2 hours to BHH!

So here it the moment we've all been waiting for. Sorry lemme rephrase. That moment I've been waiting for. Losing that BHH virginity.

Can't say much though but I get nervous around new people. True story. Those who know me will disagree but that's it. Plus I made a solemn promise 30 days ago to Solomon King and Normzo to show my face today...which I plan to honour.

So I've dragged along Carsozy who like me hasn't blogged in ages (he worse, he's forgotten the name of his blog), to give me a softer landing

I know I'm not meeting cannibals but hey, wish me luck!

Posts After Smoking A Joint: Illusions Of Happiness

Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming, don't care its going to end in a certain way or are too rigid to depart from their routine. 

That's kinda my story for my prolonged absence here but this is not the right time to go there...I'll engage you in something else.

I badly want to believe that sanity is just an illusion to make those who are boring feel better about not being interesting. Errrrm sorry, but I prefer insanity.

Lately, I've been feeling funny. I've been having a bad feeling that lately makes my heart hurt but only just a little. My head aches too like it usually does. I've had this bad feeling before. I felt this same way when I was depressed for a big part of all those years gone by.

I've only been honestly happy for just a little more than 4 years now so I'm not ready to go back yet. There's still so much I have to do and so many things I have to try so I can't go back. It's hard though. I can feel it dragging me back into that imaginary place. Maybe it's missed me since I've been gone. It's falling apart and that's why it wants me back; maybe.

Because I once lived in a town. That's the kind of place I lived in. There used to be an imaginary town mixed right in with the real world and it all blended together. I used to live in a town where I could see everyone from a movie screen and my breath was the only thing that was consistent. 

The town was black and white with small shades of grey and everyone's voices were always so far away because I was the only one with a permanent residence. I didn't love it there but that's precisely where I used to live. 

I'm not ready to go back, not yet at least. I don't think I ever will be either but do I really have a choice? I'm not good at making these kinds of decisions. It's making me sick and smiling can be tiring too. 

It was fun while it lasted. Is that really something I should say? I mean, it's not like I'm back in that town yet, right? Is it not like that yet? Feels like I have something trying to climb back on my shoulders after falling off.

Perhaps it’s my nerves acting up. After all, I haven't been getting much sleep. Maybe I need to get back on my medications for a while. I wonder if there's anything wrong with that.

PS: Don't try to understand this post because you wont

The One About Blondes

Your Prodigal Son

This is supposed to be my lame attempt to reviving my glory days as a blogger but hey, I'm not going to waste time explaining myself. But still we'll talk 'me' and my twisted relationship with Hypnos, the god of sleep.
See I suffer severe insomnia, so much I've joined the legendary Insomniacs UNITE! But what is insomnia?

Insomnia according The International Dictionary of Excuses a compilation by yours truly, is "payment for napping in the day". Payment with interest as Sophocles' Creon would say in Antigone. Less than forty minutes after lunch and for the entire night I haven't even blinked, eh! I'll never do it again! 

That's what I always say but the drowsiness that comes with the afternoon heat... What if sleep was in our control? We'd reckon it whenever we wanted it and send it away when we didn't. Insomnia and Sleeping sickness would never have been. But placing sleep in the hands of 'a potentially lazy man' would only make him more unproductive. 

If sleep was for sale though, lazy people would be the most hardworking. They'd work day and night to buy as much of it as they could. Government would levy a Sleep Tax-cut a few hours from the rich and give to the poor. Would the homeless accept the government's generosity?

They'd complain, "why do you give us all these hours of sleep yet you know we don't have where to spend them? Build us homes and we'll get our own sleep." And the government would be afraid to reply,"We give you sleep and you ask us for a place to spend it!" 

So the government would build homeless people homes and their worst nightmare would be over. Nightmares, one of sleep's most scary creatures! If sleep was on sale, no one would buy the one with nightmares. It would probably be expired or made in China. 

