ALL THOSE BLOODY VALENTINES

                        

With each passing year, Valentine's day has become akin to a little pinch of salt in my wound! This overly celebrated day is a reminder that in the midst of life we are in death.

And for single humans like me, it is a terrible reminder of our loneliness especially if at the age of 20 something years you have never celebrated valentines day.

What makes it worse is that unlike my 'white' friends younder whose fathers' send them chocolate and flowers for valentines' day, my father is the typical Ugandan Dad; Books, school uniforms and those horrid mathematics sets are what he specialises in.

So i have grown to consider this day that gives retailers the right to rape and pillage our minds with what to do, what not to do and what to bye as very unfair, uncomfortable, disappointing ...for Godsake i dislike the day!

Although, my issue is not with those sappy couples likening themselves to 'Romeo and Juliet'. Nor do i have issues with that fat man baby cupid because i understand that valentines day earnestly purports to bring couples closer together... And who wouldn't want world peace at least for a day.

So hurray, to that saint who secretly married lovers leading to this horrid day but gosh: All that cheap chocolate, plastic flowers, inexpensive wine and who picked the damn colours? Not that i would not rock a black Gucci dress.

Makes you wonder! Do these retailers read their doctor's memo? There diseases that are associated with loneliness and pressure such as depression, stress, guilt that all bubble up to the surface when they don't think about us single people as they advertise.

This sugary day of romance has made me feel like a broken woman from the day i left the comfort of my single girls school that had sheltered me from this craziness. And for  six years has made me feel like am devoid of the valentine 'gene' but i devised a plan to go through the day which i modify each year.

No, am not planning a demonstration against candle lit dinners for two, cheesy professions of love, crimson roses, chocolate hearts and those cuddly stuffed animals... No sisters.

My grand plan is to switch off my Telly, switch off my radio, turn on my ipod/ cassette really loud, grab the latest novel on rage especially in a softcopy version and a company it with big fat french fries or food and a constant supply of coke.

Trust me, not even valentines can take away that satisfaction.

        Angeline M

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

 

Mateos blurs 2

I love all these sayings about trouble, except am not good at taking my meds.  This stuff is not exactly the ying to my yang so move over advice. And this particular night I actually gave trouble a seat.  I was taking all that trouble advice and flinging it outside the window.

Anyhow, I turned to my reflection in the Mateo’s ladies room, thought for a moment and then asked the question; “ Ayaso why are you hiding in a bathroom, coward?”  No reply from the Ayaso in the mirror just puzzled blinking eyes.

So I patted my lovely cornrows put on my diva gear and matched out to face the ‘devil’.

Behold … the clique had not only invited the’ devil’ in, they had given the gold prince a seat and boy was the ‘fuel’ read (Smirnoff) flowing in.

 The interrogations were on.  And like some sort of banshee this friend of mine, Ngel was asking questions such as, “So where do you work?”  Not to forget his identity card was being passed around the group like some sort of ceremonial cup.

All heads almost knocking as they paid close attention, my empty seat conveniently left next to him. Anger, betrayal and diva rage was blinding me. But just like a finger had been snapped all my anger and feelings of betrayal never saw the next five seconds when he opened his mouth to reply.

This time trouble became chocolate. I did not only just serve it to him on a silver platter accompanied by a bag of fries,  my feet found their way to the empty chair and my backside gave itself a seat and joined in the head knocking attention.

My mother’s nightmare had just began full on. His voice OMG ( in screaming capitals). This fish had just been caught and was mesmerized straight to the pan; oil, onions, tomatoes and soy sauce.

Except my other girls purse mysteriously disappeared!

                                                Always P. Ayaso

 

Mateos blurs

A woman only rans when she knows she will be chased. A statement that sounds smug but has the stench of truth all over it.
This particular night with a clique of buddies we hit mateos like roaches in an abandoned building. That night was a chaotic blur.

My friends got into a fight over a touch or was it a ' physical pass' , beats me. The call we awaited to settle us with a constant supply of ' fuel'ended as just that a conversation.
The recepient had been informed of the number of clique and realising his cover policy was limited only made himself available on phone.

But the chase started when we decided to leave mateos. The bouncer pronounced himself  our table finder and proceeded to do so.
I didn't even have my red high heels on so why was he acting like a fly attracted to a lamp?

oh yah... someone was chasing.

The man they pointed at had my mother's nightmare written all over him. He was tall ( such a blessing), ebony and wore a gold chain- wait a gold chain.
That was sudanesse written all over him.

My mind came to a screeching halt. This is the part where i would fall at my mother's feet, arm raised tears flowing pleading for another prince without evidence of gold.

No thats not what happened. I instead turned to the bouncer who was trying to convince me how good his friend is and asked him, " So how long have you known this friend?'
Giggling and proceeding to carrya table for our clique to sit, who by the way sat gladly, i flee.

Flee i did, but not to the exit, no my feet found their way to the mateos ladies room. Who would have thought.

P. Ayaso

O'l Taxi Park

But that was long ago, that was last night...or was it this morning?


I cannot be sure. Night and morning blur as one when merrymaking begins. For that 3 am which my muzungu friend calls morning; and my African brother calls night: for it is the witching hour for all the village "Basezi" to come out and do their night business in the banana plantations.

But fear not, it was around this time that I and two pals sat on the stairs at our beloved Old Taxi Park. We sat next to an askari and a street vendor…the one who sells binyeebwa yes that one.

Ahem'… here we were, seated at the stairs at 3 am looking like lost sheep with the askari pointing out the dangerous spots in and around town as we waited for a taxi or a willing cyclist to take us to Wandegeya when here comes Mr. Scrooge.

This dude,( read skinny, tall and dark) no features whatsoever to cut him some slack, comes towards us swinging his obviously drunk package of the obvious sex and points at one of us (...read the lighter one) , " you how much you are wanted in that car" all in one drunken breathe no pauses, no stops for effect.

Silence...it still haunts me. This car by the way was dark ...that’s all memory can recall. Kidnapper, rapist is all i thought of. But wait, he just confused us for, corner gals… No words can ever explain that. Read ( We were all wearing jeans, well i had on my red high heels and one of us had a scarf we were all huddled in) was he crazy or merely daft..? I’ll never know.

For my question was never answered. Next thing I knew my mouth was opening and daring him to come any closer... “Wandegeya wandegeya” ... That lone shout from the taxi tout had all three of us sprint for the taxi like we had wings on our heels.


Ps: Wink, i love u 2 gals

             Love Pamela Orogot