were chambered rounds in the gun and he said that there were not. I asked if he’d mind me doing the pump action thing and he answered in a manner likely to suggest that he was amused at foreginers fascination with Uganda’s easy relationship with firearms.

So in my best Terminator I jacked a shell into the shotgun and looked around for someone to make my day. If I chewed tobacco I’d have spat it out. If I smoked cigars, or indeed happened to have one in my pocket I’d have lit one and languidly looked around the perfectly safe car park for bad guys crawling out of the woodwork so that I could give them a bellyful of lead. Yessir, there’s a new sheriff in town.

I was brought back to earth by the guard, clearly an old hand at these things, tapping me on my shoulder and bringing me back to earth. I was not a gun slinger with black spurred boots, black overcoat and black hat but a plain old M in black shoes, no overcoat and no hat. He retrieved his property and the Pater appeared.

He was, he confessed, suffering from a cold.

“And just how the devil,” I demanded mopping my face with a handkerchief, “did you get a cold in this heat?”

He was unsure of the specifics but it was only a matter of time before lunch was organized and that topic died a speedy death. We fell upon the repast without wasting time. Matoke, fish, rice, chicken followed by pineapples, bananas and ice cold water… It’s a good thing I don’t put on weight.

AOB
No Kelly, I have not killed pic of the day – only that I don’t have my usual notebook that has all the nice tools I use to doctor prepare the photos

QUIRK ABOUT M
I am deeply suspicious about people who use the word “friend” at every opportunity.

James Brown – Sex Machine

[EDIT]
Today I watched a soap opera. Not so much out of choice, but curiosity. The hotel restaurant happens to have a TV and a desperate young lady appeared and pleaded to be allowed to switch to the DSTV channel that was showing Days Of Our Lives. Since I was the only one there, and what’s more was working on my notebook I was not in a position to object too strongly.

I could see and hear the relief when the channel was changed and I found myself wondering just what could drive grown women to such lengths of desperation to do somersaults in order to watch. So i sat down for an hour and a half and gave my full unbiased attention.

As plots go, this one was simplicity in itself. A woman, call her Sharon, gave birth to a baby boy but a cartel of ruthless conspirators, unknown to her switched babies on her and took off with her baby. To this she objected to. Naturally, Sharon is also a doctor, and as a matter of fact is in pediatrics.

Why it took 90 minutes to convey that I’m hard pressed to tell, but I had the opportunity to make the following observations.

WEATHER
As the weather goes, Days Of Our Lives is no different from other soaps. They are untroubled by bad weather. It is always a blisteringly sunny day or a perfect moonlit night. Any other weather would not be the least bit conducive for the proliferation of romantic moments.

LAW
The entire town does not require more than three policemen. One is always uniformed and is concerned with dispensing of traffic tickets, catching speeding cars, taking statements at the police station and storming into situations that require storming into. The other two are always detectives, and are always dressed in broken suits with overcoats over one arm.

HEALTHCARE
Days of Our Lives reads from the same script when it comes to health care of the populace. A staff of one nurse and two doctors is on call to attend to the entire town. One of the doctors is invariably the family doctor to the entire population and the other is the versatile surgeon who can do anything from transplant a brain to heart surgery.

TELEPHONY
When it comes to telephony there are few surprises. Calls are always answered at the second ring. If they are not, they will never be answered. The plot is generally skewed such that phone calls that could have cleared up mysteries within the first few episodes of the program are always missed by some twist of fate, such as a nefarious character answering the phone or the intended recipient being either in a noisy shower or just driving away.

Additionally, chances of a star calling and getting a busy signal are next to negligent. People on soap towns apparently do not make phone calls unless they are on camera. Cellular calls are never affected by a congested network.

WORK
The population of Soap Cities do not work, apart from the aforementioned officers of the law and medical professionals. The few who claim to only go to a mysterious place called “the office” and within no time will be receiving phone calls for the rest of the day from other members of the cast. Generally these phone calls will be of a pressing nature that will necessitate them departing the premises at once.