Customer: "Hey, you sold me sleep that was expired."

Sleep Merchant: "No way! It said best before 2012."

Customer: "The nightmares were so bad I peed on the bed." 

If sleep was for sale, girls would probably say to boys, "send me some airtime and a few hours of sleep" That would be nice, wouldn't it? What about those who would buy sleep and hoard it? What about those who are broke? 

Imagine somebody telling you, "Am so broke, I cant even afford to sleep." Then those that make noise when you're trying to sleep, you'd tell them "Hey, can't you see am trying to sleep. This sleep cost me a lot of money and I won't let you spoil it for me." And those very bold guys (and girls) who would ask "Will you sleep with me?" "No way. I wouldn't sleep with you if you owned the last minutes of sleep! Go get your own sleep" they'd be told off (sometimes). Then they'd go and buy, not alcohol to drown their sorrows, but sleep- to sleep away the pain.

The sun is out and I haven't slept! 'O sleep. Oh sweet sleep. Nature's gentle touch. How have I frightened thee That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down...' If it happened to Shakespeare, who am I? But what book was that...

PS: Please allow me back...your prodigal son.

Read Only If You Will Finish (sic)

 The epidemic that is blogger 'blogcks' seems to have spared a select few and I'm only saying this because I wasn't left out of the 'fun'. My brain is constipated but thanks to the inventor of shame and remorse I still come here, comment where I can, then try to compose something and while at it, look out of the window from where I admire the generous behind that was planted on the Multiplex lady and before I know it I want to display my God-given gluttony at lunch.

Well today I'm already done with lunch and the Multiplex lady has taken refuge from this melting sun under the huge umbrella from where I cant gawk at her. Doesn't mean I have my brains back yet, they must be vacationing themselves silly some where in the Caribbean sun, getting drunk on coloured cocktails and hurling obscenities at Puerto Rican babes in gomesis!

Hence this;

THE ONLY PROM RULE:

Enjoy dancing in the daylight heat, eat so little for once in your school life so as not to scare your date away, only IF you must, don't get a hard-on while dancing, and please make the most of the darkness and the walls. The walls especially: LEAVE THEM DIRTY!

UNWRITTEN RULE: Don't wipe your date's sweat with your palms...she will smell like the plate you used at lunch!! If you manage not to do that, then don't spoil all your good work by handing her her your dad's phone number if you don't have one. Posta still works and now they have express delivery so get smart.

RULE PENDING APPROVAL: Don't watch E! if you have a week left to prom. I will laugh at you and the rest of Uganda will think you hail from the north. I didn't even invent that stereotype, it is a general consensus in this country!

My brain. It cant be this bad, can it?

Let me ride on and see how far it will take this post.

I believe we guys never pay much attention to any blemish on our physicality until maybe when you are consistently teased about it. But still you smile about it before with the help of evil thinking, you tactfully turn your guns on that guy who has also been haranguing you about anything small yet he is blessed with a bean-shaped head and probably looks like he was a prop in Babylon 5. It is a mean strategy, that much I know but if you live in that world, your life is bound to get a lot messier than not if you choose not to employ evil!

So the jokes have been flowing of late about the size of these two rounded mounds of flesh that God gave me to sit with, take quinine injections and endure kiboko from teachers...what they universally call an arse these days.
See my 70s hangover mom is still obsessed with the Pepe Kale style of wearing trousers so much that it reduces her to near tears that I can’t wear trousers halfway up my chest. But you know what, I'm not going to blame almost senile her! While she grew up in an era where made-up Congolese men were idolized, I'm dreaming of ways to be as cool as Ozzie Osbourne minus the drugs.

Now to get this ancient trouser style going, you need a sizable chunk of arse which I'm not exactly blessed with and frankly don’t mind having. Actually I'm rather happy not to have, not with all these strange Kampala men offering to buy you a drink if you arent in the company of a lady while at the bar.

