BLACK GIRLS ROCK

Before you get ahead of yourself, this post might have nothing to do with girls or rock. I’m sorry if that disappoints the insecure black girl who has been waiting 17 years for someone to tell her she’s indeed adorable. Or as urban music lovers often put it – that she’s the shit. I don’t know why a girl should go around trying to overcome this insecurity by acting like the sun revolves around her ass. I mean, the sun actually shines out of your ass babe. So you should feel great about yourself because sincerely, you are the ish – you rock!

Wait, I thought I said this has nothing to do black girls or --- Arrgh, whatever.

It’s holiday time and since my posts normally reflect what’s happening in mi vida, I’ll be writing a lot about ma familia. I’m currently crushing at my sister’s. There are like three boys there. One is like 8, the others are 2 and 1 respectively. The 8 year old talks too much, plays lots of video games and finds a hard time sitting down. If he isn’t busy dealing with first world problems like fixing his (toy) rides and throwing tantrums, the 2 year old spends most of his time with his girlfriend from next door, who’s like 3. The 1yr old is probably going to be a comic because he’s such a jolly fellow – he’s always in such a good mood.

All this is supposed to be bliss. For girls of course, not that I don’t adore kids but the thing is, I’ve been looking forward to pushing PlayStation these holidays. It so happens that most of the games at crib are rated 18 and above. Besides, I have to convince the 8yr old that we are going to play together in turns. I’m game since well, at some point or another he’ll turn 18 and learn how to cuss anyway. I dig Scarface but this game is so violent and Al Pacino is always cussing like, “FUCK YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU WANNA TAKE ME YOU FUCKING COCKROACHES? YOU HAVE COJONES (BALLS)? YOU SONOFABITCHES!!”

And on it goes. The kid actually imitates what the guy is saying and my sister walks into the room and throws me this “what the fuck?” look. I shrug since I don’t want to shoulder the blame.

-         

•  Isn’t there anything better you can play? This game is too violent!

• Ok, let me play GTA or God of War or Godfather –

• All those games are 18 and over, turn it off.

• But please –

• Turn it off! Watch tv or something…

Watching TV is a whole other dilemma since the kids want to watch cartoons, the maid wants to watch soaps and me, well I can’t watch the same station for more than 5 minutes tops. In the end, there’s some shit on the telly with no one watching but as soon as you touch it, someone springs up claiming they were watching the crap. 

Last night, my sister tried to make a sort of family TV night. Her husband wanted to watch discovery. I wanted to watch MSNBC. My sister insisted we watch BET. The kids were on their mum’s side. And as long as we’re in her home, everyone is her bitch so we had to settle for making disgruntled noises while she wore a satisfied smile.

There’s a new show on BET called Black Girls Rock. I think they’re actually awards where they like award Female Black Americans who have done some shit that deserves recognition.

Wait, did I just say they are like awards where they award?

I think I’m hanging with a lot of dumb people of recent.

Anyway, there was an interesting argument when Ciara came on stage to perform. My brother-in-law tried to claim that she was faded. I didn’t want to inform him of Ciara’s new songs so I just said;

Me: You’re old dude, just watch.

Him: Oh she hasn’t done shit since that song with Missy Elliot

Sis: Watch your language around the kids honey.

Me: I actually like Ciara

Him: Look at her, with that same old crappy dance move.

Sis: What dance move?

Wherein he stood up and basically did the same thing a dog does when it’s trying to dry itself.

Sis: Which one?

Him: This one (*does it again*), she always does it.

Me: Nope, I’ve never seen Ciara, or anyone for that matter doing that “move” before.

Sis: *laughs* yeah me neither! That one is yours - if it qualifies as a “move” anyway.

Me: Guess you have dibbs on that one bro.

Him: Fuck off, both of you.

I think it is going to be a very Merry Christmas.

WOW

Simply because there are no other ways to describe last Saturday. I hadn’t expected anything good to come from the day mostly because I woke up on someone’s carpet without my keys. Plus, it was technically supposed to be the last day of campus and I had to get the fuck out of hostel. I could have stuck around longer but the landlord was literally anticipating the moment when he kicked me out. My ego would never let that son-of-a-cunt savor that moment.

In short, I had to find my keys like pronto and map out my exodus.

I drunk a lot on Friday night with my boys and they said I had apparently been thoughtful enough to trade my ATM card, ID and room keys for a rolex at 2am. Why I did that, I’ll never know. I managed to find the rolex stall and the dude spinning that dough recognized me almost immediately. He claimed I’m the craziest guy in K-town. I wondered why I never got the memo. I mean if I’m the craziest guy in town, someone should have at least been thoughtful enough to bring it to my attention, right? Like, do you know how hurt President Yoweri would be if everyone knew he was the most corrupt scumbag in E.A. but no one told him?