SCHOOL
The few of the city’s children that go to school only seem to make it as far as the halls. Whenever the scene changes to the school, the bell is conveniently ringing to signal the end of a lesson so that the cast members can fill the corridor and get on with their plot building. These youths are never actually seen to be doing their homework. They are either going to start their homework, being told to start their homework or answering that they have done their homework.

FUNRITURE
The houses of the key characters invariably have an enormous flight of steps that can be a considerable aid for plot development. More than one soap has had a key character falling down the steps and falling into a coma. Arguments between characters, one at the top of the stairs and the other at the bottom can be extremely effective. They are also useful for heartbroken maidens and suitors to run up.

DECOR
Tows in soap operas have only one interior decorator who monopolizes the industry and apparently does not believe in variety. Every household in the town bears his unmistakable mark.

TV
Characters in soap operas never watch TV. When they do, it is in preparation to receive a phone call (see above) or to watch breaking news with a crucial twist in the plot.

NEWSPAPERS
See TV above

TAXES & RATES
People in a soap do not pay any taxes or rates. Infrastructure just magically appears

GOVERNMENT
Soap cities do not have any government, unless the plot revolves around the government e.g. West Wing.

NOMENCLATURE
Soaps have Carte Blanche when it comes to naming characters. You will find people called Barbarita McCafferty, Luis O’Brien, Rosita Ipswitch and Xiuhang Jones. You will find characters who look like they just disembarked from the boat from Congo rejoicing under the name Tyler McDermott III A.C.E. The token indigenous blacks are either Ghanaian, Nigerian or from a mysterious country called Africa, where the language is African. They will generally be called Kwame.

ADONIS SYNDROME
Soaps generally do not have any ugly, overweight or short people. If there are any they are either (a) Token characters like delivery men or housekeepers or (b) There as part of the plot, and have come for revenge against the character that contributed to their malady by poisoning their mothers or throwing acid in their faces.

LOVE TRIANGLES
No soap is complete without a love triangle, where A loves B but B does not love A, but loves C, who does not love B but in fact loves A. The newer soap operas tend to do a thorough job and prefer to go for love rectangles, pentagons and hexagons.The lengths to which each member of the geometric structures will go to get at their beloved is generally the story of the soap.

SHOPPING
People in soaps never shop. Their fridges and cupboards magically contain all their needs. Token attempts are at times made to carry mysterious brown paper bags called “The Shopping”.

HOUSEHOLD ACCIDENTS
People in soaps never stub their toe or trip and fall, and they certainly never vent their agony, shattering the atmospheric pressure with their vocabulary.

BATHS
Female cast members always use the same strategy when taking baths
(a) Immerse all of self except impossibly organized hairdo into soapy bath water
(b) Stick leg, from knee onwards perpendicularly out of bath water
(c) Soap leg until either phone rings, killer comes or hero asks if he can join you

SHOWERS
(a) Step into shower
(b) Rinse hair for impossibly long time, eyes closed, face angled upwards
(c) Keep rinsing until either phone rings, killer comes or hero asks if he can join you

DOUBLES / TWINS
Though not compulsory, it always helpful to have one or the other. Invariably, one is the very milk of human kindness and the other is the devil incarnate.

PUNCTURES
Punctures are not to happen unless part of the plot, especially when beloved meet for the first time, before twin of either of the beloved shows up to muck up everything

FAIMY TREE
The entire immediate family with either live in the same house or they will be neighbours.

OVERACTING
Characters generally tend to be quite prone to overacting. After receiving shocking news they will look completely at utterly shocked, and then wait for the dramatic music to come up. There is almost always a brief pause before we return to the scene where the character will still have the shocked look. On average this is about ten to thirty seconds. Normal dialogue then resumes until another shocking statement is made, where it is all repeated.

CRYING
Where tears are to be shed, they must be shed copiously. They must stream down cheeks for as long as possible. Two to three episodes is a good time period for crying. A tearful monologue is also an excellent aid to plot development. Where a fit of fainting can be slipped in, it should be, especially where there is someone standing in a strategic position to receive the fainting person.

