Paper Plane Life (No Worries!)

Babe, if a boner is a feeling then yes, I have lots of feelings for you. If it was all about money, you’d be my girl. Unfortunately, it is all about personality (or is it?) so run for your dear life bubu because I’m the wrong kind of crazy. Initially, I wanted to write down some romantic wahaala but I’m guessing that last line isn’t.

So let me preach about no worries and more stacks.

When most people meet me for the first time, they figure I’m an ordinary nerd who tells a lot of bad jokes. After two weeks, they say, “eh, this guy never runs out of cash!”

After two months they say, “Man, that guy has refused to pay me my dime.”

After two years they say, “do you have thingy’s number? He went with my TV to the village.”

After a decade, they say, “fuck that nigga!”

I am one of those people who will tell you to live your life large even when mine is as dull as that of our VP. No, scratch that. That guy’s life is so pathetic that even if he committed suicide, he’d still end up a bored ugly guy with over-size cracked shoes. He’s never involved in any scandals. He doesn’t steal money, doesn’t catch people who steal money, doesn’t kiss Iryn Namubiru in public like Bukenya – he’s just there chilling fwaa.

I would describe my life in two words, paper planes. Sail high in the air and move along with the tide down the path of least resistance. That’s a messed up way to live, I know.

You know those peoplewho pretend to be rich even when they are not? Yeah? Well, that’s me. Before you judge me I want to make it clear that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. Some people don’t know that Lawrence Mulindwa has more money that Rick Ross, Meek Mill and all those MMG guys combined. Besides, if you think it is messed up, try acting broke for a week.

You’ll realize that the only thing worse than being broke is people knowing that you’re broke.

Your closest friends will open their doors an inch, see who it is and slam it in your face. It is a tit for tat world. One good turn deserves another. If you’re broke, what use are you to me? All that I’ll be rich someday claptrap doesn’t work anymore. Instead, walk into his room with that rich boy swag and say, “hey buddy, lend me a twenty and I get us lunch. I’ll give it to you like at 6pm.”

At 6pm, there’ll probably be a Mobile Money network problem or the ATMs will not be working. You can pull that cliché I’ll-give-it-to-you-tomorrow line and buy him a beer (with his money). You should keep your word; give him a tenner the next day. After all, it is his money. Chances are that he’ll forget about the remaining tenner because you bought him lunch and booze.

The icing on the cake is that he’ll still think you’re loaded!

See, it is not that hard, is it?

If he consistently bugs you for his money, pull a borrow-from-Peter-pay-Paul thing. Make sure to come back after a month and borrow a fifty. But this time, don’t give him jackbecause he’s an uptight bastard who doesn’t understand that sometimes shit is tight and a boy is on a 9 to 5 grind.

My friend was telling me how his girl’s girlfriends caught him trying to get into a kafunda to have a polite kikomando. These girls knew my boy stacked mad paper to the ceiling. He’s a lot like me. We borrow big and live large. Flashing money at the right moments to leave a lasting impression when we’re actually broke motherfuckers.

He was doing his thing - you know, that five-oh thing that guys do before diving into a kafunda. Unfortunately, he looked left, right but forgot to look across the road. The babes were apparently buying some stuff from a supermarket. They looked at him stretching his neck like a crack head smoking weed in a church toilet. Do you know how absurd you look when you’re trying to do a five-oh and the person you’re hiding from is watching you?

Very absurd

I bet they laughed their pretty asses off. In fact, they bought some ice cream and waited for him to come out. He came out a good thirty minutes later - very satisfied. With his face all shiny from the heat and his shirt un-tucked (it is not easy to eat a six chapattomando). He stretched and looked around – a wide bland smile covering most of his face.

Then he saw them. His face looked like youtube.com/youfuckedup.

Whether it was the shock of being found out or the effect of the meal that made him quickly duck back inside, we shall both never know.

