During his reign, the Late Ugandan Dictator, General, Field marshal, Dr Idi Amin Dada, VSO, MC advised his soldiers to ‘marry within their barracks’! Many soldiers took him for granted and wrote him off as being a ‘buffoon’. Little did they know how relevant his advice was.
The General or rather Field Marshall had a serious point to make and indeed, then and in the distant future to come. Let us shed all forms of prejudice and approach life with an open mind.
After all, is there anything to lose? Remember, none of us will ever leave this life alive, the moment you and I are done with their own piece of life, we will have none left, and we will be “Dead”, full stop!
It is a matter of time‘t’ and all of us will be mere history. I’m not trying to make threats to any one’s life; after all, it is not the duty of a mere villager to decide who lives and stops living at any given time.
My only piece of advice is for any one of us (you and I) to make the best out of this piece of life as long as it lasts. I for one would love to live a happy life, die honourably and be given a befitting farewell.
Imagine, being forced to depart with lots of unfinished business on your agenda, eh?
Nowadays, I put on my best attire when I am going to the market, I enjoy rice and beef when I feel like it, I go out with friends whenever conditions allow. After all, who knows? Today could be all I am left with to live!
I have noticed with great concern, the number of unhappy individuals in our society, many try to wear masks, but, alas, the sadness can still be ‘seen’ behind those masks. Is it the affirmative action causing the sadness? I don’t think so; it is something deeply rooted within our sub-consciousness.
Many times, guys have been forced by their parents to marry so and so, because they approve of his or her parents and disapprove of the parents of the other etc, the end result has been breeding unhappiness in the lives of the young couples.
Back to the General’s statement, where he advised people to marry from their own “barracks”, I suppose he must have meant that they should marry from their own categories and levels rather than being gold diggers.
This takes me to the actual reality of doing things because of public opinion or not having the word “no” in one’s own vocabulary.
There is this cousin cum friend of mine; he was born in the village of Kabagore nearly the same time as I in the village of Mfashumwana.
Despite the fact that we were born far apart, we went to school together, I went to St. Leos’ College Kyegobe and he went to the so called School (Nyakasura). After our “zero” (O) level, we did not meet until we came back to this land we share.
“Nyiramahirwe” (luck) had laughed his way (I’m not saying that she hadn’t laughed my way, but the degree varies considerably), he landed a fat job where as I became a truck driver in MINUAR, petty trader etc. I got married to a fellow villager (chain keeper) and for him, he decided to marry a beauty, Kiki, whose origins were somewhere on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, in a town called Buja (Bujumbura).
This friend of mine, who was known as Mugabo, a.k.a Musajja, has not “seen” any happiness since he got married to this beauty.
Sijui, when he wants to go to Car Wash to have his throat washed, the wife wants to go to Chez John in Kiyovu, when the so called “basajja” come visiting, the wife gets irritated and instead she wants only the “Bajumbura “ to come visiting.
Musajja is now living in a virtual hell! The recent causalities to this relationship was none other than Musajja’s old mum, Tedora; despite the fact that he had unwillingly relocated her from her village of Kabagore (that is a village somewhere between Kamwenge and Bihanga railway stations in Western Uganda), unwillingly because, the old lady did not want to leave behind her life long friends just to re-unite with his son, but what could she do?
As the English say, “he who pays the piper, calls the tune”. At the onset of the marriage, many of us were rather prejudiced in that, we could not understand how the two would easily mingle with each other going by their different cultural backgrounds, but were forced to keep our thoughts to our own selves lest we were told to mind our own businesses!
As we talk now, Kiki and Musajja are ceremonial husband and wife only because they signed the “life sentence”, each one now leaves in a separate bedroom, they only go together to public functions like weddings, even then, they sometimes seat apart.
As of now, I have been sucked into this saga; the old lady has quit the guy’s posh home in Nyarutarama and is currently living with us in the less affluent suburb of Remera. As they say, blood is thicker than water, I have to put up with auntie Tedora, even if it causes untold embarrassment and humiliation to his son, I cannot stand aside and watch the old lady being driven into committing suicide by the lack of happiness in her child’s home.
At least, I have a chain keeper who is always trying to control my movements by keeping me under her remote control, who knows?
