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I had waited for long. I couldn’t wait any longer. I never thought the day would come; the red letter day i would set my eyes on her. It’s been long since i did so. I last saw her ages ago and her beautiful face’s snap-shot had completely vanished from my memory. But little did i know that the day had come:the big day i had longed for. It came in the knock at my door. The dreadful fears raised their heads at the epicenter of my being. Many thoughts sprung in my dawn mind. ” Who could this be? This with a hard knock, the thick one: too hard to flung the door open,” I thought to myself. I collected my whole self, gained my composure and made a few strides to the door way. I was nervous: too nervous to even touch the door. At this time? It’s 10pm. Every one is deep in their slumber land. And the knock at my door tells me, something may be wrong. ” What’s wrong? I had just cleared my Land lord. My brother told me that he’s not coming back. Who’s this? What’s wrong?,” I pondered with despair. I stood still with my bile in my throat. I went for the bolt, touched it so gently with my hand shaking and trembling. Perhaps i would be dead the next few minutes. I was in a momentary stupor, an umbrella of nervousness. I prayed fastidiously. I tithed studiously for i shouldn’t fear to check on my creator.

I opened the door wearing a smile because am a kind person. The kind of person with a warm smile and a big heart but i was in a reverie of sort. I collapsed in silence. The figure of a girl sprung in my face: in front of me. She had those eyes: how i liked her eyes. She wore that mischievous smile and oh! that long hair that touched her neck. She had put on my favourite clothes and she knew it. She had a sense of style and i liked that and we built castles in the air that one time she would grace one of those top magazines. Her favourites were African Woman [ indeed she was an African woman], Elle Magazine and Hollywood those of. She was clad in a long flowing skirt, like a gipsy skirt. Behind her was a cloud of darkness punctuated and the stars brightened the sky. Silence ensued after: the silence that normally precedes something significant. An ominous silence. She mouthed words of greetings ”Hi” in her usual soft soothing voice: i liked her voice. But i was aghast and surprised for it was unusual. The greeting was unusual and different from what we normally use. We normally used the Lovey dovey ones: hugs and kisses some times pecks as every Lover under the skun will have to agree with me. It seemingly looked like a jolt of electricity: that of UMEME had just ran up my spine. At that precise moment, it was all clear to me that something is wrong. The catastrophe had laid coiled. ”What did i do to her? What had happened?” Questions like those drew across my dawn mind but what stuck in the craw is, i didn’t have an answer.

” Come inside,” I begged. ”Am fine,’ She hollered and refused to enter my house. She replied with her voice cracked, dripping torrents of Am-Fed-Up. Tears started to sting her eyes as she froze at this spectacle. She started sobbing hysterically. She sobbed. Her shoulders shook with spasms of grief and pain: the excruciating pain. Her lips quivered and mumbled inaudible words as tears flooded her cheeks. She cried and weeped as she looked at me. Her whole body convulsed and vibrated as she stood there, sobbing. At that precise moment, it all became clear to me. Clear and dark at the same time, a permissible oxymoron. I felt my strength ebb.

” Come on darling, please tell me, what’s wrong? What? Why?,” I questioned. ”Nothing, nothing and continuous nothings,” She mumbled between sobs.

” Please don’t. Don’t, please i beg,” She shrieked as i tried to come nigh to her. Her voice sounded like a haunted voice, a voice for someone who hadn’t spoken in many months like a death row inmate. Yes, a death row inmate.

My heart was galloping away, and blood thumping at my eyes like a Mayan drum. ”There is something i wanted to tell you,” She said, this time with a stern look at her face. I knew something is truly wrong, something bad: too bad like a buzzing mosquito in your ear.

” Eddie [that’s my name], umm umm it’s over.,” She made her statement like a judge would on walk-to-work misdemeanors.

A very deep ugly silence followed seconds after. She went on to cry the more. Like a wounded animal, a profound and pained cry. The power of grief etched deep on her face. She cried a lot something that was so unusual. I remembered totally expunged of emotions. Now, i felt nothing. I was like a shell: totally nothing.

