On Romario, Kafeero and Abdul Muraasi

A quick one: Brazilian striker Romario has ‘shagged’ in what he claims is his 1,000th goal. Of course FIFA disputes the figures but that has not stopped the stocky controversial 41 year Vasco da Gama forward, famous for dancing defenders and once saying that he ‘shags’ thrice a day from celebrating the feat.

A few months ago he declined to play for his team, against Americano, because he considered the opponents weak and the stadium less glamorous.

Now the man who has tormented defenders for decades has notched in that goal- he hopes it will ‘put’ him in the class of greats like Pele and another stocky tormentor of defenders, and shagger, Diego Maradono.

As Romario was celebrating his controversial 1,000th hit mark, Paul Kafeero was snatched a way by Walumbe’s ever present hands. Like the Brazilian striker, Kafeero seemed determined, if it where not for death to hit his own mark and join the class of the late Nigerian singer, Fella Kuti. For Uganda, not all hope is, however, lost as we still have Farm Manager, Abdul Muraasi.

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Willieboy On Leave

This blogger has gone on leave. He, however, still remains a blogger.

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Punching your way into a diva's heart

In future, I am sure, even if Kassim Ouma retires from boxing, he will still remain a boxer because a man never forgets his old trade. He will like Paul the ex- wrestler, when the day comes apply the left hook on somebody’s jaw. If that person is Juliana, then she will be inspired to sing Nabikowa Two.

You see, Paul the Ex Wrestler remembered his old trade during a demo and applied what wrestlers call a Double Nelson and broke a police man’s back!

I am no sadist but one day, never rule that out with men, when the love voltage runs down( I am assuming its high now), there is a possibility that Ouma might just remember his old trade in the ring and shutter the ex-diva's jaws (by then she will be an ex-diva for beautiful girls are like banana shoots they just keep shooting up from the belly of the earth next to their mom only to land in the watery mouth of we bloody men), and bloody old men like hanging around a lot longer than they should.

Ok, tighten your seat belt. Let’s go. On Sunday evening, seated in my ghetto, relaxed like a lizard perched on a ghetto wall, I sipped coffee as I watched TV. On the screen was pardoned army deserter and Uganda’s shinning star pugilist, Kassim Ouma the dream. He was jumping up and down excitedly for the TV cameras happy to be home after a decade in the US.

But it wasn’t his jumpings and punchings in the air that made me glue myself on the TV, rather it was one of those rare moments in my life when I suddenly go blank and intensely think about nothing. I long christened it moments of ‘sweet philosophical contemplations,’ (there’s nothing philosophical about it)

If Ouma hadn’t sneaked in Uncle Sam the Ass rancher’s land and punched his way to success where would he be? Would he have punched his way, that’s if he punched at all, into Juliana’s lofty heart? Would he have had a crowd yelling their tongues out for him? Would he matter any way to any one? Would he even make a brief in the papers? Can Juliana move out with an army private who earns 140K? Get me right, I am not saying she’s a filthy capitalist; I am just asking hypothetical questions.

Right. Let’s move.

Several possible answers oozed from my little brain with regard to the second question: One, he would be dead, shot in the Congo, fighting for I don’t know who, during Uganda’s misadventure there in the late 1990’s. If he had missed dying in the Congo, he would have probably been shot dead or died of vagaries of war in either northern Uganda or Southern Sudan, fighting Uncle Joe’s nototorius LRA.

The last answer that sprung out of my little brain was that Ouma could have be en perching somewhere in a Maama ingia pole-pole (those dingy army shacks, below the standard of my ghetto).

In that instance therefore the slightest chance he would have had to get a sniff of Juliana would be to listen to her songs on radio, that is, if his assumed army base is within radio reach. The other alternative would be for him to a buy a cassette tape and play it on his or a pals Cassette radio player (private’s in the army can’t afford CD players). That is the nearest the pugilist would have got to the diva.

I have made you abundantly aware that all this is hypothetical. The reality is that the boxer and the diva are a thing. As for the lesson you can learn from that little thought, the ball is in your court.

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Mahoganies save Mahogany as Three Pay For Mehtas Follies

Not so long ago, Acholi Parliamentary Group Chairman, Livingstone Okello-Okello gave a sexy tip before the floor of parliament when he said that Gen Saleh who we all know is married to Jovia had a ‘social friend.’ Don’t scratch your head. Jovia is the lady who once challenged mighty America to war when they denied her a visa for getting mentioned in a UN report on the plundering of vast, mineral rich and cursed DR Congo. (What else?)

