Hatari! Miniskirts!

I have been on leave and, as elaborated in my previous post, been broke, so I have not had a lot of time on the internet with the rest of the world. This therefore caught me by surprise. I just walked into the internets and look what I found in my news inbox: From the Ghanaian news editor of AfricaNews in Accra came this story, headed: 

Miniskirt row rocks Uganda


I did a double take, because I thought for a moment I had misread the words and the sentence, which would be correctly read as “Miniskirts rock in Uganda” or “Rows of miniskirts in Uganda rock”, came out skewed.

Nope. “Heated debate” has apparently “erupted,” says the story, on “whether women should be banned from wearing tight miniskirts in public or otherwise.”

I would expect heated debate to erupt on permission to wear tight miniskirts in public or otherwise if it were, say, Capital FM deejay Alex Ndawula in question, but women? Why should we do anything but encourage them heartily?

This reason has been given by the cabinet minister responsible: Hot chicks are a traffic hazzard, he says. 

“The country’s ethics and integrity minister s spearheading the call because women wearing them distract drivers and cause traffic accidents.”

Him again. Lord. Does this guy ever do anything except just sit there and ask for it? 

Thus spake James the Ethical: 

“You can cause an accident because some of our people are weak mentally. If you find a naked person you begin to concentrate on the make-up of that person and yet you are driving.”

Sounds like he is speaking from experience.

James didn’t answer the obvious question: Why not just pull over and park, you moron? 

Nsaba Buturo is flying the Ugandan flag high, representing this great nation all over the world wide web, ensuring that this noble republic gets a mention in “Wierd News” “Oddly Enough News” and “Funny News of The Day” segments around the globe. They are even making fun of us in Zimbabwe, Banange!

 (right at the bottom)

And who would have thought Buturo would get on BET before Bebe Cool?


Foreign Policy Magazine said Ugandan Drivers, Beware The Miniskirt Menace!

“The BBC notes that Buturo is seeking to rid Uganda of its many vices, and inappropriate dress is just one of the many indecent items that appear on the minister’s list. Among others are theft and embezzlement of public funds, sub-standard service delivery, greed, infidelity, prostitution, and homosexuality. But I guess miniskirts were the low-hanging fruit.”


I liked that.


Oh, snap. Look! 


I need a drink.

 But before we close, there is a quote from a pro-miniskirt activist in the story that started it all: 

“I wear miniskirts a lot. I am not comfortable in long skirts because I have nice legs. The only thing that makes me comfortable is miniskirt. I don’t support it (ban), where are we going to put them because we have bought them and those selling them have paid taxes on them too,” young Sylvia stated.

Random Thuroggits.


  • We open this weekend’s Thurrogits with a request. Wanted: An authoritative comment on the malicious rumour that the word Akaboozi in Luganda actually means something else.
  • Secondly, on the 13th of September, we we mark the day, 12 years ago, when our brother, Tupac Amaru Shakur, left us. And retired to Havana where he is living under the name of Esteban Ocero Dos Scianta and currently runs an antique bookstore/ cannabis bar/ ballet studio in a small hacienda. On the west side of the city, of course.

Tupac was a powerful musician, and even though I don’t agree with some of his messages, I appreciate and respect his talents. The only people who can deny his gifts, are those who haven’t listened to him anyway, but be that as it may, I’m still going to fuck with him, because what’s he going to do to me? Cuba is miles away.

Tupacs new song – Dave Chapelle

  • What do Blu*3 and rectal surgery have in common? And if you raised your hand and began making frantic yipping sounds in the hope that the teacher picks you so that you can chirp up a quip about pain in the ass, you are a hater ?

Introducing the Candiru.

Welcome back, if you clicked on the link, from the trip to trauma you just took. Yes, you read right. The Candiru is an invisible fish that swims up your ass and lodges itself inside. With spikes.

  • One last thurrogit: I was googling myself (and not because I am insecure or suffer from low self-esteem; quite the opposite. I think I am awesome and just want to know how far across this web my awesomeness goes. Or maybe I am pretending to be all egotistical to hide the fact that I am reallly shy. Whichever) and I I found this http://www.thebobs.com/index.php?w=1203581200919464CAVKNHVI

I’m on a German media company’s blog awards. Deutsche Velle has blog awards and, well, I’m up for one. I don’t know how it happened, but now that it has, please don’t let this thing close without me getting at least some votes.

Well, there are other bloggers on the list,  (full list of Ugandas here) but can we focus? This is about my self-obsessed, narcisistic, concieted, ego. This is about me. First Person Singular.

Besides, Kampala.ver doesn’t blog any more, so give me his votes. Tumwi is up, too (of course. That woman!) and I am scared of her. So she will keep her votes. Give me Gug’s votes. He is just as self-centred as I am after all.



Looks like we’re out. Whatever Darrel Bristow-Bovey is smoking, I want some and that’s all.

Ati wot? Big Brother update. Sheila and the closet

As usual, since I have not watched Big Brother, I will have to make up what happened. Your update, then.

Sheila is sitting on the sofa, languidly drawing on a cigarette, inelegantly and coarsely bored, when Tawana enters the room and joins her on the couch. Tawana is smiling broadly, but Sheila is frowning.

“Tawana, you know this is a big couch,” Sheila says. “Big enough for two people to sit comfortably on it. You don’t have to squeeze up so close to me. There is plenty of space.”

Tawana continues smiling. “I don’t mind being close to you. In fact I like being close to you. I’d like us to be … close, if you know what I mean.” She flutters her eyelashes.