Its simple. You are a guy and your boxers don't slide down your arse unless tugged at, be happy. You don't want to lose the only virginity you have left.
I mean no offense to the menfolk with anthills on the backsides!
The rest of us meanwhile will be out there looking for women like her to mate with and give the future better arses where they don't have to endure taunts.

And I'm now gone. Off to bait my brains to return home before they contract a Caribbean STD!

Untitled

I have no joy, I have no gladness.
The earth does not fill me.
Once a brave soul and pure heart,
Now raw scars,
From desperation of sorrows.
Memoirs of bright yesterdays
and haunting, tomorrows.


Seemingly so far gone, but yet so close.
Realities, the bad neighborhood conquers,
A clueless mind,
Are all that now remains,
Of pulsing hearts in frozen chests.
Of a mind that now lies slain.


Of a death imprisoned soul.
Sadness still clouds my face,
Lobes twinge,
Muscles flinch.
At the drop of a pin


Fear of letting go,
The lost song of the breeze
Of sorrows suffered in the world,
Many untold sorrows.
Forget that day, I try
But memories wont let me!

He Places Paragraphs In No Particular Order / Courting Controversy

Imagine a world full of sterile herbivores.
No predators, no reproduction! Some are better at running, some are better at calculus, and some are better at gathering food. OK that sounds silly but wait a minute this brain is allowed to wander at times...at all times.
Like right now when it wants to murder all the living environmentalists.

Dearest environmental dimwits; you make me feel guilty about using tissue paper (for wiping nose). Why then do you guys who have sworn to protect mother nature still use the same tissue paper (for wiping God knows what) huh? Why not use spoons? They can be washed and re-used plus they scoop pretty well so I'm told.

I need a distraction, I need to find another way to make money. I need to drive a fast car. I need to start selling drugs to make ends meet. I need to get to Kisementi quick and suck the life out of Alex Ndawula, live on air after he apologizes for wasting his 'taxi-park' talents on radio. I need to drop a bomb on this city. I wish I was God!

Who else?
The engineers who work our roads are, in my opinion as useless to mankind as all the kids that are getting out of school with a welding degree(is there such a thing?!). Sorry kids but there is only so much pipe to weld. Maybe some of those sell out engineers can whip up something for you kids to glue together with metal. If not why don't all you welders weld us up some jail cells so we have a place to throw all the sellout Pro-Gay supporters. Because we all know that in the future, I mean I hope all the pigs that supported them will be punished; forced to drink gallons of elephant bile!
We need more babies to eat all the Matooke, maize and yams in this country.
Olara Otunnu needs a wife!!!
We need babies!!!



There you go. I cant disguise it any longer. It eats me inside but now you should know the what & the why. Plainly put I miss you 2009, if I was a musician you were my breakout year, my ticket to stardom, my ticket to drugs, groupies, VIP treatment, a fling with Liza Minnelli, a house on the Hawaiian coast and every thing in between.
This year it feels like I have to start building all over again; handpick one mud brick after the other, pick the finest wild grass and select the finest cow-dung from deep in Lira to replicate that haven that 09 offered me. A beautiful mud and wattle hut, the whiff of damp dung hanging in the air, waiting for me to leap in joy as my enemies fall off their lofty perches.
I think I just made a New Year's wish!

2010, are you listening? Be good to me!

You Just Dont Get It! Do You?

For a better part of the past three years, you have absolutely failed albeit deliberately, to read between the lines. I wish there was a milder way to say this but we are just friends. Thats all we've ever been even though you insist that man and woman can never be just friends.
All those small things you keep dwelling on like when we've held hands for long spells, the weekend walks and the mandatory hugs, are just innocent gestures of our friendship. And that time you jumped me at Diane's farewell party, well it was you who was zonked not me. That should explain why you left with only one shoe!
You even promised that it would never happen again. Ever!

But of late you are back to your old self. Now you pretend to have seriously fallen in love with Chelsea. In your defence, you claim that Arsenal's games have become very boring to watch! I'm puzzled beyond measure by your resolve.

