CAMPUSERS! WHAT WOULD WE DO WITHOUT YOU?

Campusers. The sources of all evil! That is what many believe, and i am proud to say i am one of them. These people, especially the girls, have a way of life that is just too too baed, especially when you need them for revenge on the male species.
You can either arrange for her to bleed his pockets dry till he cries out for blood transfusion, or you could just arrange for her to wreck his family and everything he has built for the past 30years. These are usually the two options that are presented when the topic is brought up for discussion. But alas there is another one. This one had even me, the revenge seeker, in thick blankets because i was shivering. Let me break it down for you.
It was totally his fault. He deserved it. He cheated on me with other girls, even though we were not formally in a relationship. I mean, so what if i accepted to be reduced to a friend of benefits? Does that mean you still go out and find a girl for the public eye? You do not make a fool of me and get away with it. That was when i decided i’d call in the help of the evil- mastermind. Her name was Shiela, but we all referred to her as the ‘CAMPUSER’. She was rather proud of her nickname. Despite her thick kiganda accent (and you know how local that can sound), her wierd walking style (still trying to figure out if its a limp), and her potruding belly, she still managed to look on point, mainly due to the fact that she had expensive clothes. She was always ready to respond to a ‘sister’s’ cry for revenge. It was believed that she had taken an oath to make men pay for the pain they cause women. Anyway so she came over and we had a talk. I tod her about Abid, and she, as usual, presented the options. Seeing as he is naturally a broke man, i decided against emptying his pockets. What’s the point if they are already empty. Disorganising his family was also eliminated. I beg not to disclose the reason why. Anyway the third option is the one that made me shiver. It made me weak at the knees. It made me swet. All this at the same time. To sum it all up, i loved it. She was to begin effecting her plan that evening.
At around 7.30, as Abid left akamwesi for his evening lectures, we bumped into him. I introduced her and ten minutes later, she had his number. He must have been thinking his game was tight, seeing as it had been easy. I watched his smile of satisfaction and knew mine was not far.
Two weeks later, im seeing they are tight!
EH! OK! If this is still part of the plan… kiika!
A week later, im in my room minding my own business as usual, when Abid comes knocking. I let him in and he breaks down. He keeps wailind about how he is sick. He knows he is sick. He wants to kill himself… bla bla bla!
All the yap yap yadiyadah is getting to me, but i decide to play the caring friend of benefits and i encourage him to talk to me. This is his story:

‘After i met Shiela, a friend of mine told me she was a loose chick. So i talked to her about it and she told me how everyone loved spoiling her name. She was even a virgin. Why do people say things which are not true. She told me to tell her who had said those things so they can come and testify if they had slept with her to find out. With all her tears i was totally convinced. She has this vulnerability about her that cannot allow you walk away from her just like that. Two weeks later we started moving out. She started slowly pushing or sex, but i wanted to take my time for this virgin. Finally, the time came. She was temptation itself. Even if i had wanted to hold back, i wouldnt have had the will to. We had no condoms, but since she had me convinced she was a virgin, i figured she would swallow the pills later on. Her boldness should have triggered something, but waaah! I was too taken up. I only came to my senses when i put Jack Bauer inside Sophie, and there was no resistance. Immediately i pulled out. She was as wide as a basin. As soon as that was done, i knew i was sick.’
I said my sorries, exscused myself, went to the bathroom, opened the shower, flashed the toilet and laughed my eyes out, and died. After that short session, i resurrected, walked out and offered to escort him for a blood test the following day at TASO Mulago.
The following day, i picked him up and we were off. I tried my best to make him feel at ease, but i wasnt doing a good job at that! He kept emphasizing how useless it was if the virus cannot be detected till after five months. As much as i wanted to aknowledge that he is right, i had to play along with Shiela and take him for the blood test. We reached towards lunch time and were made to wait. There was a que forming right next to us, and when we asked what it was for, we were told that those were the AIDS patients lining up for their meds. No sooner had we asked than we saw Sheila emmerge from the room where the sick were entering. She came out holding many tablets. At first i thought i had seen someone else. So this is why she had insisted i drag him along for an HIV test. Abid saw her, right before his legs gaveway, and he collapsed.
If there were doubts that revenge was sweet, this time it was confirmed.
Campusers!!!!!!!!!! What more can i say!!!!!!!
NB: It was all an act on her part. I forced her to take a test and it came out Negative!

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EDUCATION!