FLASHBACKS
When in doubt, use a flashback

AOB
A, I is missing you like crazy …

Nirvanah – Smells Like Teen Spirit

Geography
Kampala is chiefly composed of hills and corners. The town planners appear to abhor straight lines and insist on putting curves and corners along the roads. Rather than have old fashioned T-junctions, a popular design of making a left turn requires you driving 50 meters further down the road, (away from the turn) before turning back and then taking the turn. This helps break the monotony.

The obsession with curves and corners keeps drivers busy with their gear levers. The cheerful chap who is driving me around seems to believe that it is unlikely you will ever get to gear 4, let alone 3 because just as you get a bit of weight on the accelerator you are at a corner.

Air
As air goes, Kampala’s is definitely an acquired taste. It’s hot. It’s stuffy. It does not appear to want to move and stays merrily in place, like Mwai Kibaki. I have been forced to dispose of my long sleeved shrifts and stick to their short sleeved brethren. Attempting to put on blazers, sweaters and waistcoats will get you followed by screaming excited children that will have concluded you are a circus clown.

People
The people are remarkably friendly, and apparently possess some instinct that allows them to detect foreigners in an instant. Conversation generally goes as follows:

Kampalan: Good morning sir.
M: Good morning. I wonder if I could trouble you for today’s papers?
Kampalan: Yes sir! No problem sir! I’ll get them at once sir!
M: Thanks. And there’s no need to call me sir!
Kampalan: Yes sir!!

Currency
As currencies go, Ugandan currency is the most wallet unfriendly. The Ugandan currency boasts a 50,000 shilling note. A soda is 1,000 shillings. Fuel is 1,990 shillings to the litre. Transactions seem to be rounded off to the nearest 500. A good meal is about 10,000 shillings. A chap I met deeply resents the 50,000 note on the grounds that when the inevitable parasites that are related to you make an appearance and request your IMF support, it is entirely possible you may give away the wrong note instead of the 1,000 that you wanted to get rid of the bugger with.

Food
When it comes to food, Ugandans don’t do things by halves. A table is laid with matoke (boiled and mashed bananas) and a dish of groundnut sauce. At this stage it is not yet considered a meal. Shortly people staggering under the weight of assorted pots will strain the table legs with beef, chicken, beans, ugali and assorted vegetables. Dessert with invariably be pineapples or bananas, or any combination thereof.

Eating is taken very seriously and from an informal survey I have carried out, the Britney Spears look is completely eschewed. (Smart People!)

Language
The chief languages appear to be English and Buganda. Swahili is also spoken, but chiefly by the army. However it is apparently gaining popularity

Attire
People generally tend to dress colourfully. However, as with most rules there are always exceptions. The Karamojong apparently prefer to be attired in nothing. But when it comes to accessories, the prefer the Ak-47.

Security
George Bush would have a heart attack of Uganda became the Unites States 52nd state. It is impossible to go two blocks before running into a chap sitting idly with a gun, or a chap riding a bike with a gun slung across his back. Security guards are empowered to carry guns. A chap I saw just yesterday appeared to be cleaning his ear with his rifle.

The police themselves are armed to the gums and dart around in open backed pick-ups, scowling furiously to clear the traffic before them. A popular way of cutting down of red tape (arresting, booking, transport to court etc.) appears to be shooting crooks in the head. Most of the Ugandans I have talked to are in favour of this method of dealing with crime.

Politics
Apparently there are over 300 MPs in Uganda. (Poor Ugandans!) But when it comes to producing hot air they are leaps and bounds behind their Kenyan counterparts. The current issue of the day is whether presidential term limits should be abolished for the incumbent Yoweri Museveni.

AOB
To rocket scientists (you know yourselves) when I tell you I shall be in Uganda and while there I shall be using my MTN line, even a Government spokesman will suspect that trying to contact me using my Safaricon line (pun intended) will not on the whole be effective.

