Teacher thoughts

Bully for that but teachers are just that...teachers.

They teach us, well some do while others lecture...others whine, annoy and show off but they are still just teachers.
Talk about those kind of teachers who whine.. there was this teacher in my A' level who always whined about being a teacher, how he got a 'B' in economics or was it a 'C' blah blah. But he had to do education at university because he got it on Government sponsorship.

Somebody shoot me but this teacher was blah, blah exhausting.  It wasn't that i didn't like him ... i just disliked him and his whining. And if he did economics super well why was he a CRE teacher..yiish.

And then he had a following that thought him handsome... gosh. If he ever was, all i ever saw or heard for that matter was his whining. I swear that donkey in SHREAK has nothing on this guy... he was officially a certified whiner.

Talk about teacher crushes!!!!!!

Now in my O' level, there was this fill in literature teacher when ours was absent ( bless her soul) she knew her stuff.
So this dude! The teacher, yeah.
I mean every girl in and out of my class thought him super hot ( i wonder if it was coz we were in a single girls school)
 He was their crush! He was hot, tall, his voice super ( did i say somebody shoot before? This time kill me).

This man was so full of himself:
1. He read out the passage or chapter we were to discuss himself, all eyes on him kinda thing ...
2. He asked questions then answered them himself. ( How boring)
3.Generally all roads of thought led to his ( my foot)
4. He was like a helicopter... drowning out the rest of humanity with his voice.

And to think i got into a fight with one of my girls who thought the sun shone from his behind. I thought he was full of it, she thought well... blah blah he is soo cute and your jealous.
COME ON!!!!

OH yah, then in my first year i go out with ma buddies and behold Mr. Cuteness himself is seated alone in a corner at fat boys hanging out with his brown bottle beer of Nile or was it ESB ( lol) anyway, where were the groupies that hang around cute guys? Especially seeing as he had been 'The Man of the Month in the DAILY MONITOR' on valentine ( how weak) This man was seriously not serious... he had to get out of High school he was stuck there.

So when it comes to teachers and i ... you've got to be smart or eccentric to be worthy. Yah am the girl who loves the teacher who wears checked professor trousers and weird specs and knows his Math even if i suck majorly at math. Am the girl who stares in awe at that physics teacher who pronounces things like 'Calibre....@#%4 and i don't click but if you know more than me then i luv luv you.

Aha, am the chic who will attend the class because the lecturer loves his course unit so much he rans up and down in class just to prove a point. Yah all eccentric teachers are my kinda thing. Let the world think your odd but being normal is sooo that, normal what can you bring to the table if your just like the rest of humanity.

Always
Joyce Ikonye

memoirs of my childhood; my wee watches

I do try to keep time but i have never been one of those watch collectors although for some reason my mother loved getting me watches.. not that i was complaining.

Anyhow, of all the wee watches she bought me, three of them are embedded in my memory.  The first being a little pink mickey mouse watch. And the reason ...the reason ... i have no idea why. I guess i just loved it.

Now the second watch was a big, fat, black and grey sports watch that i wore everywhere especially to my games. I thought it was cool and some of the boys thought that too, seeing as they would stop me to have a look at the watch.
So i used to wear it for cricket practice, netball ...athletes....n on. Hmm netball ( i used to be that local) .
Anyway, so am playing netball and this temp of a coach; some dude who used to sag his pants and bounce  ( looking back i think he was like a senior four vacist) now why he was coaching us netball i don't know!

Anyhow, so he shouts, " you dark skinny girl in purple with a big watch... catch the ball and stop showing off your watch." WHAT!
All the other girls giggled, i mean it was so funny seeing as they all thought him cool. Me not at all...
I never have a thing for teachers they are so..... teachers. So here i am minding the game and he keeps yelling at me, i mean all the yells would end up at my watch for some reason.

End of story i decided practice could do with a break from this skinny, dark girl. No biggy ... until i had glad tidings around the dorm. Our netball coach was back.

So my third watch was a really tiny black and gold watch i loved ( pretty little thing).  Now, i was seated in a taxi two days ago and this woman in front of me had it on, a similar watch i guess. Am not to vain to think my mum and i had the only two in the world.
I could not help but keep smiling because of the memories.