Education is very important, atleast to my parents. They value it so much that they will invest alot in their children up till university, and even past. Parents are really passionate about education, as they deem it a means to success. Children on the other hand, fail to see this.
I remember when i was young, i really hated school. I still do, but back then it was worse. My sisters and i used to fake sikness so that we would be allowed to stay home. This my parents tolerated for so long. It is how i perfected my fake asthmatic attacks.
But one day, it was really serious. My elder sister was in primary seven, and my parents wanted her in school all the time. So when she caught chicken pox, it was a terrible time for them. It did not help that the weeks she was missing were just an extended term for the candidates, while the rest of us were on holiday. For days all she did was walk around the house smeared in that white medicine that made her look like a ghost, eat, and watch tv. Even sleep was limited. This really frustrated my parents. They cared about her health, but evidently not as much as her education.
She had been home for almost two weeks, and there was not much progress. The chicken pox were still swollen, and as much as the doctor had given her medicine so they could dry up, this wasnt happening as fast as they had expected. My mother, being the one whol believes in impossibilities, decided to take matters into her own hands and heal my sister.
She got a basin, half-filled it with warm water, and a well folded face towel, and headed to the room where the sick one lay.
‘How are you feeling love?’ she asked!
‘Worse mummy. I dont know. These things are really itchy and painful.’
‘Dont worry. Let me just use this face towel to clean your sores.’
At this point, i decided to leave the room, not wanting to watch the fluid filled swellings being cleaned.
No sooner had i left the room than i heard a piercing scream. No doubt it was coming from my sister. I rushed back to the room only to find my mother bursting the swellings with a pin she had carefully hidden in the facetowel.
‘You shall get better and go to school.’ She kept shouting, hoping my sister would hear her above the screams. This was too too funny. My mother had honestly run mad; but atleast her tactics worked faster than any medication the sick one had been taking. To this day, i still laugh myself to tears everytime i see a chickenpox victim.

FASHION POLICE sunday magazine

A cerain sunday, i laughed as i read Buzz’s article about the chick who was in the worst dressed thing. It was more than hillarious. I personally had never known anyone who had been put in the newspapers for worst dressed. I actually thought they were hired to wear those hideous outfits, and paid well. It always seemed like most of them actually posed for the snaps, and that is what convinced me they definately knew they would be hitting the papers that sunday. I mean, how was one supposed to be suprised if a whole camera crew came infront of them, took their pictures, asked them to turn around and took some more pictures, then flashed their sunday vision magazine ids?? Ofcourse this was always expected.
I wish i had met the girl Buzz and his negative friend met before she appeared in the papers, so she could tell me her story, because what i received when i opened the sunday magazine yesterday but one was more than shock!!!!! It was such a big shock it took a whole day for me to get my head together and actually write about it! There on the front page, smiling at the camera, 31 all out (obviously 31 coz you could see a gap thus eliminating one), eyes wide open, was the girl i remember standing next to quite well. The thought that it could have easily been me was so overwhelming, especially considering the fact that i have curfew, so questions would have been raised as to what i was doing after sunset, i just wept!!!!!!!!!
I still cant believe it could have easily been me! Lemme go weep again! there is a God after all!

CAT-FIGHT ALL FOR ME…………UNWANTED!

“I want someone to fight for me. No scratch that. I want people to fight for me. Chicks to be exact. Im a 23 year old guy, been to all those nice schools everyone talks about, but i have never had that opportunity to be fought over. Usually i get a girl, stay with her for sometime, get another girl, have both for a while, then just stop contacting one, and the trend goes on. I really want to know what it feels like to watch girls draw blood. To watch them pull artificial hair, as i watch from the sidelines. To hear them scream, and not even feel a thing. I want to be one of those guys who dont flex to get attention. One of those who can cause a world war without being a German. Yes. Thats what i want.’
Those were my thoughts just two hours ago.
Two hours! You are probably wondering what could have happened to change my line of thought. Well, im standing at the sidelines but not exactly how i had imagined, because these girls are pulling at my shirt. They are fighting for me alright, but i have a feeling when i tell them i cannot afford, they will turn on me. You see, everytime i thought of girls fighting for me, i looked at it as a win situation for me, despite the outcome. Unless ofcos they both get killed, in which case i would have to console family members, and i hate that. But this was different. These girls were both determined to win, and this determination was more than i could ever have bargained for.
So you’re probably wondering which hostel in Kyambogo im in, considering thats where all the girl drama takes place. Well, im not even a boda away from there. To be exact, i am at Speke road.
I know what your thinking!!!!
Just stop thinking.
Its not like that.
I was from comedy night at the national theatre, and realised my wallet was missing and my phone. I thus had no choice but to walk home, to kamwokya. So this is all happenning while i am on my innocent walk home.
It started when this girl approached me. She was putting on a really big belt, but she looked wierd. Maybe it was the fact that her eyelids could not remain open. She kept blinking, honetly i was getting worried. Thats the only reason why i actually stopped to listen to her. Who passes up a chance to be a nice guy?? I didnt see the other girl come up behind me. When i saw her outfit, i knew i was definately in trouble. Some may argue that they saw a top, but i swear upon my intelligence that it was a handkerchief across her chest! If i had looked closely enough, im sure i would have been able to see the pins holding it together.
That is when they started. It was verbal diarrhoea at first! Yes. It was flowing like that; that fast, but it did not last long. Soon the hairs were flying, belts were being pulled, handkerchiefs tearing, the paint on their eyes mixing with the sweat; this by all means was not a good sight, despite the fact that it was for me.
Anyway, to cut the long story short (and believe me it was long, 63minutes to be exact), what ended the fight was me admitting that the best i could do was offer them 300shs for airtime. They could split that. I was willing to be like the old woman who gave up her last coin in the bible. Although my kindness earned me a few slaps, i took them as a man, and was glad when i finally walked away without being followed.
From now on, i dont think i want to be fought over. Unless its over the internet!! No harm can come out of that!