The Game – Dreams

A storm gathers over Port Bell

Much as I spent obscene amounts of time attending meetings and superintending operations, I had an excellent time in Kampala. Uganda is a lovely country and I have the photos to prove it. The hot humidity is irritating, but I’m told you get used to it.

So finally the time to depart came. I’ve never actually held a million shillings in cash in my life, but after settling my hotel bill I can cross that item from my things-to-do-in-this-lifetime list. I checked out of the hotel, attended my last meeting and was driven to Entebbe.

A few minutes after boarding the plane left me in no doubt that in my previous life I must have been Adolf Hitler or Joseph Goebbels, and my Karma was coming around. I got to the airport later than I’d have liked and got neither a window seat nor an aisle seat.

The gentleman who got the window seat proved to be as unpopular as his first impression suggested. He was a large fellow, bald and sweating, and filled most of his seat and spilled into some of mine. Huffing and puffing he settled down and composed himself for slumber.

Aha! He’s going to sleep! I can get some photos of the sky for my nephews and godsons.

M: Excuse me
Shmuck: (Opening one eye) Yes?
M: Would you mind trading seats for a bit? I’d like to take a couple of photos
Schmuck: (Suddenly opening eyes and looking awake) Ah ha ha, actually I was planning on doing some sight seeing myself.
M: Oookay. Then would you mind reclining your seat a bit so I can take a few photos?
Schmuck: Ah ha ha, ordinarily I would but its bad for my back. I hope you understand
M: Right.

Enter a large lady with five or six carry on bags and one paper bug that looks suspiciously like it was full of live chicken. Huffing and puffing she shuffles along looking in the overhead compartments for space. I’m not the least bit surprised when she stuffs everything and lowers her considerably bulk in the seat next to me, filling her own seat and spilling over into mine. I had a good mind to summon a stewardess and get a quarter of my fare back, since it was being used by other people.

She turned to me, treated me to a vision of yellow teeth and left me in no doubt that my flight was not going to be a peaceful one.

Hello! My name is Mukami. Have you flown before? This is my first flight.

That information I digested later. But the most pressing issue at first was her breath. I’ve never actually had a blowtorch in my face, but I have an idea of what it feels like. I debated internally whether or not to find out if my oxygen mask works but decided that it would cause more problems that it would solve.

M: (Desperately) Oh really? Well, I hope you have a pleasant journey (Settles back in seat and gives every impression of preparing to go to sleep).
W: I’ve been visiting my big sister in Uganda
M: (Eyes watering from the breath) That’s great, just great (Faking a yawn)

At this point that safety movie begun playing, and when it got to the point about mobile phones, Schmuck on my left took it as a cue to pull out his phone and make a series of calls.

Mukami on the other hand is anxious to impart information on her and her family tree to me. I hear more about her son in Spain than I would like to. My reluctance to know what her daughters are doing in Nakuru passes her by completely. My disinterest in her husbands farming does not penetrate her veneer of enthusiasm. All this time I’m suffering from a chronic lack of oxygen. That breath would be a hit if it were bottled and sold as paint remover.

The climax of everything came as we were just over Kisumu and the flight assistant’s voice came over the speakers. It is seldom a good thing to hear from the front in the middle of a flight so sharp breaths were drawn. The gist of her statement was:

“Ladies and gentlemen, weather forecasts indicate that there may a bit of rain shortly and some turbulence”

Mukami’s torrent of speech died to an ebb.

“Turbulence?” She asked.

No sooner had this left her lips that the plane began to shake quite alarmingly, in a manner to suggest it was only a matter of time before the wings broke off. That plane shook as if it was Mwai Kibaki being shaken by the First Lady for leaving the toilet seat up. Schmuck on my left suddenly developed Chris Murungaru syndrome and begun to sweat copiously.

