Its great to be me. I really believed that. Three years ago, i was a mere member of parliament. I voted in favour of Museveni every time, and as things in politics are, that came with a price. I heard the rumours about me being appointed to a ministerial post, but it still came as a suprise the day it was announced. I could smell the dollars trickling into my off-shore accounts. I had been a clean MP according to the press, and i was hoping to keep it that way. That is why i believed it was good to be me.
No offence, but i wasnt as dumb as those that got arrested for killing their eighteen year old spouses, Or as silly as those who rob billions at ago from the global fund, or as insane as those who steal land only to make headlines…. that was not me. I knew how to grow my accounts without publishing my telephone showers with television screens in magazines.
The evening was like anyother. As i mentioned before, i was one lucky son of the Almighty. One of the few ministers with offices in the parliament. This was great. I mean this meant i could stay in my office till late watching Jack Bauer save the world, and still get praised for being one of the most hardworking ministers. As long as i visited the jon in time to bump into the Speaker, and announce how i have to stay in office and work on getting investors down to my constituency. The German investors. Those were the ones i used most of the time.
So after doing my rounds, i decide to leave. What to do on a beautiful tuesday night. I was out of options. I asked the driver to drive to Serena next door, so i could have a few drinks. On the way out, something caught my eye. The dirty peasants. I had been fighting to get them off the parliament gate, but everytime i tried, they appeared with new commodities. At first it was sweet peps, (the sweets i hated coz they reminded me of my poor childhood that i hated being associated with), then airtime, now newspapers. But before i could ask the driver to attempt to knock them, i noticed the headlines in one of the papers. Red paper of 24.06.09 to be exact!
German investors hand the list to Museveni ‘

Sweat. It was being manufactured real fast. It was almost running down my face. How could this be? I know i had earned alot of money from the failed investment deals with those Germans. But i didnt take them for the kind of people that tell on you! The rattling type.
This wasnt happening. The last time i had escorted Bukenya to the shrines, on one of his many visits, the old woman had said i would die an expensive death. Cardiac arrest and heart attack. I just thought she was saying that to show the Vice President that she can pronounce the words. I guess she was right. I could sense pain in my left breast area. What could i do?? If i was asked to refund all i had taken, the money would buy Temangalo ten times over. I had always thought i would die a hero and my people down in Amolatar would weep for six months. Again, i guess i was wrong!
I needed a plan. This heart attack was coming on fast.
The paper said the list had been handed over to Museveni himself. I didnt even have the energy to open the paper and check out the list. I just knew i was on it. The rest were probably people from his area who had been in the bush and were thus justified to steal, as had been evidenced in the recent years.
Then i realised. The paper was for wednesday. Many people buy papers in the morning. I could go and buy all the papers out now, then find a way to convince the big man that i could get even the roudy bakiga to vote for him, come the next election. How to do that, id work it out later. So i ordered the driver to begin the hunt for newspaper vendors. I didnt realise they were that many. Seven hundred and ten papers later, i realised i wasnt even close. I couldnt travel through out the whole country. I resigned to accepting my fate. I would call my bankers first thing tomorrow morning so that the money is shifted to a Swiss account. I was made to believe those cannot be traced. I then gathered the courage to open the paper and see the rest of my comrades. Maybe together we could come up with a way to kill the story.
It was well written out in paragraphs. Wow. They didnt want to list the names the way other papers would do it. They wanted people to read the whole story so they could really see the evidence of our corruption. With a pained expression and a heavy heart, i started to read. They talked about the things we all knew about. Global fund, temangalo, blah blah blah. I just read so i wouldnt miss a name. However as i neared the end, my joy and anger could not be told apart. To quote the wicked writers, or eagle eyed scoops as they are called,
‘The list of the corrupt ministers was handed over to Museveni, who immediately put it under his armpit, and no one saw the names.’
Now if only i had read the paper immediately!!!! There was no story!!!! I wished i could sue the bastards for disrupting the rhythm of my heart beat. I thus decided to open up a stall outside parliament to sell the seven hundred something papers i had collected! Now i could go talk to the big man in private, and we could work out a solution. When all this is done, i think ill begin the fight against heart disease, in other words, RED PAPER!