Red paper, easiest way to heart failure!

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!
‘TEN MOST CORRUPT MINISTERS NAMED
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!

uhmmm….. failed to get a title!

The first time i met you, you said i looked like the kind of person who knew exactly what she wanted. I took that as a compliment. Believed in myself. I am now a thirty year old jobless spinster. You now turn around and say you’re dissapointed in me. Ouch!
But thats besides the point. Thats not even half of what i wanted to get off my chest. There’s this thing bothering me. Personally i believe that everyone should be able to speak their minds.
Take an example of this receptionist who is turned into the accountant because the original accountant, who was earning an accountant’s pay, got pregnant and thus had to go on the long awaited three months pregnancy leave. This receptionist earns less than a quarter of what the accountant originally earned, and is by far the least paid employee at the company, right after the gateman, who doubles as the cleaner. The point is, any normal person would have thoughts, or better still, things racing through their minds. Now why cant they be allowed to speak their minds. Why cant they tell the boss to raise their salary as they are being overworked and given duties that were not part of their job description, which happened to be answering phone calls. Why cant they leave work early and say they will not do what they are asked because they are not in that airconditioned corner office with a lovely view. I mean numbers cannot be properly counted at the front desk! Everyone freaking knows that. I mean why! Why cant she say that and everyone else accepts and takes her thoughts into consideration!
But noooo! The boss feels her airing her views in the middle of his board meeting as she delivers the coffee is just inappropriate. Or is it because i managed to get the attention of all the board members?? Wait a sec. Did i say i?? Oh no. My bad. Definately not me. That unfortunate receptionist. Anyway, all in all, the boss feels the need to render her jobless because of thoughts that he would have been having had he been the receptionist who got the job to only answer phonecalls, and now instead, answers phone calls, is a tea girl, and, wait for the demotion,(breathing……with difficulty..) an accountant!
Anyway, in my view, i believe her point of view should have been respected.
Another example. Wait. This one is kind of different. Personally i think a great relationship is one where you are comfortable with your partner. You are free enough to tell them anything, or do anything for that matter, and they will still love you, because that is what they do anyway. Or so i thought.
Now it so happens, there is this girl. Some girl, somewhere. I also just heard the story from a friend of her friend’s ex husband who works with another friend of the girl in question. Now this girl meets a guy, and they hit it off. Start dating and stuff. Six months later, they move in together. Guy’s nice crib in Kyebando Kisalusalu. Right next to Sudhir’s new campus. Anyway, they are happy together. She is comfortable and she knows her man loves her no matter what. She tells him everything, and is not shy to use the loo when he is watching. Her man works the night shift at MTN, three days a week. So on this one day, he leaves for work and she terribly misses him. So she gets his best suit and sleeps in it. Full suit. Coat and tie, soaks and all. The shoes happen to be extremely extra large so she does without them. Anyway so he comes back at seven, ofcos by this time she is already up getting ready to go to the company where she used to work to beg for her receptionist job back. Oh wait, dont think the above is related. Oh no. Please!! How can it be? Anyway as long as i emphasize that its not me. Back to the story of this wierd chik. So dude comes back tired, but you know guys, always having deals and meetings on deals. Well this was one of those days where he had a meeting, and he had to wear his best suit. To cut the long story short, i happened to have drooled on the coat and the saliva stains were really unhideable. So visible, even to the injured boda man at the stage with poor site. Thing is, i didnt really think it was that bad, and the other two times id done it, Jerry had seemed not to mind. Or was that because i had not mentioned it?? Anyway, this time it was so bad, so she tells him. She. That chik. I am so into myself that sometimes i write I instead of she, so please, disregard that. Its not about me. Point! He gets really upset and he stays that way. He is so upset he even helps her transport her things back to her parents house. His reason, he cannot live with someone like that. But she missed him. It was all for love. Did she deserve this cruel treatment? He then sends her a message on facebook telling her he wants out. Who facebooks a breakup?? Honestly who dumps people on facebook? So he changed his number, not that i would have called to beg. I just wanted to leave a thank you message.
Anyway, guess you were right to say you were dissappointed. Being thirty with no job and no man is not sexy at all.
Oh. Here comes my replacement. (Did i mention there is no internet at home so i carried my laptop to the company! Anti the beauty of wireless)She doesnt even walk as well as i do. That job stealer. She is probably working under pressure with peanuts for a salary! Hmmm but atleast she brings good news; the boss will see me now. Lemme go beg for my job back. Hopefully ill atleast get coffee girl! I gotta learn to keep my mouth shut!