Then quite suddenly the plane suddenly dropped, as it lost attitude quicker than NARC spends taxpayer’s money. It felt like it had drooped 40,000 feet. We were expecting to feel solid earth beneath us in a matter of seconds.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it was not the kind of thing I would want to experience a second time. Something I suspected to be my heart crashed into the back of my teeth and then dropped back to its usual residence. I felt like Tom and the Coyote do when they run off a cliff then their body falls while their heads hang in mid air for an agonizingly long time before obeying gravity.

Which was nothing compared to my two travel mates. Quicker than Njeru Ndwiga on a tax waiver, twenty fingers dug into my arms (ten on each side). Mukami wailed to her God and Schmuck’s vocabulary came forth in a torrent of four letter words.

Saint Peter, as God’s official handler of the Heavenly switchboard must have been overwhelmed by the sudden flurry of communication from that flight.

Fortunately that bit of turbulence was the only one, and Mukami had some revelation about the Desiderata, especially the bits about going placidly and the value of silence. Not one word escaped her lips.

The relief when that plane hit the ground — er touched down — at JKIA was almost palpable. The ridiculous slow queues at the immigration section of the airport left me in no doubt that I was at home.

MUSICAL CHAIRS

Aaron Ringera, Anti-Corruption Chief: It is very difficult to pin documentary evidence on cabinet ministers because they don’t sign documents

David Mwiraria, Finance Minister: Yes. I signed the documents.

Seal – Love Divine

I’ve received a lot of correspondence from those who know me well wondering if I am alive, seeing that April Fool’s day passed without me doing something suitable for the occasion. It is an opportunity I almost never pass up, and (toot toot) generally rise to the occasion.

So my silence was met with amazement and concern.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I am very much alive and in excellent health, enjoying the sunny disposition of the Ugandan climate. I’m doing my thing from an office with a lovely view of Lake Victoria and Port Bell. Murphy has been unusually good to me and things are working excellently.

The pilot managed to hit the airstrip on the first attempt and I went straight to site (luggage and all).

The overzealous nonsense so prevalent in Kenya of confiscating identification documents so as to allow you entry seems to have been picked up there. I was forced to surrender by passport and imagine the unChrisitan language I had to choke back when on being driven out, the reception had merrily locked my passport in and gone home for the day.

Convincing hotels, at least those of any repute, to allow you to register without identification documents of any kind is an experience I highly recommend for those willing to prove they can talk themselves out of trouble. After a careful cocktail of honey and threats, they let me in.

As rooms go, it’s not too bad. After establishing the most crucual aspect (in Uganda – ice cold air conditioning), and then lesser things like the presence of a bed) i was satisfied. It even has a little living room and those nice cane seats. The flowers, i discovered after a night, are fake. The person who was there before gratefully locked the safe and went off with the combination so I have to look for a manager to unlock the thing. I hope the previous occupant did not leave a grenade or something in there, or i shall have some explaining to do!

I’m also realizing just how much i inject Kiswahili, Sheng and bits and pieces of other languages in my off the cuff conversation. However i’m making a conscious efforts and the blank looks and ‘excuse me?’s when i drop a stinging ‘fokojembe’ and ‘bollocks’ seem to be reducuing.

AOB
I was very amused at the forex bureau when i gave the good lady behind the counter a smile and 10,000 Kenyan shillings and she gave me back an even bigger one and 226,000 Ugandan shillings. The currency here takes some getting used to – a soda is 500 bob. A litre of super is 1,770 bob

Haydn – Symphony No.46 in B

By this time tomorrow I shall be inhaling the hot and humid air of Port Bell. Am waking up at some ungodly hour to be at the airport for two hours before the flight to Entebbe actually takes off (Quick Question: What is the SENSE in this?!!)

Am off to Uganda for a week or so. I believe i will generally be online so no one need despair. But in case i’m not, no need to send out search parties.

Those people who owe me money, lunches, etc use this time wisely to prepare for my return.

HEADLINE OF THE DAY

No pun intended from Miss LeSure, we like to think!

QUOTE OF THE DAY
Only a man like Mwai Kibaki can jump to a conclusion and sit on it

Tabu Ley – Muzina