One thing you should never do when you live this kind of life is never let yourself appear embarrassed. Here’s what I would have done. I would have walked to those babes like it is the most normal thing in the world. They’d of course say something like,

“Eh, naye you boy! So that’s where you have lunch from these days? Kale I wish Patricia would see this banange – kyaba too much! This is so funny, hihi!”

I would have replied, “eish, atte what is wrong with having lunch from there. For you, you’re having ice cream outside a supermarket.”

“But naawe no…that place of all places? Kyoka this boy, that place is so filthy!”

And her friend would interject like, “I know! And it is so cheap!”

I would say, “Cheap? Seriously? Look, your ice cream costs 800shs and you’re having it under the sun. I sat in a shade and bought a kikomando of 3500shs with even drinking water. Your butt would have to be in business for itself to afford my lifestyle. I won’t go hungry for like 12 hours so sincerely, quit acting so itty bitty and go have some bikomandos. It is on me.”

I’ll then walk away like a boss and pray that they don’t call me back to take up the offer because I won’t even have the dime to buy them that kikomando. God knows I’ve been eating on credit.

I’ve done some stuff in my life that I’m not very proud of.

*thinks*

No, actually I am pretty proud of them.

My landlord told me never to go back to his hostel. Not as a resident and not as a visitor – mostly because doing the right thing is not one of my initial instincts. I travelled to Kampala a week early to look for a place to stay. I’m not into big hostels. There are too many lights (read people) plus, how the dickens does someone pay a million shillings to use a few square meters of space for four months?

After a lot of failed attempts, I walk into this hostel with my head pounding like the devil is playing drums in it. I’d spent the previous evening hanging out with the Writivism mentors, Zukiswa Wanner (who is one of the most awesome people to be around) and Connie (who told me about Jesus) and another sweet woman whose name I didn’t get. I had a drink too many so I was totally hangover.

The manager, like me, didn’t pass on his tall genes. He tells me that there are no ‘single’ rooms. There were only doubles. I don’t do roommates because it often ends up spelling lifetime enemy at the end of the semester.

Me: Are there completely, totally, no rooms at all?

Him: No, you’re late.

I put on my innocent face and sigh whilst trying to look very depressed (which wasn’t hard because I was hangover).

Me: I’ve been walking for four days, looking for a room. Isn’t there somewhere you can fix me? Even if I sleep in the Askari’s Room I don’t mind.

Him: *laughs* are you looking for a room or a job? We already have an Askari. The only place which I could have given you is locked. The owner went with his key.

Me: But has he already paid?

Him: No, he hasn’t but he has been staying here since his First Year. He called me and told me to keep it for him.

Me: So there’s no way you can give it to me? Because I have all the cash right now, I have no relatives in Kampala; you have to help me out my boss.

Him: No, it is not possible. What will I tell him? There’s no way I can help you.

I walked away depressed and disappointed. I reached the road, took one look at the dust and realized I didn’t want to spend another second in this suburban death maze looking for a bloody hostel. Then an idea popped in my mind. I quickly walked back to the Manager’s room, a devious smile playing on my lips.

Me: I would like to make you an offer which will make both our lives easier.

Him: What do you have in mind?

Me: Last year, I went home with the key to my former room. Unfortunately, the room was given out and I was told ‘first come, first serve.’ So, what if I give you a little incentive to remove that friend of yours from the equation?

Him: *laughs* What kind of incentive do you have in mind?

Me: I could give a twenty for your breakfast. Then we shall discuss additional incentives when I move in.

*thinks for a very long time*

Him: You know what? Give me thirty and I help you.

Me: Done!

I put on my earphones with my braggadocio and volume on max like I owned the world. MIA was on that bass like,

Ifly like paper, get high like planes, If you catch me at the border I’ve gotvisas in my name…everyone’s a winner, we making our fame. Bona fide hustlermaking my name. All I wanna do is Bang Bang Bang and Click! And take your money!

Thank you for reading, quit worrying and click that share button like a free spirit.