May be it is because she loves me. I have been in this state of “imprisonment” for nearly two decades and since I swore that, “in good, bad, sickness or health, till death do us apart”, I am not ready to break that vow, so help me God.
There are many broken homes out there, just because, the bonds that are supposed to hold them tightly together are alien to the parties.
Each and every passing day, I get stronger and stronger in that, I feel the biting “chain” less and lesser.
Diaspoman: When Heinekens took my partner down memory lane
By Mark Diaspoman
The hunt for a bride is still on. You may recall that the old men in Mutara have been quizzing me about my marital status. They believe that a whole Diaspoman should not remain single for life.
They are always harassing me about this issue. As for me, I have been giving these old folks in Mutara several empty promises. Its now 3 years but the bride has not been forthcoming.
This implies that the old men in Mutara have been denied booze from the Diaspoman for the past 3 years. To them, wedding parties in Mutara translates into enormous volumes of alcohol.
So, I have had to step up my efforts in a bid to find someone who would be called the mother of my children. I have visited several places including churches.
You may recall one story that I gave you a few years ago. It was a story about this nice looking chick that I happened to hook from one of the many born again churches. She was the right person for me.
For the 1 week that I was courting her, I had to sacrifice my favorite flask of beers. I had to change to real flasks of African tea.
I also had to visit church more regularly in order to win her heart. This went on for a week until one Sunday morning when I saw the light.
Yes, on that fateful Sunday, I went to church where I sat next to my number one. She gave me a nice smile and then we proceeded to praise the lord in songs and in form of dancing.
All was going well until the pastor asked the congregation to wave hands towards the heavens. Before I could raise my hands, my new chick lifted her arm at a 90 degree angle.
It was at this moment that a certain strong smell emanated from her armpit towards my nostril. I swear that smell was so strong that it knocked me out flat. It was what some scientists would term as; pungent!
The smell hit me like a rocket and I landed on the ground. At this moment, fellow Christians rushed to me, laying hands on me. They were praying hard so that the demons could jump out.
How I wish that they knew what had actually hit me was not the Holy Spirit. It was the armpit of my wife to be that had knocked me out.
So, I just abandoned that girl and started searching again. Anyways back to the present. My bride hunt recently took me to KIST. It was actually Aggrey that fixed this date for me. It happened to be a sister of a cousin of the Auntie of Aggrey’s girlfriend’s niece.
Phew! So was I supposed to be Aggrey’s in-law or something? Okay, I kicked off my mission to KIST to find my new catch. She too had already been briefed accordingly. I hear that she had also been told that the Diaspoman was loaded with many tribes of cash.
The truth of the matter of course is that I was as poor as a real church mouse. That is why I had to go to my newfound in-law by the names of Aggrey himself.
I went to him so that he could loan me with a few bucks to enable me please my new catch. Aggrey dished out 50k and off I hit the road. Sure enough my KIST chick was waiting for me. We then drove off to a new hot spot here in Kigali . I do not remember the name of this spot because I think the Mitzigs that I drank erased my memories.
But although my memories were erased, there was one main memory that is still stuck in my head. That memory relates to how my KIST chick behaved herself at this hot spot.
She behaved in a manner that left onlookers very amused. You see, when we settled in, I pulled out the 50k and handed it over to the barman. I told him to keep the money until we were through with our drinks.
I told him that after we had drunk to our fill, he would return any balance – if any. I then started clobbering bottle after bottle as my new catch also crushed Heineken after Heineken.
Halfway through our drinking journey, my already drunk chick warned me that whenever she took beers, she tended to remember all of her ex-boyfriends. That she also remembered the heartbreak that her ex-boyfriends caused her.
Oops, I had to be on my guard. I told her that it was time to go home but she refused. She wanted more rounds of drinks. Deep inside, I was getting scared! What if she remembers her ex-boyfriends?
What if she recalls how heartbroken she got? What if she starts to cry?
As I was still thinking of an exit strategy, my future bride released a very loud sound which caused panic at the place.
The sound she was releasing was a mixture of screams, coughing, sneezing and wailing. “Oh, John! Oh, David, Oh Robert! Oh, Fred! Why did you forsake me? Am I that ugly? Really? Why why why…” Amidst all this craziness, I sneaked out and disappeared into the night, leaving behind my new chick plus my balance.