Still you haven't stopped at that.
You know how much I'm a lil' obsessed with Keri Hilson, dont you? Why else have you done the same hairstyle? I cant say I didn't stumble a bit when I saw you...actually I now happen to be just a little bit tempted to drift.
But no I wont. I refuse to be boxed into a corner.
Who said a man doesn't have a choice when it comes to choosing what he eats?

I appreciate the gifts, the free lunch, the airtime and that beautiful blue Marks & Spencer neck tie, I loved them all. But right now I'm running as far away from you as I can. You wont hear from me for the next four months for reasons you have tactfully ignored for the past three years.

Till we cross paths again I remain me.

PS: Assuming we are still friends, can I keep the topless pics? I've never complained about them.

I Still Remember That September Afternoon

This is a story about that girl who corrupted my mind…but first, it was second term holidays and I was only 8. I hated taking those mandatory afternoon naps right after lunch and despite the best efforts of the maid, which included the occasional spanking, I just wouldn’t sleep.

That afternoon was like no other because even this episode Punky Brewster on UTV this time wasn’t as interesting as it had always been. So the search of a much kick led me to my best mate Daniel’s home. Unbeknown to me, he wasn’t home; his mom had whisked him away for coaching classes somewhere in Nakivubo.

That left me and his literature-mad sister who was twice my age as my last hope for salvation from the sickening state of ultimate boredom. I should have walked away in resignation but the devil in me drove me into asking her what she was so preoccupied with so intently that she couldn’t even look into my direction.
So I went closer but before I could bet really close, she reached under the couch she was sited in and from what seemed like a collection, handed me a copy of Spice magazine (remember them?) and told me to knock myself out!

I was only 8!
The magazine cover screamed sex. I still remember that Stella was the name of the cover girl. I still remember that not only because she was hot but also because she was the first bikini I hadn’t seen on TV.
Lingala was blaring from the radio. Papa Wemba I think it was.
Curiously, I read on from the cartoons, Dod Khimji, Pam’s Adventures and yes yes, Peter ‘Now a Pastor’ Ssemattimba’s piece on erotic zones.

All this time I kept on pestering her to loosely explain the what all this raunchy stuff meant and why I was seeing it for the first time there and not in the classroom (like I had no idea).
When she justly got fed up with all the probing, she put down the Spice she was reading, grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to the back of the house under the jambula tree.
Once there, she looked around, then lifted up her dress with a mischievous smile pasted all over her face to reveal her white undies!
That was her explanation. Just like that.

I was only 8!
She then marched into the house without saying a word.
I stayed rooted to the spot, bewildered. At the same time it felt like my crowning moment, my knighthood, my Nobel Prize for achievements in human discovery and anything else in between.
I never went looking for Daniel at his ever again lest I be knighted again.
I hear she is now happily married with three daughters.
I’m betting on one of them flashing her undies intent on corrupting the mind of a boy half her age!

I Want A Cow That Loves Me

Sadness
is dumb
and the worst
thing is
I have
no one
to share
it with.

Yours Trully

When my brain stalled so much that I could not write a thing, I thought why not give blogville a sneak peak into what Payo looked like before shaving became such an issue. Enjoy...

Agavuude Mu Wiiki

I thought this past week had ended just like any other; nothing much to reminisce about. But that was till I pulled out my notepad and started listing in no particular order what had transpired during the past seven days. Some are shameful, some funny and others I cant really classify. Read on...

• I drunk-dialled my former boss at 2 in the night on the now infamous 99% from MTN.


• I slaughtered a turkey.


• JK admitted to me that he was gay and has 'eaten' like that for the past three years (to hell with the night caps at his pad from now on...you never know what he is capable of)


• With inspiration from Ugandan Girl, I deleted all the phantom people that were populating my friends list on Facebook.