 By the way someone should tell that bald headed nut sack that he’s the most corrupt fellow in E.A.

I’m not the type for small talk so I told rolex-dude to get my shit so I can figure out a quick exit route. Of course, he needed some dime mbu for his effort. How much? 5bob. For the record, I never have cash before 11am so I made this clear to the chap. He said he couldn’t be sure if I would come back because there are mob bafeere in kibuga. I looked at what I was wearing, gauging what had to be sacrificed. It most definitely couldn’t be my pants. It couldn’t be my Writing Our World bracelet because I was attending our Christmas Party later on. I don’t have very nice abs so my shirt unquestionably had to stay on. Er, you’re welcome ladies. For a very long time, I earnestly considered giving the bloke my drawers but with this whole Mubiru sodomy thing going on, I figured if I opened my fly I’d probably have more than just my keys to worry about.

I sacrificed my open shoes.

Which meant I’d have to walk from Nankulabye to Kikoni barefooted. Not a very nice way to start a Saturday but there was nothing much I’d do about it. After walking 3 meters, I realized – hey, the paparazzi phones must be ringing off the hook by now. Yeah you don’t have to hate, I’m kinda famous. I got a boda-b with the sole intention of pulling a “Babaluku” as soon as I reached hostel. As in, split without paying.

Which I did

The hardest bit about packing and leaving was that I had to do it discretely. Almost everyone in the neighborhood had lent me money at some point so I had to convince them that I wasn’t about to pull er, a Babaluku. They weren’t swayed to believe this theory so I left my stuff at the gate and paid a boda-b to pick ‘em up and meet me up front.

I’ve never been to the famous Plot 63, Kira road Kamwokya. For those of you that don’t know this is where it all goes down. It’s where the Writing Our World offices are located. It is also where the party was at. A babe had to pick me up from my bro’s place so I could like tag with her. She’s really hot so my bro was like really jealous. Which sort of raised my spirits for the day since he thinks nothing good could possibly ever happen to the dirt bag that I am.

I have social anxiety issues. My voice was also very hoarse from the week-long drinking and party crashing so I was a tart nervous but I needn’t have been. I knew almost everyone before I met them from all the social media interactions. Everyone was friendly and I’d never really interacted with fellow writers before. I felt welcome and at home. Even though the sort of “parties” I attend are normally typified with clouds of smoke, gambling and breaking glass, I somehow found myself enjoying the WOW party more! Which as a contrast had nice snacks, sodas, sweet smiles and A LOT OF CAKE. I especially loved the game we played. It is a sort of “Improv” where one person makes a sentence and the next person uses the last word of the previous sentence to make another sentence. It is not as easy as it sounds. For the first time I realized that the phrase, “Evil is the root cause of all money” is not grammatically correct.

That honestly made much more sense in my head but now that I write it out…it daint.

I don’t know if this is true but apparently there was supposed to be an after party at Club Amnesia. I couldn’t attend because someone had made sure I never had any cash and I’m nervous whenever I have no money. To top that, I’ve been inebriating a lot so I don’t care for liquor.

By the way I’m typing this while lying on my tummy. My nephew is on my back and he has been thoughtful enough to pee on me. Gotta go people.

A Julie Good Day

I wrote this at the beginning of semester, got high and forgot to upload it. Have a blast.

A Julie Good Day

I almost always wake up with no clue whatsoever on how the day will go. You’re probably thinking, ‘dang doesn’t everyone?’  So, I’ll rephrase that. Do you ever stay in bed till mid-morning simply because you’re not sure whether you want to eat, watch TV, listen to loud music or check your Facebook/twitter timeline?

If your answer is yes, please get your shit together and get a life.

Indecision is what I’m made of.  I never plan because hey, life’s supposed to be a roll. Besides, indecision breeds flexibility. And this particular morning, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to travel to K’la or Jinja. I lazed in bed for over four hours weighing the pros and cons. Then I remembered it was supposed to be the first day of semester.

Arrgh

I decided the best thing to do would be to drag my lazy ass out of bed and into the shower for starters. I dressed up, got my backpack and J.R. Tolkien’s 1000 page Lord of the Rings hard paper back novel. With no inkling whatsoever on my destination, I asked mum for transport (which is just a nicer way to ask for up keep). She handed me a wad of notes which I didn’t bother to count. Because the last time I counted my PM, I was so heartbroken that I decided to head to my room, unpack and chill in my drawers. Which broke mum’s heart—which broke my heart all over again.