ABOKE GIRLS IN THE REBEL CAMP II

The journey was unbearable. The heat was stinging, and the hunger and thirst that we tried to ignore had reached its bliss point. There was no water in sight, and somehow God had decided to shut the sky so no rain fell. We depended on the dew that the leaves had in the morning, and in the late afternoon, we released our urine into eachother’s mouths so we wouldnt die of thirst.
After what felt like a decade, but was just three days, we reached our supposed destination. We had crossed the border, but you couldnt tell. Everything seemed the same. The small temporary hut-like structures that blended in the bushes however showed that we would definately not be there that long.
It was the first night there when we saw him. They called him ‘The Great One’. No one spoke his name, but from the pictures that i had seen in the Rupiny newspaper, i knew it was him. The leader of the LRA. Joseph Kony. His dreads brought out the beast in him.
He addressed us like a normal person. Telling us how everything would be ok as long as we obey what the spirits said. He then called everyone else to gather round, and that is when i realised how big the numbers actually were. There were small children holding guns, pregnant girls with pangas, men and women alike. They all did not look frightened. It was just us, the new comers. We were asked to stand in the middle, and were then distributed to the other men as wives. This time i was picked first. He wanted me for himself, but then changed his mind. I was given to another commander i later came to know only as Opiongweeda. Before we were allowed to retire to our shelters, we were given a strict warning not to escape. One boy, he must have been twelve years of age, was called into the circle. From the tears in his eyes and the screams, you could tell this was not going to end well.
‘This is what happens if any of you attempt to escape.’
Another boy of about sixteen was given a log. It was huge.
‘Show them,’ he said.
The boy wasted no time in beating the young one to death. His head was split open, and the blood was everywhere. The boy’s pleas fell on deaf ears, as the older commanders cheered. Just before he died it was decided that he was a strong one, and he was taking too long. A panga was then brought and the young boy was cut up into pieces.
The tears that flowed from my eyes were filled with heartbreak and disgust. The look on the young boy’s face, one i would never forget, but a look i was yet to get used to. A fire was lit, and the boy’s parts were thrown in a pot and put to boil. I turned away.
That night, i knew it was coming. We were wives and we were expected to play the part. I didnt want to feel anything. I lay down and tried to shut out the world, and everything around me. When he touched my breasts, i knew better than to protest. He took his time. All i wanted was for it to all be over, but he wasnt having any of that. He asked me to remove all my clothes. I did as i was told. He bit at my ear, and then my neck. My nipples; he almost drew blood. He pushed my legs apart and fixed his fingers.
When he finally entered, the pain was hard to ignore. I felt the blood afterwards. It left that sticky feeling. The only prayer i had was that i would not get infected with the disease. But he hadnt used those things they give out at school for free. Protector. I think thats what its called. After he was done, he forced my head on him. There was no water, he said, and he had to be cleaned. I held the vomit back and did what i was told. He patted me on the back and said, ‘itimo aber’, ‘you’ve done well.’
That was my first time. That was how i lost it. That was the day i had dreamed all my life.
In the days that followed, i found out that he knew my aunt. He stayed almost next door to her in Kirombe in Gulu, and they were once friends. His attitude towards me changed. He never let me do the work the rest of the girls did, and he always insisted that i get served meals with him. He still had intercourse with me, but he would apologise after. I grew to appreciate his knidness. This was really God.