Good Jovia told the Americans; I don’t give a hoot over your visa, if you don’t wonna give me your visa, I am gonna spend ma dollars elsewhere.

Okello- Okello speaking on behalf of the Acholi Parliamentary Group alleged that Saleh and his ‘social friend’, Harriet Aber were among those grabbing Acholi land.

After that I spoke to the chick and she let me speak to her dad, and I swear she had a story. I however got the impression she wanted to use the press mention as a magic wand to carry herself from the backyard to the front and be known as the BIG man’s wife just like Nakku, but the reason why the tabloid press totally ignored that equally huge story, nearly as huge as Bukenya’s, if not even more, is as perplexing as why they stuck on Bukenya’s neck like a leech.

That’s why when Bukenya speaks about Mafias, he might not be totally dreaming.

Luckily, as the VP’s strategists where busy scratching their heads to kick their man off the headlines for the wrong reasons, the mahoganies of Mabira, that have acted more honestly than the tabloid press sprung to action.

‘One of our very own is drowning. We cannot sit back. In the spirit of mahoganism we have to act now even when our own lives is threatened by a panga wielding Mehta,’ I imagined the huge trees plotting a Bukenya rescue mission.

It’s in that spirit of saving a pal that Mabira walked to Kampala, as Literature Prof and Presidential Literary Advisor, Timothy Wangusha had written. Unfortunately the trek of the mahoganies came at a huge unfortunate cost of three people losing their lives.

For Bukenya and his team the new twist marked the end of their nightmare.

Public relations is essentially about establishing and maintaining mutually beneficial relationships between an organization and its publics on whom its success or failure depends.

Who are Mehta’s publics? His employees, Ugandans, the Ugandan government and whoever does business with him either locally or internationally. The above mentioned are the publics with whom he should create a mutually beneficial relationship to determine whether he survives or not in business.

But what do we get from Mehta when he speaks out on the saga threatening to engulf his company? Arrogance and complete insensitivity towards the very publics that he’s supposed to build a good relationship with. When he issued his conditions for abandoning his obsession with Mabira forest he failed or ignored the fact that people were being driven to anger, and that the whole Mabira issue was becoming very emotive, it had become a powder keg waiting for some one to detonate. He did that by giving his silly conditions of ‘no squatters,’ ‘must be within 20-30 kms’ from Scoul and must be fertile.’

Now if Mehta had the balls to take on a whole Uganda and even respond to them with such contempt how does he treat and respond to his sugar cane cutters? How much does he pay them?

The most immediate thing that Mehta needs right now is good PR. I know they have a PR because the chap was just a year a head of me in High School whether they listen to his advice or not is another question. But it’s possible that they can ignore his advice if they could move against the grain of a huge tide.

If Mehta had responded and read well the mood of Ugandans and used it to design his response there would probably have been no demonstration in the first place, and the three would have not died. Mehta, the police and organizers of the demo in that order should take the blame.


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Old Scot Leaves Spalleti Dead In Old Trafford Netball Game

For the battering that Manchester United fans got at the hands of police in Roma last week, their players paid back last night in a scintillating performance by tearing apart the Roma defence who swallowed in seven amazing goals.

Ronaldo and Carrick both fired two goals with Roma’s helpless players replying once. It was an extremely bad and embarrassing night for Roma Coach Luciano Spalleti

Traditionally Italians are known to have tight defences, difficult to crack but that was until last night when they were widely opened.

I am an Arsene Wenger man despite his gunners failing to shoot even lame ducks these days.

When little but filthy mouthed, Jose Mourihno left Porto and bedded Russian billionaire Roman Abromavitch, the Portuguese stunned everyone when he declared himself ‘the special one’ and went a head to prove it with a star studded Chelsea assembled by the Oligarch’s pocket change.

He was immediately hailed as belonging to a new breed of coaches in Europe. In his category was Didier Deschamps then with a blistering Monaco spurred by a blazing hot Fenando Morientes.

As Mourinho’s star lighted the premiership pundits said it was time up for old horses Wenger and super strong- willed Scot, Alex Ferguson to retire themselves from the dugout.