• I resorted to a shortcut on my way home to avoid contact with Eddie the shopkeeper...the reason, 2200 shillings for that kilo of sugar I took 2 weeks ago.


• I ate a rolex for the first time in a very long time. It used to be cheap so I clashed with the 'rolex guy' over the prices. Of course I didn't win.


• My friends took me to this basement club in Mukono and guess what?!, it had pit latrines for toilets! You think I'm taking you for a ride? Visit Club One in Mukono, you will be amazed at how INNOVATIVE Ugandans have come.


• I didn't want you to know this one but yeah, I had an all-access shave! A painful one at that.

Listening to U2's 'I'll Go Crazy if I don't go Crazy Tonight'

BHH...Speaking in the Third Person

This blogger has been toying with the thought of whether to let other bloggeren into what happened to him the day he decided, rather half-heartedly to attend the last BHH. The urge to tell all has won the war and ‘tell’ has to be done.
So this blogger instinctively went to radio and tried to coerce Carsozy into dragging him along. He claimed he had to work late and wake up by 4 o’clock the next morning so blogger gave up the mini-effort. But blogger was quick to ask him if Baz was remotely interested in going.
“I spoke to him at lunch about it but he gave me no clear answer.”

Blogger decided to seek out Baz all by myself and the first thing Baz asked blogger rather authoritatively was why blogger was still not at Mateo’s yet. The logical thing for blogger to say was that he was indeed headed there, which he eventually did. But then Baz said he wasn’t going to be able to make it and that blogger should pass on his apologies. Another dead end.

Lulu, the last person blogger could think of now was already dressed (in a rather hot dress) for the Bride and Groom thing.
Armed with the evil apologies from Baz and Carsozy blogger headed for the venue, scanned the area for a group of more than 10 people and couldn’t find any. So blogger drowned himself in Guinness after Guinness before he SOSed Carsozy for ‘help’ in finding that group of strangers if they were present anyway. Carsozy promised to call later but he didn’t.
Luckily enough for blogger a couple of cocktail-hunting friends showed up and together, they got wasted. Then it was off to feast on Nandos’ overrated pizzas.
By that time BHH was the least of blogger’s worries. It stayed that way till the time was headed for the parking lot that he saw a group of around 9 people gathered around two tables, that he realised that that must have been lot he had come looking for. Who was the dreadlocked lady? And the white lady? Was that even the group blogger came looking for? And why was the turn up that low?

The decision to join the Guinness party signalled the end of blogger’s BHH quest for the night. Since there are many more to come in the future, blogger thinks he will settle for those.
And for those who sent their apologies through blogger, he is deeply sorry to have disappointed.

It's So Hungry I Can Barely Feed It

Considering that I’ve not posted anything right here for exactly 45 days, I’ve gotta admit that is really long a time. I’ve got my reasons too. See I’m not exactly comfortable looking into a neighbour’s script when sitting an exam, so I took time off, shook blogging out of my unwilling head and got down to the academics for ‘shizzle’. Nevertheless after seeing this lady pull her ‘bullet’ from her bra, of all places, I took a peek or two to steer clear of a retake when I was out-spotted. Such can be the life of a student.

So that means I missed the BHH tales (of course I wasn’t there), and I hear Eizzy. k got saved! I’m only hoping she don’t try to convert me.

But then, my time away from blogging pales in comparison with my rather lengthy vacation away from the throes of dating. It has been more than a year now and what gets me worried though is how comfortable I’m becoming in the current climate. Its not till you make out with some girl (swollen with emotion too) you least expected to ever get cozy with that you realise maybe you have been cheating your body by depriving it of some things I cannot comfortably call essentials. You almost went to the next level with her! You find it even harder to say no to her advances politely. I don’t even know what they are! Cravings?