Don't you just love mothers? Anyhow the thing with this watch is that it taught me what loyalty means. This ka school prefect had light fingers, the babe fleeced my watch.
It mysteriously disappeared and for some reason i thought i had misplaced it. However, after V.D and at assembly i see this school prefect wearing a similar one.

so i approach her and tell her i liked her watch since i used to have a similar one ... it is sooo pretty.
Chic flips- goes all kuku on me , defending herself and raising her voice. Mistake number one!
I shouted "thief"
Hehe when your among peers your motivation is super high especially when they knew your watch, have evidence and have your back nothing beats that.

So when i looked at the watch the woman was wearing in the taxi i couldn't help smiling like a fool the whole time.
oh yah, i got my watch back but my mother wasn't happy about it... She kept asking me why i couldn't just let it be when i saw it . All i had to do was ask her for a new one.

But not me, i would do it all over again.
What's mine is mine especially if i love it and if it  has great significance to me.

XOXO
Orogot Pamela

Ice cold

Haven't you heard, i have no heart... well not me exactly but a group of about six men at Efendy's i happened to eavesdrop in on one Friday evening.

So here i was, being woed by this Apollo of a man ...Efendy's the meeting point, my feet on the table...my cute black and white dress holding all the right curves. My companion very attentive, good company i must say...sigh. The fries on point ...i mean eeh

And then without even leaving a note, these men walk towards us and make camp just next to us. Actually trespassing on our generosity they very loudly start to discuss their day.

 They loudly order for Pepsi's and for the sake of it ... actually not for the sake of it, my companion was now watching football on the television in front of us and i focused on the overly loud men's conversation.
However, if this was a scare tactics... programme ... wherever they are, i assure them today , you scarred my heart for eternity.
These fat faced, overly fed, beer bellied, corruption curved, luganda speaking, kikubo business looking type of men were marking off the number of women they had infected with HIV.
Yes, the virus. Like some sort of trophy to pass around. They bragged... " Oli campuser omweru 'wamutwala' for lack of a polite word.

The goon replied," nawe obimanyi...ssente nga obuwa." He went on to elaborate how he has them have his children in Kenya and then takes them away from them so that they don't infect his children too.
A phone rings, he picks up and speaks to an obviously female person on the other end whom he instructs to go to his home and wait for him and they go on ticking off their conquests.


My eavesdropping has never trurned my heart cold like that day... it literally felt like a goose had walked over my grave. Except am not dead.
So, i tap my companion and tell what's going emphasizing my discomfort. Like a true boy, he laughs it off and continues to watch football or whatever sports had caught his attention. Tells me to ignore them.

Ignore, ignore...was never going to happen. I was a haunted woman; creepers, jeepers and Micheal Jackson's thriller companions. I had to leave this place. So i pulled the oldest trick in all those damsel's in distress hand books and unexpectedly announced its time to head home... Beauty was exhausted.(my foot)

And leave we did but not with my heart as it was... it bears scars now at what it heard. Whoever raised those men i pity. And pray for them i did ... except i implored King David's prayers... war on them lord.

                    sincerely
Pamela Ayaso

The next chapter

The smell of burning posho should be included as symbol of some sort. A metaphor maybe. A reminder to most most of us fortunate humans of our past.
But if the smell of burning posho is an alarm for your present life then no-no, there is something wrong with your adult life.
All those ' kalabanda's, strict class teachers and boarding school 'gods' are frowning down on you. Change has to be done, just  like Jane Eyre ( i know some ugandans dodged reading this novel in the disguise of doing sciences... kale God is watching you...lol) you had your chance to suck up to school authorities.

Yes, you had the chance to be local, eat whatever was put before you ( a chunk of white solid mass to represent posho, swiming in brown watery liquid with some floating legumes to represent beans.)
This next chapter dubbed adulthood is your chance.

1. To look upon all those noisy children minding their own business outside your window as they play 'dulu' ; as if their presence were distracting you as you handle state matters...your building the nation can't they  see that.

2. To go months without a 'new outfit' so that you can pay your bills and make ends meet ( i wonder why our parents never warned us of this oncoming apocalypto)

3. To finally be dubbed a responsible human being because you had a 'church marriage' while you secretly consort here and there... giving a new term to the word 'sukali papa'.

4. To be the most authoritative boss or boss lady there was after Hitler, Napoleon, Mussolini, Idi Amin, Kabaka Mwanga and some other Korean dude down in history ... yap you'll never be number one. Terrorizing those 'little people' is such a thrill outside your house.

So i guess you now realise i was mocking you, especially if you fall within those above. The next chapter of adulthood should be simple and to point you to the right direction that shows you've left the stench of burning  posho behind.