We had been at that camp for eight days when we were woken up to move. Gunshots were all we could hear. The UPDF had somehow managed to find the camp. Turns out we were not so far into Sudan, and the UPDF had managed to get jurisdiction.
Everyone was given a gun except the girls, who were told to grab the babies and run. One of the older girls seemed to have a clue where we were running to. She said everything was planned in advance and we were to run to another camp.
I was frightened. The gunshots seemed to be getting closer. You could hear screams. People were dying. I thought of escaping. Running to the UPDF. But it was hard to tell the difference. In the dark, both parties looked the same. I run. As fast as i knew how, and faster. I was running for my life. Following the girls ahead. My life was in their hands.
That night, he died. When the rest returned, he was not one of them. Who was going to protect me now? I mourned his death. I mourned because i knew what i was in for. The atmosphere was tense. Kony was sure somone had sold them out, and so someone had to pay. It could only be one of the people that go to pick the supplies, he insisted. They all denied. Declared how they had pledged their alliegence to him, and begged for their lives. He had paddlocks fixed through their lips, to teach them how to keep secrets, their legs and hands cut off, then their bodies socked in parrafin, and set ablaze.
After two days, the supplies had run out and so a raid was emminent. It was decided that they would go to Laminabili in Gulu district, and get millet, and other supplies.
They left in the evening, hoping to get there by night fall. Many of us stayed behind to keep the camp. By this time, i had been given to an upcoming commander, Odur. I and his first wife were very close as she was my school mate in Aboke Girls. We talked about our lives and our families, and how we had wanted to be nurses at the new hospital that was opening in Lira town. Like me, she was also from Gulu, but wanted to settle in Lira. Having a friend in that camp, someone to talk to, laugh with, cry with, was something that indeed made the whole experience bearable. We talked til we fell asleep.
In the middle of the night we heard the others come back. They were singing. Looks like it had been a good raid. We rushed out to welcome them, and thats when i saw him.
He used to play with my little brother everyday during the holidays. We all called him ‘awobe’, ‘boy’ because non of us knew his real name. He was bleeding. Looked like he had a gunshot wound on his upper hand. Others were with him. They were wailing. I went up to him. He recognised me. I hugged him. Words were not necessary. He knew i understood what he felt.
I took him away from the rest and tried to nurse his wound. I convinced Odur to let him be our helper so i could take care of him. He told me about his parents. His mother had been raped infront of them, and then both her and his father had been beheaded. He had watched from a hole in the hut before he was captured. It had happened to so many, he said. The rebels had only wanted the little ones. The old were either chopped, or burnt or shot, those who were shot being the lucky ones. I felt for him. He had so much hatred in his eyes, and i felt for him. I needed to protect him.
Months later, he joined the army. He changed. He would come and tell me stories of how the bullets could not touch his body. I watched with horror as he would describe the killings he had carried out. He was looking for a promotion. At the age of 13, his dream was to become a commander and have lots of women, killing those who stood in his way, just like Kony himself. And it was not just him. They had all changed. He always said it would happen to me too when i experienced the joy of taking a life. I prayed that day would never come. I prayed hard, but one thing the bush had taught me, prayers were seldom answered.

