Jazz is impossible to define. You just know it when you see it. Jazz, therefore, and I am not the first to make this comparison, is very much like pornography. (Jazz, by Igis Jazz by Tumwi). And what if we didn’t actually win independence? What if we didn’t break free of colonialism but rather, were abandoned? As in the old empires just decided we were too much of a burden and cut us loose? What if we didn’t quit, but were fired?  Holy shit, Angelakintu.com has a deadly looking template. Twenty-eight types of awefreakinsome. I also want. It looks like ebigenderako. I read something in the papers the other week. Kevin O’Connor wrote it. “So often in Uganda, because of its different cultural perspective, I end up having to explain my jokes – and if you have to explain a joke anywhere in the world, then almost certainly, the humour is lost in the process,” he said. The joke in this case was: “I now run so slowly that last week, I was overtaken by an old woman carrying a pot on her head.” 

That was the entire joke. No, I haven’t left out the set-up, or the context or anything. That is it. That.  Is . It. 
I spent money on that paper. Mr Kevin O’connor should give me my  balance. 


Mbu that I hear cultural perspective…