You just have to be tired at the end of the day ... damn ha

                Pamela Ayaso

Babe and Chic

I always used to wonder at why some people were always referred to as 'that babe' and others 'that chic! However, this pondering was almost always short lived until my mother gave it a new perspective.

So, here we are seated on a mat, its V.D for my cousin brother  at one of the St Lawrence Schools.

A group of hyper active boys surround this camera man displaying photos. one of the boys shouts, " Gwe your babes photo's." and another corrects him equally loudly," thats not a babe thats a chic"
Puzzled we look at each other. I guess silently wondering at the terminology.

And then behold, our mother stole their thunder, she explained the difference as follows:
" I think i understand what she means by that, when they refer to you as babe they mean a fattish girl and when they call you chic ( she points at a skinny girl working walking by ) thats what they mean."

Silence and smothered smiles followed her explanation. And just like that, i came to the conclusion that the truth is neither here nor there. Our mother had given the difference between babe and chic a new perspective.

However, its not the gospel truth; seeing that 'babe' is now unisexual.

Guys out there especially you Ugandan men, hold your horses its now oky to be called babe. I swear it is, don't you watch the Kardashians on phone with their male BFF's ? And noo they aren't ...
Although if someone calls you chic, be perturbed, its still a girls only term; but more so if a fellow dude calls you chic.

        xoxo
Orogot Pamela

The uninvited guest

Long have i known your want to visit,
But mutual appointment u shun-
Ambush u cherish.

Be i alone or in company;
There u will be and a meeting will be.
Unilateral in agenda:sole is your agenda.

For the earthly beings,
Are never privy to our interaction.
Your whims give no such chance.

However,where am going:
To those who early in time hosted u,
I will tell of our private encounter.

Yet still- mention is made of our meeting,
By those who alter the earth soil.
From which soil i was mould,
And to which i descend.

To seal the fate that became of our meeting.

They tell of it;
With voices sound in wail n lament!
With eyes tears aplenty.

Their countenance-
Bragging with misery,
As grief permeates the province of sorrow.

The uninvited guest passed by...
And along i went.

          Tony Tukei

EX

• I think i have said;
  All there is to say.
  Sought whatever prayer there is,
  to keep your company.
  
  Yet with indifference and conceit,
  you prophesy fate's decision-
  That u and i;
  were never meant to be.
  
  To Regret!
  What we had, I should not.
  For a vent self pity is but self destruction.
  To harbor!
  A grudge for all your follies...
  
  Oh providence!
  Stray me from the path of hate.
  Deliver me from the spirit of vengence.
  Be they even,
  to crawl like a snail.
  The hands of time,
  shall unto me deliver peace.
  
            Tony Tukei

Memoirs of my childhood; Bad things Happen

Some say that what the eyes can’t see, the heart won’t grieve over. But surely the heart see’s as much as the eyes to grieve.

Back when I was young enough to think defilement only happened to people I didn’t know I was faced with the fact ( I was that vain ). I did not see this act done but surely my heart did grieve over it.

One of these two girls who were defiled was my classmate. She sat two desks behind me. We never talked much for we were both quiet girls with nothing in common apart from the fact that we were not loud.

This girl whose name I will never forget although she joined my school that year and left before the end of the year was defiled by our baker. He used to call himself ‘ Muntu Nsolo’ ( a befitting name if you ask me). A nickname he told us whenever we asked for his name. Hilarious we thought back then, if only we were wiser.

The bakery had just been built at the girl’s end. The buns were for breakfast but like someone who had nothing to loose he very generously slipped us those buns when we stopped by in the evenings as we played.

Her defilement was discovered some days after the incident and our senior lady called for a meeting. The boys were never to find out she said. The bakery was closed and no one was to go near it. ‘ Muntu Nsolo’ was on the run.

Our classmate never told about the ‘act’. She was too ashamed but her sudden limp and increased isolation drew our dormitory captain to question her. Thank God she was older than us.

They took our classmate to the hospital for tests. The results we were never told and the teachers in class acted cautious around her (the buggers). I used to watch her and wonder how she coped. Apparently he stuffed buns in her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Gets you thinking anything is a weapon!

I grieve for her childhood robbed away, tainted with evil so dark. For I watched her through the corner of my eyes till the day she went for one of those ‘tests’ and never came back to school.

Whether they caught ‘Muntu Nsolo’ I will never know. What become of her, I know not. But I assure you, my eyes may not have seen this tragedy ( thank God )  but my heart froze when the senior lady told us what happened.