ABOKE GIRLS IN THE REBELS’ CAMP

‘What is she wearing?’ I thought to myself. ‘I know its just night prep, but doesnt she realise the cute student teacher will be patrolling?’
These were my thoughts, as i dressed up for prep. In my school, Aboke Girls, most of us were from the village, Lira or Gulu, and some from Apac, but one thing for sure is that we knew how to dress as well as those in kampala. We were allowed to wear our own sweaters over our uniforms, only for night prep, so you had to make sure the sweater was nice, or rather ballistic as many of us termed it.
I got dressed, in my pink and yellow sweater, ontop of the dress i would shorten with safety pins during prep. Make-up! What would i do without it? I put my black crayon and vaseline into my small purse, and headed to class.
Three hours. We were expected to read for three hours before we were sent off to bed. The night was just like any other, or rather, every other. I drew pictures of my teacher on my book, and threw papers at the girls in my dorm whose looks i found pathetic. Not that i could understand their pain; i was one of the prettiest girls in s.3, and i go to kampala for christmas every year. That alone made me different from them.
Finally it was 10pm.
Dormitory time.
I re-touched my make-up, just incase i passed Mr. Olobbo on my way out. Confident that i couldnt look any better, i headed out.
There he was, standing at the doorway.
‘Goodnight sir’, i blurted out. All i wanted was that smile, and all would be ok. Just like everyother night, he did not dissappoint.
We entered the dormitory, and the prefect, Lanyero Celia, locked the door. I was not sleepy, so i decided to play make-up artist with some friends of mine. They each took turns, and i applied make-up on them. If only i had known what was to come, i would have spent the night scalding my face.
At 11, the matron called out for lights out. Silence descended upon the compuond. This was common. The darkness always brought with it the ghosts of the dead. This is what we were always told, and this is what kept us quiet.
This night was just the same, or so we thought.
At about 10minutes to midnite, it started.
I heard noises and gunshots. We all did. I jumped out of bed and run to the window. Fire had been set to one of the classrooms. Everyone around me started to scream. I was paralyzed. We knew it was them. We just never thought they would dare to come to the school. My dormitory was nearest to the classrooms. I knew they were coming for us, even before they hit the door. Even before they broke it down, and marched us out one by one, guns to our heads.
Silence covered the compound once again, but the smell of death prevailed. The taste of fear was salty, and that of death was bitter. But the pain, oh the pain. That was unbearable. It started deep in my heart. Even before they hit me with the butt of the gun, even before the rebel’s boots met my face. I felt it. I felt it coming, and for a few seconds, it haunted me. After that came the feeling of hopelessness. How many had we heard that had survived rebels’ attacks? How many had lived to tell the tale? Less than a dozen in a whole region. Who was i to think i would be one of them? To think i would stare evil in the eye and walk away to safety.
I lay on the ground, not daring to look up. Lanyero the prefect; I remember her cries. She was asked to kill someone and she refused. I remember her screams. To this day, they pierce through to my soul. Her hands were cut off. A panga was used. They claimed they had no time to play with their food. That is what they called us. ‘Besides, she had no use for them,’ one of the rebels shouted.
She was forced to keep quiet. We learnt to keep our pain hidden. To cry was to seal your fate.
After what felt like an hour, we were asked to stand up and walk. No looking back, and no slowing down. Many of us were given luggage to carry, and whoever slowed down was eliminated.
I remember Sister Mary. She was our white religious teacher. She walked with us, begging the rebels to let us go.
‘Take me instead, she wailed’. But they had no use for a white face. Morning came, and we still walked. When the midday sun was up, we were told to take off our clothes and lie down, face up. With guns cocked within reach of our heads, we mouthed no objections. The leader, or the one who we thought was the leader at the time, smiled. ‘Iwill keep 20 for myself, and the rest, you can have sister.’
‘Please God dont let him pick me.’ That was the only thing runnig through my mind.
‘Beautiful girls with firm breasts.’ Thats what he wanted. Ajok, my bed-mate, was picked first. I had done her makeup perfectly the night before, and i remember everyone telling her not to wash it opff so she would look as pretty in the morning.
I cringed. This cannot be happening.
He walked infront of us. ‘Otti,’ they called him. He picked another girl i could not see, and then i heard him,
‘YOU’ he bellowed.
‘Yes, You hu as de pink en yelo sirt on’
Tears flowed down my eyes. I was picked third. So much for always wanting to be the prettiest around. I would give anything to have my face disfigured. Anything to be laughed at and thrown at papers for having a pathetic face. A face only a mother could love is what i was wishing for. I stood up. All eyes on me, just like i always wanted; only this time it was different. I watched the girls i had insulted everyday lie there on the ground. I watched their ugly faces sigh with relief and i knew many of them had nothin to worry about. For the first time i was filled with envy. Why was i beautiful? Arach, Acayo, Anyanywii, why didnt i look like them? Why couldnt i hide among the charcoal coals and blend in? Maybe then i would know how it feels to escape the fangs of hell. As their shapeless bellies rose with every breath, i stayed with my thoughts.
With my thoughts, time passed. The 20 girls were chosen, and the rest were left to go. They left us their sweaters for the long journey that loomed ahead. I watched Apio and Acen walk away. Turning every few seconds to make sure no one was after them. Sister mary insisted on coming with us. She wanted to have all of us back, but that was not going to happen. We begun the journey once again. As i felt my feet glide across the long reeds, i also felt a pain deep in my chest. A pain that said the worst was yet to come.
With this, i lifted my head and walked toward Sudan.