” Bbbb..buuut wait a bit. Wait and i ask. Wait and explain,” I tried to engage her and explain myself. My plea was, i had no knowledge about what she had said. It’s over? Just like that? No. It’s impossible, verily. Those words stabbed my heart: deep at the core of what makes me human. An excruciating stab that seared through my insides bringing with it unbearable pain. What stuck in the craw though was she showed me her back. Her nice back complete with her well shaped, yes, a well shaped booty as she ran out of my way. She took off with out saying a word: She ran grieving and cursing with uncontrollable wordage flowing.

”Please Honey[ like i used to call her and i would some times call her my exquisite Mona Lisa: A foolish notion i had borrowed from a Nick Carter novel] come back, stop, please, please,” I yelled. But it was whistling in the wind. It looked like she was fed up. Fed up of what? That was my question. I had done nothing. Nothing i new at all. Something that would render her act like that. Like a wounded Lioness. She was crying, i was crying too. I tried my level best, like my best to stop, to talk her down but she refused. The whole night was as horrible as a grave yard. Why not a tomb? yes, like a tomb. I cried, i stood up, i walked, from that side to that side. I punched the walls like Golola Moses would punch a one Nagy. I did so. I punched the concrete, I didn’t feel any pain. She had vanished. Just like that. Yes, just like that.

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Corporate Love Gone Bad.

Peter( not real name) was such a young successful man. He was in his late 20s and owned a chain of companies under his belt. Yes, his belt. He was a very successful businessman. He was such a hunk, like so handsome that every lady under the sun would like to rub shoulders with him. Why not take a piece of his heart? Yes, they would love to take, own a big chunk of his heart. For they would be happy. He looked like Idris Alba. Complete with his body complexion, the height and the salty looks of Morris Chestnut. He was a well qualified Marketing personnel. And the people that knew him would testify that. He was such a good Marketer. He would sell the pope( Leader of the Papacy) a condom. He would even sell the blue-coloured Dr. Kizza Besigye an NRM yellow t-shirt( if they were for sale) when given the opportunity. That’s how good he was in Marketing. He worked hard for his success. He was a business aficionado: a business enthusiast. He enjoyed what he did. Big successful companies, a fleet of pricey automobiles punctuated his parking yard, fat, like verily huge bank accounts? Who wouldn’t love that? I mean, who in this world, this life of hard knocks wouldn’t love to be like Peter. But he knew it notwithstanding his down-to-earth kind of lifestyle. He had the paper( like they normally call it). From the American green bucks to Mutebile’s papers: the shillings.

On the flip side though, Charlotte( not real names ) was equally educated. She was fresh from the University. She had passed highly with a first class in Business Administration. She was still canvassing the dusty streets in pursuit for a job. They don’t come in handy, just like that. Y’know. But the Grim Reaper: God had heard her prayers: her constant prayers. The opportunity came by. It knocked at her door and who was she not to open. Yes, she did. She did take on the opportunity. Where? You guessed right. She’s shortlisted for the job interview in one of Peter’s multitudes of companies. She presented herself for the interviews, crawled through and emerged victor. She was offered a job. A hefty, a well paying job. I guess it was for her right stuff in her brain-case. She was so brainy and smart. Oh! and the cuteness. She was so cute. She was cute as a button. She had a sense of style and fashion. I could go on and on until the cows go home. Her straight blondey-black hair was gathered into a low granny-style bun. She was sporting an astonishing impressive skirt-and-jacket combo( from whistles but on Charlotte, you would mistake it for Prada). Her eloquence and exhibition of confidence together with good command of the imperialist oppressor’s vile language: English. That package caught Peter’s( he was one of the panelists) eye.