Someone I knew was defiled and my heart still misses a bit when I think about it. I could have been five buns away from defilement. It happens to people we know worse still by people we know.

                  always

Orogot Pamela

A FACE LIKE MINE

                                        

I lie in a hospital bed;

No name to my face,

Abandoned babe,

Small and skinny,

Disease infested

Death knocking-

You stop,

Stare

Move on.

But I doubt you’ll forget a face like mine.

 

I sit at a busy street;

Six year old beggar,

Runny nose,

Lice infested,

Swollen belly,

Hunger biting-

You stare

Walk by.

But I doubt you’ll forget a face like mine.

 

I stand at the roadside;

Twelve years I’ll make tonight,

Too small my clothes,

Skinny body, freezing cold

Eyes popping n all,

Scared of the male prowlers

You walk by-

Pity and jeer.

But I doubt you’ll forget a face like mine.

 

I squat in a seemingly abandoned toilet;

Eighteen years last week,

Metallic hunger down myself,

Little foetus bleeding out-

You see me,

Call the police,

Not the doctors!

Gang up

Beat me.

But I doubt you’ll forget a face like mine.

 

I sit outside my slum;

Twenty four years old last month,

A limp in my walk,

Broken bones n scars,

Our kids’ hiding-

He’s back home,

Their father!

You whisper,

Point fingers

But I doubt you’ll forget a face like mine.

 

Am running away now;

Thirty two years old two months ago,

My children with me,

Nowhere to go

But am leaving,

The streets my friend…

You despise me,

Family wrecker,

But am leaving-

And I doubt you’ll ever forget a face like mine.

 

Am lying on my death bed;

Forty five years of age last November,

My face too old for my age,

My body too frail to fathom,

My grandchildren-

The few that approach me,

They love me!

It’s all that matters.

Am dying content,

I made peace with my God.

And now- you may forget a face like mine.

 

            OROGOT PAMELA

Mateos blurs 3

How old a man can get and change so little (in this case a woman). The evidence of this was portrayed in the search for the   purse thief.

As the Australian soldier poured out his profile for the clique to peruse, analyze, dissect and advise me or rather give me the go ahead, the purse was declared stolen.

The suspect, the literal fool (for lack of better term) whom the clique had fought with over the ‘physical pass’. And just like that,  we seemingly grown women went into a search for him( the thief) at Mateo’s – like squirrels after a nut.

Except, Ngel and I were assigned to keep my ‘Gold prince’ company on the dance floor. So as Ngel and I danced to the terrific music ( praise the Dj) behold he leaped or was it jumping around- the ‘muzungu’ way. If I could crawl under a beer can that was the day for the miracle to happen, however, I was the one responsible for my girl’s drunken welfare that night.

I had to draw out my boldness or blind courage and hang out with him; this jumping man. And then he tops it off by asking,” Why is your pal crying?” ‘pal’- really someone shoot me. But I was polite enough to explain the events of the purse’s disappearance.

Next thing I knew he was giving me money to give her to  replace her phone. In awe I tried to return it, claiming it was none of his business. But insist he did and give her the money with the explanation I did.

Then she opened her palm and to not only my surprise but the whole clique we were looking at ‘Benjamin’s’. Yes sweet American dollars.

In a daze, I walked back to him and we danced away as my girl’s flashed their thumbs up in approval. Smiles growing narrow, heart panicking, my emotions all over the place; an ailment not easily treatable.

So I danced and avoided being left alone with him, least I gave him chance to make me pay for his ‘ Benjamin’s ‘ so generously offered.

This diva was plotting to flee. Not that I was scared of the fact that he was kin to ‘western union’. Am not exactly the girl to mess with broke guys, but am not a gold digger either. (excuse the cliché)  This time I wanted out. Except I had to flee with dignity and the question was how?
                 
                            Always
                        P. Ayaso

 

Chronicles of an Ex party girl

I used to be the girl who loved a good time; free booze, cute boys, nice clothes, hot shoes and the best music.

To be a party girl, you have to hang around the ‘correct crowd’, fabulously hot and well socially connected girls. They had to have a sense of style, the correct look and socially acceptable (connections to the right party people).

It didn’t matter who threw the party as long as someone in the ‘crowd’ knew the name of the party person or a person who knew the person who threw the party…or not.

My party life started when I joined university. The bazaar’s don’t count, they were not my kind of thing. They felt like those frat boys get together’s that they showed in those dingy college movies. (Many high school looking boys, eating smoked sausages, drinking lots of brown bottled beer that was on promotion).