Both are still surviving, stingy Wenger has a different story, but Ferguson last night showed that his days in the dugout are far from ending by burying Spalleti’s pack of netball players alive at Old Trafford.

In a soccer mad country where a goal keepers 'blunder was once discussed in parliament, one should not be surprised by what awaits Spalleti and his netballers back home.
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Smiling Mafias and Nabusayi's Lion Skinning Job

I am not a movie guy but once in a while I sit in front of a screen. Last Sunday was one such moment.

The films reminded me of my kid days when I watched ‘stupid’ and ‘hopeless’ Vietnamese being moored down by American machine gun fire as they ran about carelessly in their muddy and watery rice fields. Never mind that in reality the Americans got a bloody nose in Vietnam.

This time its not Vietnamese soldiers taking charged lead pellets from blazing marine guns but Arab terrorists threatening to blow up the West with nukes. Of course, as usual, America wins. Again never mind that the US is presently not winning anything in Iraq and the Middle East.

I had wanted to blog about how Hollywood has either knowingly or unknowingly launched its own war against terror when I was suddenly swept off my feet by this huge wave that threatens to bring down a whole mahogany. The wave comes at a time when Mabira is also greatly threatened.

The mafias in the corridors of power who wanted Prof G Bukenya down must be smiling from ear to ear since the VP found trouble from the most unlikely angle: a babe called Jamirah Nusula Nakku. Last year Tony Blair’s number two John Prescott found himself in a similar situation with an office lady just like VP Bukenya. What is it with office ladies?

The nosy and aggressive UK tabloids had a field day. One even suggested that Prescott had shown that age is nothing but a number. It further said the scandal was a great source of inspiration to ageing and old Britons that you can still be a tiger in bed even at the ripe age of 67! Matters were worsened when the Prescott babe sold her sensational story to the tabloids. At 58, Bukenya is still a young Turk, and Nakku might not therefore have anything sensation to sell to the press, that’s if anything happened, and if the Ugandan media can pay a fortune for such stories.

You might not know it but the other lady in a storm is Bukenya’s Press Secretary, Linda Nabusayi. For Nabusayi it’s not been a soft ride. If there is any PR job that has been challenging in the past couple of years it has been Nabusayi’s. She’s been hoping from one storm into another. Now she’s just landed a monumental hot one whose origin is the bedroom.

‘VP Bukenya is not involved in any intimate relationship with any woman apart from his wife Margaret,’ a no nonsense Nabusayi was quoted as saying in the media. Poor lady, she’s been doing a great job for a boss who is always followed by scandals.

In the business of PR just like in law, it’s always advisable to read about how others who have faced similar situations sorted out theirs. This way you avoid landing and creating new dilemmas. There also numerous philosophical and ethical foundations that can help a PR make take an ethically justifiable stance that can be believed by right thinking members of the society. I am waiting to see the new twists and turns in the Nakku- Bukenya saga and how Nabusayi will stand up to the lion skinning task in her hands.

Uganda is still a conservative country- matters are worsened by the fact that VP Bukenya has close ties with one of the most dogmatic religions in the world (hey I am a catholic and a Benedict fan). If like Prescott he admits the affair, that politically could be the end of his political career as the catholic establishment would most unlikely want to be associated with a man who cheats on his wife (please, again never mind that most Ugandan men cheat on their wives/fiancés/ girl friends). The mafia’s might also be lurking in the dark waiting to pounce at the Prof when he is at his most vulnerable. The only way through for Bukenya, to temporary keep afloat, is to ask he who has not sinned to throw the first stone. After all haven’t we been hearing rumours of No 1 tangling with an officemate.


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Kidnapped By A Nairoberry Mafioso

A few months ago when Makerere University dons downed their tools and went on strike, I took a shot of a Kenyan student somersaulting from the roof of a motorist’s car at Bwaise. This was at a ‘check point’ put up by largely Kenyan contingent to collect ‘taxes.’

The said motorists was the ‘stubborn’ type and had refused to pay the ‘taxes’ but to show him that he was dealing with ‘trained commandos’ one of the ‘tax collectors’ jumped on the roof of his car, banged a summersault and stood firmly on his feet with his eyes fixed firmly at the driver . That was enough to scare the man on the wheels out of his whits: he handed over a few coins to the somersaulting chap. But the guy outrightly refused until he was given a 20,000 shillings in 5,000 denomination.