But none of that could have possibly prepared me for the female rollercoaster I was about to ride. I reached the station and decided to ditch a bus and use a coaster for once because;

·         I have beef with those Elgon Flyer Bus guys for refusing to transport my baby sister’s mountain bike in time for her umpteenth birthday. I later realized her BD isn’t until September. But I’ll probably forget again since she’s not yet on Facebook. Happy birthday in advance Tracy!

·         However much I concentrate and pray, I always choose a seat number next to that of a fat woman, obese man and/or breastfeeding mother of seven…make that eight.

·         The coaster looked full. A cursory look later indicated that they were just goons paid 200 shilling coins to make it look that way.

Who cares? I was in no rush. As I fumbled with my novel, she walked in and sat right next to me. Well, that was a first…let the ignorance begin. Wait, does that—does ignorance also refer to that moment when you don’t give a fuck about someone’s presence? Anyway, I’m a specialist at it, whatever it’s called. Sometimes I turn on the TV and radio simultaneously just to get that awesome feeling that I’m ignoring something/someone. Plus I didn’t pass on my tall genes so I doubted she’d fancy me but whaddayaknow!

She handed me a PK mint and that commercial just played in my head like—LET’S GET CLOSERR…

She was a nice girl and should I tell you how I know? Because she’s generous that’s why; I mean how many times have you met a girl willing to share a PK? Not never! So already, the thoughts in my mind started running along the lines of, ‘man, I would go to church for this girl.’ Yeah, that sounds off so when the journey started, I noticed she was doing that nodding disease thing that people do when they’re trying to fight sleep. Before I could stop myself, I was saying;

-          Are you sleepy?

-          N-No, I’m just a bit tired that’s all.

-          Sorry…well you could rest on my lap for a few minutes.

-          I don’t think—

-          No, it’s okay. Trust me.

I quickly put the backpack on my lap and for a moment I thought she’d laugh it off. She didn’t. Instead she calmly lay on my lap.

No way!

You think I’m lying? Well me too! But trust me, if you wanted to get lied to, you could have just turned on the television. I find it easier to talk to strangers. Matter of fact, it’s easier for me to ask a girl I’ve never met before for her bra size than telling a girl I’ve known for some time that I like her new hair-do.

I was enjoying every bump that we hit but apparently the coaster wasn’t. I didn’t notice the whole interior was filled with smoke until all the passengers started shouting and she woke up. The engine had over heated. Sadly, we had to disembark. It was until we stood outside that I realized it wasn’t a passenger service vehicle. It was a kindergarten coaster. That would have been okay save for the fact that it was called, ‘Train up a Child Kindergarten!’ How people think up these names will forever remain a mystery to mankind. What was worse is that this Train-up-Bullshit thing couldn’t go any further.

Holy Crap

I used this opportunity to get to know the girl.

-          So, what’s your name?

-          Julie, you?

-          Romeo.

-          Seriously? You’re lying!

-          Seriously, I’m not. So, what do you do?

-          I’m doing *oba what I don’t remember* at Kyambogo.

-          That’s cool. So what’s good at Kyambogo, if I want to visit?

-          Nothing—depends on what you like…

-          I like you for starters (she rolls her eyes). Seriously…

-          Hmm…ok.

She had this thing where her hair falls into her eyes and she always laughs as she brushes it away. She was dressed decently. Maybe too decently…it was like she had sold her soul to Beelzebub to get clothes because there was so little skin if you know what I mean.

All this got me a confusing boner.

While we were getting cute and shit, we didn’t notice that the conductor had been dragged to a nearby police station. The journey had officially run amuck and he was told to pay a fine and refund our dime. Unfortunately, the motherfucker gave me and Julie 10k. Five each. Which was like half what we both needed but I wasn’t in the mood for bargaining so I just let the girl have it all. Stupid?

Maybe

But no worries, since she wrote her number on my arm—somehow that sounds cooler than just saying, ‘she gave me her number…’

I decided to go to Jinja since I’d have some change for a pint or two when I reached. I hit the bar with the plan of playing the ‘help me, I’m poor’ drink pick up line. But I needn’t have bothered. I met another girl at the pool table and (wait for it), she was also called Julie! Except (mbu) married and an ardent fan of the devil’s nectar. Anyway she bought my humor and got me a drink and a couple of pool games.

It was a Julie good day…until I took my jokes a tart too far and got into a scuffle with some high South Sudanese nincompoops.

Threesome? Just a Wink Away…

I don’t date. Mostly because I make some of the most unrealistic, most mind blowing first impressions, you’ll ever know. It’s impossible to live up to that shit. In my freshman year I told some babe that I’m a finalist, I own a ride and I’m a notorious club-hopper. Plus, like Big Sean I’ve got ‘a wallet that look something like a Bible.’ And yet I was bleak about almost everything. I promised I’d take her to Steak Out for our first date. She accepted.