So not cool…                                                                                                              

But my initiation was at the end of the week that is Thursday, the day when all partying begins for the average campus babe. So my girls and I hit the clubs n all; jeans and pumps we ambushed steak out.

The crowd was overwhelming… rock night! From the entrance to the bar involved elbow pushing and squeezing between sweaty bodies. We just had to relocate next door- cheese bar. Our dignity went … I don’t know where.

The music mama mia, the boys oh yah… the booze who knows where it came from

Next thing I knew, all the girls and I were entering this Noah and heading to Ange noir or was it silk club, I never knew the difference then. The transport, entrance fee and drinks were being paid for by this besotted man.                                                                                                        Besotted over whom? I didn’t give a damn as long as at the end of the night we were back at our hall of residence safely.

The thing I loved most about being a party girl was the dressing up, the dancing and the next day’s teasing amongst each other. The thrill you got from partying was almost compensation for the hangovers but not quite.

Anyhow this party girl life style had unspoken codes; you had to have the one who never got high to make sure no one is taken advantage of. There had to be the talker; who knew which besotted man had transportation to take us back to our Hall.

There was the ‘IT’ girl; who got the drinks for all of us. There had to be the dancer; the one who kept all the besotted men amused. There was the Tough one; when things were heading south she stepped in.

These were codes de facto not de jure. The partying life was fun and fabulous but it had was a buddy system in which no buddy had to be far from the other for it work.

                                    Wink

                            An ex party gal

 

Label Girl

I used to be the girl who goes with the flow. This system was so much easier especially when so much younger. Life was… well life.

You woke up, went to class and then went out. Met cute guys, danced and forgot all about them the next day as you moved on with your daily routine. There was no right or wrong only what was or what wasn’t, till I met the dude with the ‘system of thought speech’.

Who knew my first crush would be at the tender years of a third year campus girl’s age! Thrilled, excited, his attention was all I wanted. Actually it was more than a crush, I was infatuated …like over kill infatuation.

So as I thought our friendship was getting serious, I asked him where he thought our relationship was leading.

Am that girl who calls out a man for his actions. My father taught me better. Love is not blind is he’s favorite statement. Relationships are either black or white. No greys, no in betweens. You have to know where you stand or where you don’t. No presumptions.

So I asked and he gave the ‘system of thought’ speech.                                     

“ I like you very much. You’re a very lovely person. But I do not want to put labels to our relationship. Am a no label person; all that girl friend/boy friend stuff gives people expectations and eventually leads to disappointments. But there is nothing wrong with us being exclusive.”

This speech I have never forgotten. That’s why I call it the ‘system of thought ‘speech. I spent sleepless nights just over thinking this speech. Anyhow this ‘friendship’ never stood the non label speech time. I was devastated.

This guy was one of the most intellectually stimulating men i had ever met, not to mention kind and fun. But drat that line of speech.

Every person has expectations of another, its called humanity. I don’t expect any one to stab me as I stand at a busy street but it has been known to happen and that’s the odd life of humanity.

Disappointments are bound to happen whether you expect or you don’t. Labels or no labels.

And who lives a life of no expectations- A sad person I say. But that’s just my opinion and you know what they say about opinions, ‘opinions are like behinds, everyone has one’.

But what’s life without hope? Hope in you, in me, in humanity. So what? Not everyone will live up to your expectations. But what’s wrong with having a little hope in someone. You may say expectations and hope are different … think again; draw straight lines if you can.

For most of my part, I used and still think about this ‘system of thought’. I have been told it’s a broken person’s line of thinking.

But refuse this excuse I have done. Our generation is full of broken people. Some of them life has fixed, some of us we rationalize through our brokenness, others try to fix themselves and others it’s the perfect excuse to further break those around them ( unintentional it may be)

I believe our brokenness stems from, past and present baggage. To move on we must embrace our baggage. Only by accepting ourselves can others accept us along with our broken systems.

But after I had heard that speech did my introvert eyes really open. And it’s not that I had never heard or heard of this speech before. The difference is that I cared for him and that’s why his speech hit home… guns, bombs and nuclear weapons. And if you told me today he no longer is, I will cry for what was then and what could have been.

But here I am today, a girl changed by that speech. I am fully and certifiably for labels. Expectations in humanity damn the disappointments. I am the label girl; I want to know who I am to those I care for greatly-daughter, sister, friend, foe, girl friend, fiancé, wife.

I want to know my label in your life… how simple life is that way.

                 Always P.Ayaso