Wednesday 13 May 2015

My first time at a kivulu


Last Friday was my first time on at a local concert and to be honest, a couple of things I saw made my face go, like really? Ooops! Whaaaaaaat? Oh my God! Hmmmm…

 I set foot in Africana at about 8:00pm and most of what I saw was teenagers. I wondered whether we still had any “my father’s generation” parents. Whether this is a good or bad thing is a discussion we shall have another time. Having grown up in a home where the rules were clear, no one under 20 years of age stays out till dark, I was in utter shock. Wondering how, what and why these children were out till midnight without parents or guardians and worst dressed in a way that you would be least pleased to see your child. But then again, I thought to myself, may be the rules have changed.

The place I was entitled to sit was in the prestigious VIP space. Well, it was the best place to see whatever was happening on stage; however, it was also close to the back stage which was not actually behind the stage but adjacent of the stage. Here I noted that many artists religiously subscribe to performance enhancing stuff*. Since my seat was close to the back stage, at one time I wasn’t sure of the air I was breathing; I kept asking my colleagues what they were cooking behind the stage because I could see a cloud of smoke. The smell anyway, reminded me of those Kamwokya things, tobimanyi?
The show was curtain raised by mostly lads and lasses, who by my scale many should be home clearing their holiday work. But hail the phrase, “young talent” there they were promoting it.

Speaking of young talent, I noted with concern that some people’s talent has refused to see a new phase despite age not taking slow on them. Gift of Kado is among those whose music growth has refused to correspond with their age. I must confess, until now I can’t believe that the person I saw was him. He doesn’t look close to the Gift of Kado in the traffic man officer video. I hate to say but he is emaciated.
The show was a reminisce as I couldn’t help but remember the good ole days that had Red Barton do his rhymes and of cause sing his popular  ‘sijja kuva kampala’. I thought to myself man; tojja kuva Kampala kubanga Musisi still wants you around so tewefuula wakabi. He looked smart by the way.

Behold a half naked Sarah Zawedde! For a moment I thought the MCs were high on the later stuff when they talked about her performing but Heavens! It was real as she came clad in a yellow skimpy dress. I was too traumatized that I can’t remember which song she sang one thing is for sure, she had some two girls on stage dancing like indeed whatever it is they took before coming to stage had taken them to greater heights.

There came Ragga Dee who sang his ‘Parliament yange’ song. He was old as always, living up to Museveni’s no change dream. Bobi sang too and I must confess I am Bobi Wine fan so I couldn’t help but sing along while he sang his ‘size yo’.

And Kaboom! My eyes were treated to a disgustingly dressed Fille. I have always wondered whether she thinks before dressing up. No wonder RP gave a share of their service. Who wears leggings and a spag top when not going to the gym? She showcased her entire ‘W’. This woman’s style is so needy it is past wanting.

As I was still nursing that part of shock, Irene Ntale came in with her synthetic buttocks. These buttocks extensions should be heavily taxed so that not everyone can afford them. I have seen this lady before without a forged butt and she looked okay but Heaven knows which devil led her into this deed. First the fake butts were won so wrongly that she looked like she had placed oranges in her hips. So here is someone with fake nails, fake eye lashes, and hair extensions. Eh! Kiki naye?

Chameleone performed so did Aziz Azion and the rest that I have forgotten.
The real part of the show was of Radio and Weasel performing, nothing truly special I can say about their performance. I thought it was the usual I watch on Login with Raaabin Kisti. They love to jump around left right and center. They did so indeed. Given a semi- circle stage I kept worrying that they would miss a step. 

 They wore kilts and given that Ugandan men don’t wear kilts, the hetero sexual may raise concerns, kasita for us reading this are way aware that Scottish men wear those things.
Of course given that it was a night out door event, I would imagine it is okay for the ladies to cover up a little. But I was so wrong. Children of God have so much to show off.

I spent most of my evening looking around, being shocked that I forgot that my main business was to watch and enjoy the show. It was an eye opener, when next I go, I will surely mind my business.