I had no idea where the fuck Steak Out was.

D-day and the ride was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly my ‘home boys’ had to borrow it for a party in Ebbz. Surprisingly she didn’t mind. I swear to God when I came to campus I thought if you had no ride, your chances of ‘getting some’ were zippo. Arm-in-arm, we got a boda-b and I’ve no clue where that nigger took us but it was definitely not Steak Out. Because I later became a regular and I’m currently serving a ban for breaking a bottle on someone’s head. I ordered the usual crap, Smirnoff for the babe, (Arthur) Guinness for the don. It was a fun night none-the-less. She was nice, I was funny and we kissed on that first date.

Then broke up three weeks later

Because the relationship was baseless as she didn’t know a thing about me. See, at the start of a relationship everything is rosy. There’s this confusing, alluring person you want to always hold hands with. Like for some reason, every time you’re with them, you just want to get naked. It’s a stage where you’re forever slightly bonkers with lust. And then the lies start creeping up, everything gets dull and all of a sudden you wonder why you signed up for the shit.

Wait. That wasn’t even what I wanted to talk about. I’m just free styling on this post so if I somehow don’t leave a mark, I’m sorry. I slept sober last night and I was locked outside my room.

There was a girl I wanted to impress. Vanessa smoked weed and drunk more than any girl I know. She didn’t do Smirnoff. Get a Guinness motherfucker. I was in love—like official! So, what did I do?

I threw a drink up.

It was holiday time. My sister was travelling up country for the weekend with her family (er, our family, my family…whatever) so we had the whole apartment to ourselves. The arrangements were a little hasty and fortunately or unfortunately, most people didn’t show because Najjera is way out of the city center. In the end there was me, my two home boys, and Vanessa who had been thoughtful enough to bring along a friend, Angela.

There was too much booze and we soon forgot that we were only five. We turned up the volume and drunk ourselves silly. Angela and I went to the kitchen to fry some chicken while my boys and Vanessa stayed in the living room and daggered. Of course I soon forgot my chemistry with Vanessa. It was partially because of the liquor but largely because Angela gave me ‘the look.’ You know ‘the look’ right? It’s like sex, except that it is done with eyes. Sort of like eye-banging but more brief. Tables had turned.

I wanted Angela.

We successfully managed to burn the chicken since we were so busy eye-banging the whole time. We all sat out on the couch, smoked cigarettes and made bad sex jokes. It was an awesome night! One of my boys got into an argument with Vanessa (who was, for some reason really drunk already). He left in a huff. The other dude also left because his mum thought it was horrible for him to be out at such an un-godly hour.

In the end, it was just Vanessa (who passed out), Angela and me on the couch watching the stars. I decided to make my move. She just smiled and shook her head. I frowned and made that priceless hurt face of mine that always gets me out of situations. She looked at Vanessa warily. I shrugged and whispered;

-          Don’t worry, she’s asleep

-          Yeah I know! But I just…can’t.

-          Why would you say that?

-          You wouldn’t understand…just chill.

-          Try me…

-          Well, the thing is…Vanessa and I are kind of—

-          --what?

-          We’re together, if you know what I mean…

-          Oh! Like seriously? Angela, there are easier ways to tell a brother he won’t be getting any.

-          Like seriously.

-          Okay, that’s cool. I don’t mind being a lesbian for a few hours.

-          Hahahaha! You don’t give up, do you?

-          Does that mean it’s cool?

At this point Vanessa raised her head and said groggily;

-          Look, if you guys want to make out just do it. Just keep it down I’m trying to fucking sleep.

And that was all we did. No sex.

I woke up in the morning hangover and feeling like a loser. I mean who the fuck sleeps with two girls and doesn’t get dissolute with any? The whole place was a mess. Cigarette butts where littered all over the floor and the front lawn. There was nothing in the fridge. I was broke. My sister was coming back at any moment. I just picked up a bottle of beer that had been left over and slotted the Scarface DVD in the PlayStation. As I was busy killing people and widening my Al Pacino drug empire, the girls were in the shower probably getting licentious with each other. I was trying (unsuccessfully) not to conjure images in my mind on what was going on in that shower.

Then Vanessa called out;

-          Hey Arthur, get us a towel!

*wink*

Merry Christmas! Checkmate! Finito! Eureka! Or whatever the fuck you want to call it. I was up in a heartbeat and like Lil’ Wayne, I was going IN!

…

Now what’s going on in that smutty head of yours? You think I didn’t do it. Well, you don’t have to be so despondent because you’ve never gone through that whole breakfast-in-bed, sex-in-the-bathroom thing. And do you want to know why? Because I haven’t either—

Having a threesome is still on my campus to-do bucket list.