Sheila is about to respond when their attention is drawn away by a sudden commotion. It is Morris running across the sitting room from the kitchen to the diary room. “Biggie, I have a problem. Can I come in?”

The door swings open and Morris enters. You can almost hear a weary sigh waft out of the speakers before Big Brother’s voice says, “Yes, Morris, what is it now?”

“We need better kitchen utensils,” Morris says. “I’ve been trying to chop vegetables in the kitchen but this knife doesn’t work. And it hurts.”

He raises his hands to Biggie’s camera. They are covered in blood.

“Morris, which end of the knife have you been using to cut and which end have you been holding?” monotones Biggie.

Ten seconds of blank stare from Morris follow before suddenly it hits him. “Oh, I get it. Thanks Biggie.” And he retreats from the room.

On the couch, Tawana has not stopped. “Your skin is lovely, Sheila. So so very smooth,” the Gaboronean coos.

“Kwanza hebu stop touch-touching my face you manze!”  snaps Sheila, lapsing into vernacular.
Latoya wanders into the sitting room looking very restless. “I am so totally bored. Isn’t there a guy nearby?”

“Morris just went through here. I think he is at the First Aid kit,” volunteers Tawana.
“What is that?” Latoya asks.

“You know it better as the box where they keep the condoms.”

And with that Latoya springs up and dashes off to where Morris had gone. With Latoya gone, Tawana can turn her attention back to fluttering her eyelids and licking her lips at Sheila. “Now, where were we?” she says, trying to make her voice husky.

Sheila who doesn’t seem to have got it yet, and is still perplexed by Tawana’s actions, replies, “I don’t know. The Twilight Zone?”

“That is what I like about you Sheila. You have such an adorable sense of humour. Hah hah hah!” fake-laughs Tawana. “Hey, let’s go for a dip in the pool. We can take our clothes off and leave them here…”

Sheila screws up her face. “You know Tawana, you are acting suspicious. If I didn’t know you were a woman like me I would suspect that you are trying to put the moves on me.”

At this moment Takondwa bursts in. “Sheila, do you have a matchbox? Mimi wants to see if she can get high by smoking the fluffy blue bits sticking out of the carpet—Oh.” He stops in his tracks when he sees that Tawana is leaning over Sheila like a blanket. “I didn’t realise you were… um busy,” he says. “I’ll leave you two alone. Please continue.” As he turns to leave he winks at Sheila and gives her a thumbs-up.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sheila explodes. “Somebody needs to tell me what’s going on here. And I don’t want sijui ati I don’t know. I demand an explanation! Kwanza quickly-quickly!”

“Hey, you don’t have to get mad. If you don’t want to have sex with me, it’s not like I’m going to rape you.” Tawana is miffed.

“Ati wooooott?” screams Sheila. “Why would I want to have sex with you? You are a woman!”

“Yeah, but you don’t mind that. You are a lesbian after all,” blinks Tawana.

Sheila exclaims, “%#$!!@^!!*&!!” And that is not a way of euphemising the word fuck. She actually pronounces a curse like that. “Ati a lesbian? Who told you I’m a lesbian? I’m norra lesbian! Ati wot?”

Tawana is very confused. “But everyone says you are a lesbian.”

“Who is everyone?”

“Don’t deny it, it’s all over the internet?” Latoya says, walking in. Behind her Morris staggers Morris. Panting.  He takes the cigarette from Shiela’s hand and takes a deep draught.

“The internet? How the hell do you even know what is on the internet?” Sheila turns to Latoya.

“Biggie lets me check my gmail and my Facebook messages,” she replies. “In exchange for a few favours.”

“Holy shit. You’re sleeping with Big Brother, too?”

“No. Don’t be absurd!” she scrunches her face. “Just a bit of fellatio now and then, that’s all. I need to stay connected, you know.”

Rico walks in. “Hey, Latoya, you got a minute?”

Latoya looks at Morris, who is now asleep on the floor, then she looks at Ricco. “You had better not mean that literally.” And she follows him to the bedroom.


(Ad break: I am contributing Uganda on the Web pieces to theKampalan.blogspot.com.  If you feel like kuwagilaring, or even if you are just interested in what Muwangizi Achilewo, that Mateos child preacher, was doing on the BBC, please click here.)

This is not a real blog post. This is just some bullshit.

I am torn.
I believe in sincere, honest, and passionate debate. I believe in discussion. I believe that no one has a right to believe a belief that hasn’t been tested repeatedly through orderly argument, and I believe that a good pow wow can be a lot of fun.

I would have been ecstatic to hear:

“Yes, people have the right to write whatever they want on their blogs, but I wish more people wanted to write about the pressing social and political issues.”


 “The hope of ths country is in the hands of the educated, privileged elite. It is their duty to take an active interest in politics.


Or even:

“You missed the subtle joke Muhumuza was pulling on you: He wanted to illustrate that traditional journalism is superior to blogging and he did this by writing a newspaper article in the style of a blog. I think he made his point.”

You know. Something that addresses the issue.

Instead I get this.

“The best think CB did was to ignore you baz. I think the way you juxtaposed his picture was bad. You also lack journalism ethics. I am not suprised if some one tell me you never passed through MUK because if you had atleast student introduction to photojournalism. I am sure Opolot would have told you that playing with some one’s picture is more warse than  writing a wrong article coz a picture   tell 1000 times more than a story.
By the way, were you writing in monitor requesting  requesting the editor to sack him??????
You need to style up too……..”


What should I say to this fellow? Clearly this argument is over.  The matter is dead and everyone has moved on, except those who have nothing to contribute at all at all at all. Let me go and work on some fictional Big Brother. Ntsssss!