Work was adept. It was good. Charlotte worked very hard. Too hard to bring an impact, a positive impact on the company. And Peter liked that. He watched vividly every step she took like an undercover cop. But his mind’s eyes saw something else. Something so special started to build at the core of what made him human. He had been swept off his feet the first day he saw her. Remember the interview day? Peter saw nothing but her beauty. She was overpoweringly beautiful, i tell you. And ”shaaa..”, Peter was not a pusillanimous coward not to shriek his heart out. He normally spoke what was at his heart. He quickly penned a small chit. It looked like a memo and sent it to Charlotte seated at her desk. ”An outing tonight. Ms Charlotte. Will you?”, It read. Charlotte read it and her eyes widened to saucer size. Evening came and off they hit the road for the evening binge: the long awaited evening in accordance to Peter. He liked class. He associated and moved with class. He picked Charlotte from her flat she rented in his black classy Mercedes. Boy oh boy, Charlotte looked strikingly smart. And Peter wasn’t so dumb not to compliment her of her beauty: her smartness. She sported a green jumper-shrunken, lopsided and embroidered with tiny jockeys. The oddest taste, she always had right from her first day at school, aged five, when she insisted on wearing tights the colour of dried blood. But she couldn’t care less. Peter decided to take her to one of those high-end hotels in the high-end places in the city. Like a 7-star hotel. That was his class and money wasn’t his problem.

Wine ordered. Drink flowed. Tongues loosened as they talked on different issues. Issues that ranged from work to family. Peter ordered for Desserts and Banoffee pie. He liked that. He offered Charlotte his cold Chocolate slab. But it tasted like Chocolate-flavoured lard. She liked it too. Time was running fast. Too fast like Usain Bolt and Peter knew it. His constant gazing at his expensive wrist watch showed it. He hasn’t said the essence of the date. Why he’s taken her out.

” Charlotte..” Peter called out her name.

”Umm..umm,” He stammered a bit. ” I want you to be my..my girl friend, my soulmate, my Lover…” He made his statement in his baritone voice. An icy silence ensued minutes after. Charlotte had smelt a rat before. She was full of smiles. She chuckled and as fast as a teenage girl who’s about to be laid for the first time, she parted her lips and said it’s okay. She liked him too. Who wouldn’t anyway? Lovey dovey days followed after. Many visits, many outings and serious outings too. But iffy and worse times were ahead of Peter. He was such an intellect but when it came to Love matters( you can as well say girls), he’s dense. He was so dense as if he spent time living in a black hole. He had offered Charlotte logbooks of his fleet of pricey automobiles. He even changed and registered some of his Companies’ names in hers. He was like a rabbit in headlights. He was blind. Indeed Love is blind like the dictum says. He was like a short sighted Rhino, it was virtually impossible to divert him from a path he had set his mind on.

The worst time of his life came when the first wave of shock released him from it’s fiendish grip. Charlotte didn’t turn up for work. It’s been two weeks and counting. She didn’t call him. Ominous. In his secret little chamber in his heart, he knew that something was wrong. Her phones were off. When they were on, she didn’t pick them up when Peter tried to call. Her place of residence was locked. She had vanished. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. His bank account read a zero balance for she had withdrew all the money because the fool he was, he had given her the passwords to his bank accounts. Thoughts to it stole many nights from Peter. ” Was she a whore? A thief? Insane? Stupid? Was Charlotte a liar? Oh no.” Peter pondered with despair. Yes, she was all that. She was a liar, a thief. A good thief to be specific and the corporate Love had turned iffy. It had turned from bad to worse. But it was worst in accordance to a one Peter.

Am still Crying foul.

She vanished. Yes she did. And everyone knows that. At the back of their nuts, they know it. But she didn’t leave me alone. She left me in tatters and trashed me in the gutter. Pass me the Kleenex for am wailing. Am grieving. She did the most insane thing in human life. Yes, that one. She was with that lust. Like the most uncontrollable lust. She wanted it.