‘You’re a bad man,’ I told him. ‘Yes I am bad boy; I am not from Kampala, I am from Nairobi,’ he yelled with a heavy Kenyan accent and pointed his middle finger at me before he proceeded to share the loot with his other pals.

The ‘tax collecting operation’ that was being obeyed by most motorists only ended when Kaihura’s boys arrived and sent the pack into disarray.

Now that’s to show you that the increased number of Sukuma-Wiki selling kiosks around Makerere is not the only Kenyan impact in Uganda; the new haven for Kenyans seeking quality education( now, that’s very debatable).

I am typing this in the middle of the night. I am still annoyed with today’s scenario. You see today Friday, 16 of Match, FDC leader retired Col Dr Kiiza Besigye was at Makerere. He addressed a huge rally at the filthiest hall at the University: Lumumba

After it was decided that a ‘saviour’ of his stature should be give a befitting send off. So the trek began from Lumumba via the faculty of Forestry and Nature Conservation to the main building. All this time I was taking pictures hoping I might get a good shot like the somersaulting bad boy from Nairobi.

But I got something else. At the round about opposite CCE Hall other motorists were stuck in their cars. One of the vehicles was a small pick-truck carrying crates of sodas. There was a strong temptation among a section of the rowdy students to give a go at the sodas but others were unwilling. That’s the moment I took. Within a short time I had been grabbed with my belt like a thief. My phone jacked uprooted from my waist. Luckily my phone was in my jean pocket.

‘Who are you? Where do you want to take our pictures?’ I was asked. I showed them my student identity card. That was not enough to save me. A Kangaroo court of guys speaking only in Kiswahili 'tried’ and found me 'guilty.' The Chief Judge was a huge guy built like a box carrier. I noticed he was the guy who was stopping those who wanted to pinch me during the scuffle. He ordered that I delete all the pictures I had taken which I did. But for unclear reasons he wanted to me to also delete other older pictures not for that day! I sensed it was a delaying tactic for the others to go so he could embark on his real mission.

After he held both my shoulders and looked straight in my eyes: Now listen you know I have saved your life and you can’t leave me like that. At this stage his colleagues were shouting ‘waca wuyo jama (leave that guy), they wanted to catch up with the Besigye crowd.

‘How much is your camera?’ the Chief Judge asked.

‘200,000 shillings,’ I promptly replied, knowing it was now a battle of wits.

‘Jama waca ku danganya (man, stop lying).Don’t joke with me. I am a bad boy. I love chaos. Do you hear? This camera is between 400,000 to 600,000 thousands. See how much you can give me considering the mentioned price and that I have saved your life.’

I kept quite to think for a quick response but before I could come up with one my captor who was taking advantage of a tree shade yelled:

‘My fee for saving your life, camera and for all that you have in your bag is 200,000 shillings.’ the bully from Kibaki’s land told me with a stone face. From his look he had the ability to smash my camera or run a way with it. So I had to be careful not to anger him. But for the first time I wished I were a Kanyama. I would have applied what wrestlers call a Double Nelson and twisted his back.

‘If you can’t get that money now let me give you my number and you call me when you get it then I give you your camera,’ he continued.

‘I don’t have that money now but we can go to the ATM at the bank and I get it for you,’ I said hoping I could find out a way in a well lite place

‘No I want what is with you now, ok get me 100,000 shillings, ok since you’re a brother get 50,000.’

‘Man you know you’re a brother, you know student life I don’t have all that money now.’

‘Ok get me your wallet’.

Now that was a new twist I didn’t expect from the Kibaki mafia. I had 15,000 shillings in the wallet and another 20,000 in my trouser pocket.

Eventually he walked away with my 10,000 shillings for ‘saving my life and camera.’ But I am still pissed because it was forced it out of my throat and also because I was not born in Kololo neither do I live in Bunga. But now I know why Kenyan university students can riot and cause mayhem over a simple thing as introducing plastic plates in the mess! Not that all Kenyans are bad, but there’s alot that seems to have come to study how to puff illegal stuff in Uganda and spend all their time drinking crude at Maama Nampiima's and Maama Kiviri’s. With strikes and protests rocking the country, the drunkos and Mafioso’s from Kenya might end up playing key roles in future ‘revolutions’

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