THE TRADGEDY OF A LENDER

At the beginning of this year, i had reached a point where i believed i was the richest kid in my age bracket. I felt i could go to a bar, call all my friends, feed them till they couldn’t move, then call special hires to get them to their rooms. Yup! I was that rich. I had just landed a job with a not so sounding oil company, and the pay (though not as good as it should be i later figured out), was always on time. Well i believe it is not good to keep such things to yourself, because how then will people know you’re out of their pocket change league?
I paraded my shillings, announced how i was going to buy shares in stanbic(which i never did), assured everyone how my salary is too good it needs to be kept in dollars, and the funny thing, people actually listened.
They listened and they took note. Now that is when the problems started. They begun to beg.
First it was those simple things, i have no transport to town, there is no water and a jerrycan is 200/=, do you have?, i owe that boda man 500/= and he is going to beat me, as i was walking a nail held my dress and tore the knicker i had stolen from my roomate, its 3000/=, bla bla bla!
Considering the fact that i was the one who had declared my wealth without even being forced by the IGG as they do for MPs, i knew i was to blame. So i gave. The more i gave, the more they came up with new stories. Very soon it was,
‘You see this Tv in my room, it really needs speakers. I found someone to get me nice ones at 100,000/=, but they need it asap and i have nothing on me… ill pay you back next week.’ or it was
‘ I have not finished the rent on my three bedroomed house in ntinda. Can you lend me 600,000/=, ill pay you back with interest!’ (did i mention i lived in a small one roomed thing that i shared with another person….). There was also this one,’We are soon doing exams and i have not finished my fees. Please top up for me! Im expecting money at the end of the week!’ (and you wonder why she could not wait till the end of the week to clear her fees as the exam was a month away)
Anyway, all that and more was the price i had to pay for being rich. Well, i gave.
Before i knew it, my stanbic account was in negatives(i had never known that was possible), housing finance was crying out for help, UBA didnt seem to recognise my name! Either it was my imagination or whenever i would insert my ATm card in the machine, the screen would go black then after a few minutes show only one option, DEPOSIT!
I was losing it, or i had lost it. That was when i decided, i was going to demand for my money.
I wrote out a list af all the people who owed me and set out to get my money. Altogether it totalled about 1.5million. I didnt think i needed a plan. I mean its not like when they were borrowing they were not begging, so they would understand me needing my money. (or so i thought).
TARGET 1: I decided on this one first because he seemed to actually have alot of money. Whenever we went out, he would sit at the bar and announce, ‘1 round for everyone on me!’ That is 10people or more some times.
So i send him a message. Simple, and straight to the point!
‘hey xavier the second, son of xavier tomas of kyebando, father of cecilia, concubine of Sir Samuel Baker, one of the first white men to grace our land, i realise it has been long. How are you doing? And the rest? I hear the helper you got from the village gave birth to the shamba boy’s son!! How are the cows, and the goats. I hope you are taking good care of them and fattening them for whenever dowry is called for. Otherwise, i was just sending this sms to kindly request that you pay my 600,000/= as i am in dire need of it. Thank you! God Bless you abundantly. yours, stella maris’
I then sat and waited for the reply that would hopefully tell me what time to knock at his door. I didnt need to wait long as it came immediately! It was indeed simple and straight to the point.
‘i dont have money now. sorry’
I couldnt believe this. I decided to take a walk around wandegeya to cool my head, and who do i see sitted with twelve hot chicks buying them pork and booze! XAVIER THE SECOND SON OF XAVIER TOMAS OF KYEBANDO FATHER OF CELIA CONCUBINE OF SIR SAMUEL BAKER ONE OF THE FIRST WHITE MEN TO GRACE OUR LAND!
I was too upset to think. I felt steam coming out of my ears. I was boiling, i swear i would have roasted that pork faster than that jajja namwandu at the stove! I walked up to Xavier and demanded to have a word with him. The conversation went as follows
Me boiling: ‘hi xavier! i thought you said you have no money! Why dont you just pay me instead of wasting my money on these chiks who wont even remember your name after this?’
Xavier looking confused:’exscuse me but do i know you?’
Me getting irritated: ‘so now you want to deny me! when you were on you knees begging for money for your rent, did i ask if i knew you? did i? did i?’
xavier, standing to his feet:’ok, i can see we have a lumpen here!(shouting) WOMAN, can you please get the beep beep beep beep beep out of here before i call my comrades in the Presidential Guard Unit to deal with you then kill themselves!!!!’
Me, embarrassed: ‘dont bother! just make sure you never run out of money!’
And i took the walk of shame.
At around midnight, i got a text from Xavier telling me his cousin who looks like him was really sorry, but that he had no clue who i was. I told him it was ok. All i needed was my money! (to this day, im still waiting for it).
Well i had found out the hard way, how difficult it is to actually claim what is yours. A friend of mine even told me of people who borrow for a living, then when you go to demand for your money, they embarrass you so badly that it looks like you’re a beggar as well. If i never believed her then, now i did. I thus gave up on chasing the rest! I decided to hire some friend of mine who escaped from the LRA camp last year to track down my debtors and collect my pay! I must say he has managed to do a good job, but he is not going near anyone who knows the Presidential Guard Unit people, as he hears they are not afraid to die with you!

