Even I can do better than that

The following is an unedited excerpt from the Red Pepper, which as you’ll no doubt guess from the name is Uganda’s finest daily newspaper:

STREET DISABLED TO BE ARRESTED – POLICE

All disabled people on the streets of Kampala will be arrested and prosecuted, police has decreed. The police liaison officer at Old Kampala Police Station, Enock [sic] Tumwesigye, said the order to arrest them comes after a police study found out the disabled people are involved in crimes like murder, aggravated robbery, and theft, among others.

Some people will have found that very funny whereas others may well be outraged. For the latter group, let me reassure you that the ‘newspaper’ from which the quotation is lifted is not really a purveyor of journalism of any kind, but simply uses real people and places to write works of brief but complete fiction. The front page headline that very same day was “PASTOR PAID SHS200M FOR SODOMY VIDEO”, which claims that a certain Pastor Kayanja of Rubaga Miracle Centre (yes, it’s really called that) has been paid $100,000 by American homosexuals for filming the aforementioned act being performed in his church. According to the paper’s “sources”, “most of the Pentecostal churches in Uganda are funded by gay groups in Europe and America.” So if you ever wondered what libel laws are for…

Even with such defamatory claims plastered all over the front page of Uganda’s answer to the red-tops, it’s hard to feel too sorry for Pastor Kayanja – my work colleague recently got a poor and dishevelled young girl knocking at her home, collecting donations to buy the man a private jet so he can spread the gospel worldwide. There’s nothing quite like using religion to exploit the weak for personal gain!

Friendometer

Last weekend found me at a huge and no doubt hugely loss-making outdoor concert arranged by Orange mobile phones, who are currently spending all their European profits desperately trying to win Ugandan customers from their four established competitors. I wasn’t helping their financial situation since I’d bagged myself a free ticket, sim card and ten grand’s airtime (shillings, remember, not pounds). As any Ugandan will readily tell you, it’s not about having the know-how but the know-who, the “who” in this case being a certain Roger Kaweesa who climbs masts for the eponymously citric French telecommers, and can explain the difference between microwaves that magically cook food and microwaves that magically transform into a voice in your ear. Anyone involved in such wizardry deserves a shout-out in my blog even before they help me with free stuff, in the name of human social interaction. Keep us talking, Roger!



Not long after arriving at the event in Kampala’s impressive cricket oval (no, they hadn’t fenced off the green), me and my fellow PEAS Muzungus were approached by a group of Canadian doctors who introduced themselves with the words “we couldn’t help noticing, but you’re white.” This prompted a situation where a sarcastic response requires such little wit it’s simply not worth it. I suppose they can be forgiven on the basis of finding a common ground so quickly. Having spent a week or so with a nasty cough (see below), I canvassed for a bit of free medical consultation, but the instant diagnosis of Tuberculosis didn’t really help the rapport.

Shaggy was the evening’s headline act and wasn’t as old as he should have been considering he used to tell me about how they call him Mr Bombastic, Stella Fantastic all the way back when I was in primary school. This was thanks to Pat Sharp and his cronies sending this important communiqué through the speakers of my radio. Mercifully Pat has long since desisted from inflicting his mullet upon us; Shaggy, on the other hand, has evidently failed to grasp the benefits of fading into obscurity, first among them being the wellbeing of the general public. Mr Lover Man was disappointingly underfed for someone with such a troglodytic voice, but I quickly forgave him both his incongruously slim figure and his unlikely youth, since by the time he came onstage I was already far too drunk to appreciate his famous homage to Carolina, not to mention the other Caribbean delights that were croaked and grumbled our way.

Close Encounters of the Medical Kind

The persistence of my cough has led to everyone I know advocating for the latest homemade miracle cure, which though tempting (gin, honey etc.) seem to me to be bound only to worsen the problem. It is just unfortunate that Ugandans find the sound of the human body’s reflexive attempts to remove trapped phlegm absolutely hilarious, disconcertingly referring to the involuntarily loosening efforts as ‘rockets’. When I suffered an attack just as the beginning credits started rolling in a darkened cinema, people didn’t even bother to attempt to conceal their titters. I was tempted to launch some ‘rockets’ in their direction, but quickly reflected that as the visitor, it was my job to adapt to local culture and therefore suffering their laughter was the only noble thing to do.

Despite regularly descending into cascades of these suffocating exertions, gasping for air between each episode like an asphyxiated fish, I have so far comprehensively refused to seek medical counsel (drunk Canadians aside), much to the vexation of most of the people I know. My feeling is that like all life’s challenges, illness can be beaten by sheer determination, and as soon as you give in and take medicine then you have somehow failed. However, the likelihood of the infliction simply being a stubborn legacy of a mild cold gets more remote by the day, and I am beginning to regularly review my vocabulary of respiratory diseases to see if I actually know anything about them: tuberculosis, bronchitis, pneumonia, swine flu…

Erratum

It’s only taken me nine months to realise that the title of my regular feature ‘Close Encounters of the African Kind’ is not very right-on, since it unfashionably lumps an entire continent into one whilst simultaneously assuming that said continent is prone to near-misses of all varieties. I apologise to those who may rightly be offended by such prejudice. To those who object because they know such sentiments are not in vogue, I will dutifully doff my postcolonial flatcap to your elevated status as savvy global citizen, before starting work on my new feature, ‘Absurd Political Correctness of the Western Developed Nations’ Kind.’

Gallery of shame

If you ever wondered how teenage girls pass their school lunchtime, the following defacing of my fine photography by my endearingly insulting cousin Eleanor might shed some light:



Competition time

Despite publication of Chapter 2 of the Fable of the Chameleon and the Shoebill Stork, voter turnout is still pitfully low at just 2 people. My father has a possible explanation:

I see you have encountered the problem faced by many democracies today, how to engage with the electorate and persuade them to use their vote. Your approach of persuasion is in deed eloquent. However, I’m not convinced that SHOUTING is the best approach to electoral reform and public engagement. One Barack Obama seems to have managed that using modern technology and reputedly sends out an email every week, to 1 billion addresses! However, I doubt the contest between the Shoebill and the Chameleon warrants such heavy promotion. Given the choice between one candidate who can’t control themselves and the other who likes the sound of their own voice, I can see the argument for disengagement and abstention. One wonders what each of them might be claiming on their expenses, oratory and deportment lessons perhaps, or maybe a high tech designer Chameleon house… Now if we had a candidate who willing serves the people, was personable and showed a tolerant attitude to all, then we might have someone we could vote for. Hence I vote for the Rhino.

Unfortunately, in this great political allegory – I like to think of it as an Animal Farm for the 21st century – the rhino is playing the role of electoral commission, so though we can rest assured of his integrity and dutiful service, he is not eligible to be voted.