Too badly that she went for it. I never wanted it. Without warning she took away my treasure: my virginity. I know you are gasping now. But it’s okay to part your lips and gasp. Are you still gasping? It happened at the backyard of their mansion. She was so fast. Too fast like a teenage girl that is about to be laid for the first time. The whole ordeal lasted 3minutes. But i think i lasted a little over 40seconds. The rest was spent by me fumbling with her knickers like an idiot, me trying to find room for my long legs, me wondering where her long legs would go. And my thudding heart. Oh! Amidst stammers, and more stammers i asked the dumbest question. ”Do you really want to do this?”

But she ripped me in fragments. Ask me why? Because after getting what she wanted, she flung the door in my face. Talk of trashing. It’s like kicking the door in, opening drawers, knocking down the trash bin, making an omelet and leaving the dirty dishes in the sink. I could decide to turn this into an emotional charade but i won’t. She did that. Am speechless. No tears. No nostalgia. And i don’t miss her. I don’t mind about her either.

Her memories have peeled off the walls of my mind. I haven’t thought about her in the longest time. I don’t wonder what happens to her (well not until I sat down to write this piece, now she’s sprung in my mind). The brevity. The chutzpah. The cold heartedness. I’m totally enthralled by the finality of her disassociation.

Women.

Today’s just the usual day. Watched the sun-rise( these days it bursts forth at around 5 am) and till the twilight. It comes very early to fulfill it’s mission. To burn us to shreds, to ashes. The shopkeeper in Kikoni Desert where my shrine is located is doing great business. She puts that smile when she gazes at me coming to her shop. Ask me, why? Thanks for asking. She giggles and chuckles because she knows i have come for the shoe polish. Kiwi shoe polish( who still uses that ?). Poor me. Poor Eddie. The dust is just unbearable. Goodness me. Am seated at home and luckily enough i have built this bondage with UMEME because she( i called her, She), so she decided not to load shed me today. And i feel like writing. But i don’t have anything in my walls of my dawn mind to convert into wordplay. Am gazing out side, like standing at the door way. Stretching myself and seeing how the scorching sun-shine is burning the blue-rounded ball; the Earth. Well, i didn’t close my eyes as i stretched as some of you normally do so i was so un-lucky or call it lucky to see a bunch of ladies passing by. They had gone to visit a neighbor. I guess. And i made strides to my laptop. Fast strides to write. To write what? Thanks for guessing. Bright boy, girl or whatever.To write about Women.

Am a Campuser and am subjected to some fascinations in the forms of women. This daughters of Eve. You remember the Bible? Yes that wanton woman who’s the source of evil. The one that procured was it a mango, orange,..no one knows and she gulped it. No, she didn’t gulp it alone. I guess she loved her hubby the way you love yours and so she shared it with him. So today. we are besieged by these women. Even hounded by them. Today we beat those drums of women. Like the Mayan drums.

Women. Women. A friend of mine( a tight friend ) likes women. He’s like a short-sighted rhino because it’s very impossible to deviate or divert him from these Chromosome xx. Some science Primary lecturer sorry teacher should chip in and correct me if am wrong. So this buddy of mine is not alone in this whole claptrap bracket of Women-Likers( sorry for the English slaughter). Women are everywhere. Women who are tall. Women who are short. Women who are brainy. Women who are dense( they constitute a big percent). I know you are gasping and sighing and drooling. What a threesome! But it’s alright. Some are dense. If thinking with their brains was to get let’s say bananas: they like bananas, they would part with peels. Yes, those ones. Women with bottomless hearts. Those with no hearts. The heartless women: the campus girls. From Mary Stuart to Complex hall. From Garden Courts to Akamwesi hostel. Those are their addresses. And they are proud about it. What amuses and amazes me and leave me in a stupor is, they still guys hearts and they are still heartless. Mindboggling indeed. Women who thinks the sun rises from their butts. Yes, i said it.