The next morning you are predictably like – “OMG What the fuck was I thinking?” but then it is already done and all you have left time for is to reflect on where in the not so immediate past might have gone wrong. You try hard to put on a gaze that conveys innocence, responsibility and authority that often than not, conceals the desperate bore that your life has become. You feel like letting loose, surrendering yourself to the force of the wind, and put up no resistance at all.

But your inner self knows that the life you once lived with some ease is now more like the unknown to you at present and that isn’t about to miraculously change overnight.

It’s really been mighty long.

“Never let your head bully your heart only because it is not worth the effort. The heart somewhat always manages to win” Dad told me that before he got saved!

Kwonka Viruses

After a long time on katebe without blogging, I write something, save it on my flash disk, plug it into one of the New Vision computers and what do i get for my troubles? The flash disk is empty thanks in no small part to an unseen virus.
I guess i have to wait a little longer to post something as I get my e-house in order.

OFF TO THE SLEEPYHEADS IN I.T. TO SEE IF ANYTHING CAN BE DONE!

Milestones Gone Wrong: The First Puff

In celebration of his first 6 months as a blogger, Payo thought of achieving another first. He regrets it now.

In ‘Ugandan English’ they are going to say that the brain behind this blog has become ‘spoilt’ only because your dearest, most previously holy Payo recently developed the insatiable urge to try a hand at smoking pot.

Payo chooses to blame the whole episode purely on curiosity and nothing more than that. He can promise that it won’t happen again. He now is truly resentful but only because it was a forgettable experience. Now he blames it squarely on the devil because deep down he knows he is such a nice guy.

Payo has considered rehab – he doesn’t think it will be of much help though. The idea of church has been floating in his head but the guilt in Payo’s mind is too much for him to handle. He can’t imagine looking at the suffering guy on the cross under these circumstances. He has already sent countless apologies to his lungs and other offended departments and since they are all willing to forgive him for the ordeal, he is kinda happy to settle for that.

The happiest part though for him is that he has something to heal the appetite of bloggers hungry for something. They deserve something to read!

Listening to Don’t Let Me Go – The Fray

21 Questions

• Do I really look like Pharell Williams or was it pure flattery from her?
• Why is it easy to fall for and feel connected to someone you have never seen and probably will never see?
• Why do you find it hard to tell that person and opt to keep playing the friendship card even when you really know that is not the case?
• Why do friends these days think they have the moral authority to make choices for you no matter how personal they may be to you?
• Am I the only one who thinks Ugandan women have become too predictable?
• Who like me doesn’t want to live to the age beyond which I cannot find my own way to the bathroom for relief anymore?
• Now that I’ve stopped growing taller, why am I not growing any fatter?
• Who still dresses in SAVCO jeans?
• Where have all the good kissers gone?
• When should I start complaining of the loud noises that my neighbours sentence me too deep into the night?
• Does everyone else have to endure mood swings from time to time like I do?
• Where have the rest of the 21 Questions gone?

Daily Mail

I find that in my inbox everyday.
I'm not yet offended just yet but when i find this whole thing annoying, i'm suing Yahoo! for damages to my conscience, judgement and moral virginity.
Then the few millions i get will help me fight this virus that is giving Obama sleepless nights...the one and only Creditus Crunchus.
By the way there is a pending copyright on that botanical name...just in case i need some one to sue if the Yahoo! thing fails.

If everything fails I'm going to need a tight rope ang a firm beam.

The One I Never Got To Bid Farewell To

I’m Ugandan. I proudly say so. And I love almost everything that is Ugandan. I really do. But one thing ranks high among the things Ugandan that I’ve grown to dislike and fear at the same time and it’s non other than the roads and the beastly machines that utilise them unsparingly. Hate, because of the clumsiness of the drivers and the poor state of these roads and fear, for how ruthlessly the accidents seek to out do malaria as the chief executioner in this lovable country.