Tuesday 17 April 2012

GO AND TELL MY FATHER


Go and tell my father
That I angry
I am unhappy
I have lost my peace
I am losing control over my own self
And that I badly await for my freedom

Tell my father, that I am above 18
In my country I am an adult
That even sweet Cordelia could not
Flatter his father and so will I not
That now I will love him for my father
Because I have a lover
That least I do the abomination of today
Men sleep with men and so are women
That women sleep with women and so are men
I refrain from saying it is satisfying
Sexual pleasure
The results are worse than pleasure

Go tell father to support me
It is his right and obligation
Tell him to accept the facts that like any other teenager
I am growing up
Please tell father that if my feelings
Be not seen, they be not dead
That if I shall kill them now
I so shall kill my feelings
And so shall he kill his pride
And so shall he kill his linage
And so shall he kill him forever
Let him not die like a poor man

Do not forget to tell father,
To please understand
That I shall not kill my feelings
I shall do what I feel is right
I will not sacrifice my feelings
At the altar of his ego.


A present to the president


Just on a crush program, a harsh one indeed
It is today, my Excellency the president’s birthday
I then rush to the shops, hustle and tussle
Well thought of with love, just like a just found girlfriend
Civilian! No… Country man! No… member of the state
I care about my president, why not?
The police officer, the unromantic being unsexy in fact
Hit me hard, he did not respect me at all
Not even my rights, I said to him
All he did was to crush my head
Like the canning serpent in the genesis
Shouldn’t we celebrate anymore?
Has it also become wrong to share love?
Oh my country! Oh my home!
Alright then, as I sigh good bye to patriotism
Happy birthday Mr. President
With love




THE REASON FOR MY ART



If I write, it is because I love to
I write to preserve myself, science has not learnt to
I want to keep myself alive even when I can take no a sigh
I may not be a jurist but let me be a specialist in keeping my thoughts
I write to keep my hand alive for it shall die so will my brain
I write not for a cost but for the inner emotion that exhausts my heart if I shall not
If writing is my secret admirer, I agree may be I drunk the philter
I am in love over and over again, I am in love.

What then will the generation ahead say?
That I did not think or I did not please
I now ask God,  let me keep myself
That he should hone my brains daily, pump my emotion more and more
Let me employ brains well
Let me hold what I believed in so in my generation
Grant me the power and strength always
Because I know the fear of you is the fountain of wisdom

Like a painter gets hold of the brush and believes in it
So do I, I hold my pen like am honored, my book like a princess
I store them like a widow hiding her land title
I am optimistic that each time I hold my pen,
I give birth to a new art that the world is yearning to see
I crave for that I call my own
If man has not built castles in the air
I have built greater than castles in space
They stand firm and unshaken like the mountains of Zion
Blood is always red but I can paint it blue, pink, purple or black
I love what I do






IN A SELF COURT SESSION


Who has taught me to be from myself?
Who has thrown me into this ugly court?
The unfair court where the magistrate is self
The plaintiff here is soul
The defendant is the desires that roam daily
In the garden of soul
That the desires are supposed to submit to soul
Dress smartly and go to church, do good deeds
And pray every day, help the beggars and the poor
Deny yourself the dances that are not godly
Refrain from showing your body, do not forget to
Read your Bible and forgive those who trespass against you

And listen to what desire says,
Am I going to be held custody for being stylish
Oh no! will I go to jail for letting my enemies be
You are sending me to prison because the poor did not work
To earn and I did worked hard for my wealth and oh!
I cannot help them
Am I confined to this box just to state a reason why
I choose to dance to more creative music that church music
Look, when has it become wrong to read brilliant people’s writings
That the biggest boring book you call a Bible
Well, now I see, soul you want to impose rules on me
And so I should be your slave

Order in court! Plaintiff and the defendant
I have heard you all,
Depending on what I think is right
Depending on what I think is right
Even me justice self, I am self as you see
Easily corrupted and compromised
I don’t know what say to you then
If I will be for desire, I will be for destruction
If I be for soul, I will be for everlasting joy
The force in between is stronger than famous Samson
Let me be self, self yes, human. I will have you all