Women that are strikingly, exquisite and staggeringly gorgeous are the ones that kick asses. If they do, they do it real hard. Even the brightest of roses have thorns and they are bound to hurt you. Like you see her and your stomach tighten. When she floats your boat and mystery enshroud her. That one is so dangerous. Too iffy. Too sombre I tell you. Her imagery is misleading. It’s deceptive. Every guy wants to be part of that woman. It’s a supreme quest. But hold a second brother. Never judge a book by it’s cover. It’s the dictum every one knows. Thanks to my English teacher. And to all the women who will diligently and vividly take their time to read this, Happy Valentine’s Day.

My Heart Pumping as First As..Did you say Cheetah?No!
..”Next,” Shouts Bush Baby.
..mhh##” I clear my throat. Walk in with a shaky swagg!
..Lights, Camera and stern faces are what i see here..
..[ Migraines, Butterflies in my tummy] engulf me..
..But Confidence is what i must exhibit. Right? Yo right.
..Hullo, What’s yo name?” Bellows Sofia.
..N…early forgetting my name, i reciprocate my initials.
..”What can you add to Urban Tv?” Asks Sofia.
..”Umm…Umm,” I stammer.
..What!!!. Exclaims the other brown Lady with a straight face seated near Sofia. Looks good though..Naye..###
..Mine is NO….Mine is NO..As Panelists, They put their Verdicts.
…….Huuuh!!! Sighs Yours Truly.
..Till Next Time.

It spools back to the creation story.
Purposed to be the fulcrum of Life.How lovely!
But us; we, brought forth our defiance; stupidly.
With no knowledge absolutely about this bracket of foolery.
Married ones cheating on each other; Adultery.
John with Sarah, Clare with Hillary.
Oh! How it’s excruciating; Hurts bitterly.
Can’t stick to his and her one and only.
… Young ones; Even you, are fancying the elderly.
Not me; a coward, craven; pusillanimous abjectly.
And they brag about it, proudly.
This is a tear-shedding story.
A story about the ceasing, dying citizenry.
Year-in-Year-out. Dying irretrievably.
On bended knees; Join me in prayer. Pray kindly.
Love has taken a twist contrary to the inception of the story.
Following suit to the things; Things that are worldly.
Barter trade at it’s apex; They follow foolishly.
Goodies for a penny. Goodies for a Bentley.
The Grim Reaper; God is watching clearly.
Worrisome though of what he thinks of you, me, and Henry.
Let’s retrieve the original objective of this Love story.
Retrieve it collectively and correctly.
With no arbitrary and mockery.
Lest you hung like a jury.

BYE TO THEE; 2011.

The clock stroke it’s first note at midnight.
2010 shrank off into the shadows, 2011 bursted forth.
Me, you and they, chanted, sang and drank our heads off.
Thanks to the Grim reaper fo he has allowed them gaze at 2011.
The world didn’t leave it’s axis; 2010 gnawed away.
My worrisome though is; who’s the next leader, the president of Uganda.
Election time popped up. Above 18s v…oted for him[ not her].
Him; Anslem’s dad threw a tantrum, objected the results.
He instead opted for public redress.
The populace walked and worked as some had a fair share on the fruits.
Fruits of obnoxious gases and multi-coloured liquids.
Commodity prices shot to the skies.
As we; us, joined the diabetic fraternity in the sugar free delicacies.
Mawejje, Obua and Mulindwa decided not to take part in AFCON.
Barcelona; the protagonists in foot ball kissed their next sliver ware.
The catastrophe lay coiled in the sand dunes of Sahara desert.
The citizenry took to the streets objecting totalitalian and tyranny regimes.
Some despots were forced out and others thumped to kingdom come.
As one king hit the highway in pursuit for the real king of kings, God.
Thievery grew wings and qualified to be a career.
A vast horde of loot of green and yellow bucks were stolen from the exchequer.
The media trumpeted, the citizenry rubbed their eyes in despair.
Amidst bewilderment and exasperation.
Some huge fish had no knowledge[ she said..] of the fur of the lost sheep.
The fur stuck under her mullion-dollar bed[ yes,that one].
The rotund red and white clad figure; father Christmas, by passed my place. Hmm!
Those who lost their beloved ones, take heart.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
…Prosperous new year.

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