During my senior year, I lost my decker-mate Harold (R.I.P.) in one of those multiple carnages on the damned Masaka Highway. With less than a year left for him to end high school a bright light was rudely put out. I was inconsolable back then. It was like I had lost an arm or two. I still don’t think life has ever been the same without him. It is even more traumatising for me because by the time we parted company, Harold and I had just had a rather bitter argument while playing soccer. He was the goalie and I was the defender, we conceded a rather stupid goal which brought the blame game into play. I like to blame it on the passion we both had for our team. They always happen all over the world. I know.

But we didn’t kiss and make up after. A sad way to end such a friendship!

I also had my own close brush early this year when this stubborn driver of our taxi decided to compete with a fuel truck…….I get cold chills when I tell this story but so you must know, nothing eventually happened. But the old lady sited next to me wasn’t taking anything lightly and in so doing took a dim view of everything when she decided to rain blows and age old insults on the crazed driver. I haven’t even talked about what the extremely frightened passengers donated to the sponge they were seated on.

Now here I am looking at the photos of the game we played in Harold’s memory just over three years ago to this date wishing he would have been around to witness the Queen’s visit. He badly wanted to witness that day. As a piece of considerably consolation, I scored in that game and pointed to the sky, optimistic that Harold was sited up there…and that I was still in his good books.

I miss you Harold.

P.S. I have decided to run a separate blog for my escapedes in a Ugandan lecture room...check it out.

21st Century Vs 20th Century

I recently made the trip to Mbarara to attend a wedding of a maternal cousin of mine. Just like any such function, the elderly from the deepest valleys and crevices of Bushenyi were in attendance, pulling all the stops to look good in their colonial suits. That didn't matter much anyway because everybody looked smashing.

Fast forward to the day after. A lazy Sunday morning on which I was battling the effects of uncontrolled drinking from the previous evening of merry making when my sweet nap was rudely interrupted by the loud voices emerging from the living room. The Old Folk were having an interesting conversation. I shrugged off the heavy head and dashed to the living room and witness the drama first hand...here we go

Oldie 1: Evangelista, but are you sure this thing is not a telephone?

Evangelista: It isn't a phone. I swear.

Oldie 1: But it has numbers just like a telephone!

Oldie 2: Maybe it is a new type of telephone that Eva doesn't know about. Just because she is from the town doesn't mean she knows these things.

Evangelista: That is called a remote.

Oldie 1: What? Not a telephone? Really?

Evangelista: Yamawe! This thing is for controlling that TV in front of you. You see. You see. I press a button and it changes.

Oldie 1: Eh! How does it do that?

Oldie 2: But the muzungu has gone very far. Eh! I have never seen this before.

Oldie 1: Of course you have never. You only know how to graze. You don't even have electricity in your hut. Eva, you tell me how it works.

Evangelista: I don't know how it really does it but all i know is that I'll press this button and the TV will change a station. Don't you see. 1 2 3 4. You see!

Oldie 1: Iwe Payo, weza how does this thing work? Eva here wasted our money at school. We should have bought tonto instead. What did you call it?

Payo: Remote............

Oldie 1: Aha.

Payo: You know like how those traditional doctors treat broken bones from miles away? That is also how these things work, from a distance but only shorter.

Oldie 2: What! You mean this thing has spirits in it?

Oldie 1: I am dead. I know that the white man has stronger medicine than the traditional healer. He can even make big metals fly yet our locals cant make chickens fly! This one is going to kill me if I don't sacrifice a white hen really soon.

Evangelista: (Laughing hysterically) No. It doesn't have actual medicine. The white man just calls it technology. The white man is very clever you know.

Oldie 2: Ah Eva what do you know? If you had a quarter of the white man's brains you would have been of some use to Bushenyi.

Oldie 1: (Sternly looking at the iPod in my hands) You better throw that one away too. But why doesn't that telephone have buttons? Eh. Throw it away. That is not a good telephone. A good telephone should have buttons!

Payo: (Retreating in considerable horror) Let me go throw it away.

Oldie 1: That's my boy.

And yes they were all high on potent gin at the time.