ATTENTION SEEKER!

All of us have met those kinds of people. Yes, you know the ones im talking about. The kinds that just cannot do without attention. They walk into a room and automatically expect all eyes to be on them. If this doesnt happen, they are not worried because they came with ten million other ways in which they will force the attention!
Well on the fateful day of 01/05/09, i happened to come across one of these people. As always, eyes did not fall out of their sockets when she passed, so she resorted to her attention seeking methods. I must admit, many of them did work actually. Being the curious type, i decided to approach her and have her walk me through these things that she so confidently feels will get her attention!
1) THE SHOES!
She greatly emphasized these ones. In her own words, a true attention seeker cannot do without the shoes!!! Aparently, they have to be of the chinese make.
‘If they are not chinese, they will not make that ka sound that calls people. That ka konk konk sound.’
Knowing that these chinese shoes are ‘Gucce’, ‘Louis Vittal’ and the like, who duplicate Gucci and Louis Vitton shoes so the poor can get designer-looking shoes at cheap prices, i let her carry on.
‘Well you see, these shoes, you cant find them just eneweya. You need to go to Lady O, Lady K, Lady N or the YARD!’
At this point i am lost. I pride myself in being a great shopper, and i must say, i have never come across such boutiques. I go ahead and ask her to direct me to these places so i can get myself a pair. Me being the unstylish one in 150,000sh Jimmy Choos. She is not shocked!
‘Ok Lady O is short for Owino, Lady K for Kamwokya, Lady N for Nakawa, and the Yard is that place near the taxi park! But you should go early. That’s when they can reduce for you to 5,000/=’
Now at this point i am really perplexed. I have never imagined shoes could get so cheap. But on looking down, the slanting heel and the tape holding the sole together explain alot.
2) THE HAIR
Now this one was self explanatory, but aparently she felt the need to go into detail! I had to listen.
‘With this hair, you have to make it look different, but still love your country’
(aparently she understood Museveni’s demand for patriotism to be taught in schools as a way to pass, and she is, after all an s.6 who wants to pass her coaching lessons at bat valley, thus do not be alarmed by the black puff, yellow cornrows and red braids.) I just had to tell her how beautiful she looked.
‘You see, you also notice eeehhh! hmm i would have directed you to maama hajati there in kiwajala, but she can be busy.’
I express a limited amount of dissappointment and implore her to proceed.
3) THE PHONES
We basically all know how this one works. You carry around three fones then pay the man at the call box outside the gate 100sh to call all three numbers simultaneously when you beep him, blah blah blah. But she aparently adds a twist to it. She says the power is in the ringtones. You see many people do that, but they will all have the latest hit songs that, although will disrupt the rest, will be loved by many. She however prides herself on owning a small radio tuned to only Radio WA! (For those of you who may not know, this is one of the few stations that broadcats in the North! Only those who can speak Langi, Acholi, or anything close to LRA rebel talk can understand.)
So every morning, she wakes up to record the death announcements, and those will be her ringtones for the day!
So if ever you are in class and you hear, ‘Jaal wuunu, atye kan me miyo wu ngeee, tye atin mo mu utoo ikin waaaa…….’ pliz do not ignore the desire to stare!
4) CRUMPS
As a girl, i consider this a curse because some snake somewhere felt it could not eat its apple alone, so it gave it to eve who felt generous and thus God rained this curse on us, who are even allergic to apples! (And one wonders, what the hell was she doing talking to snakes??)
Anyway, as i was saying, as a girl, crumps are not something i would pride myself on having and thus use them to seek attention. They are just pains that feel like nails are being used to scrape the walls of your uterus, and a sign to moslems, that one is unclean.
Fortunately for her, we do not share the same thought process or watever it is called, so she can go ahead and do as she pleases, which is to scream at the top of her lungs knowing the male at the front will have no clue as to what she is going through!
(Remind me not to complain when my friend says he cannot trust anything that bleeds for more than two days and does not die!)

At this point i am getting tired. Not that she is not interesting, but i am tired of typing these things. So let me just give you the one that crowned my day!

10) THE SMELL
Now when she mentions this, i imagine she is going to pull out a Femme Hugo Boss, or Eternity moment Calvin Klein and spray that revolting ‘kavubuka’ that someone around us has, away, and save our nostrills.
Disappointingly, she does nothin of the sort! She however goes on to say that if she reaches number 10 and no one has paid her any attention, she just……………………….and with that she lifted her arms…………………………and with that , i collapsed!