Thursday, 15 November 2018

Gratitude List: Work Buddies. BK.

I first met BK when he joined Xfm as a DJ.  I’d heard quite a bit about him, but had never seen his face, because he was always in a mask on stage and on posters.  He was sitting at my boss’ desk for a while, and I just carried on minding my business.  It wasn’t until later that I was told “This is THE DJ BK.”  He seemed very serious and put together.  How wrong I was.

I soon found out the guy is a LUMPEN.  Listen.  BK is 50 Shades of Stupid.  Naturally, we became fast friends.  His stupid totally gets mine.

Apart from being a ballistic DJ, BK eventually became the station’s marketing manager.  We would spend ages brainstorming, and eventually executing stuff.  It was always difficult sitting in a serious boardroom meeting with him because one of us would send the other a stupid Whatsapp and inevitably end up in the giggles. 

My favourite part of being in studio…

Every morning around 7am, Rudy, Ghill and I would look out the studio window to find BK doing some stupid jig outside.  The studio is right next to the main entrance, and has tinted windows, so we always had fun watching people walk past, adjust their crotch, or peer in curiously, unaware that the three of us could see them clear as day.

So BK would stop outside, and dance, or gesticulate, to get our attention.  Sometimes we would indulge him.  One time we all blatantly ignored him for 5 minutes.  He eventually stormed into the studio complaining that we’d made a fool of him.  Dude, you did that all by yourself.

Sometimes he’d come in to dance with us, or to be The Random Guy In The Corner.  His mixes were always INSANE and made us lose our collective shit on numerous occasions. 

A lot of people don’t know…

If you are his friend, BK will do anything for you.  (He will also DESTROY you with cocktails on your birthday. Chisos.) He has come through for me so many times.  Even if it is just to say something to make me laugh or calling to tell me some stupid joke that only he seems to find funny. 

I’ll never forget getting to the church on the day of my Dad’s funeral.  BK was the first person I saw as I walked in.  I remember thinking wait, how come he is here?  But then later on I was like, of course he was. 

He’s also the one who told me to get my arse in gear and do a podcast with the lads.  #NotRadio is largely due to him.  He’s the guy who cracks the whip.  And laughs at everything we say.

I laughed the hardest…

Eish.  There are too many moments to name.  The times he’d pretend to be snogging someone in the corner of the studio (I have video of that, somewhere).  When he’d say something MONUMENTALLY stupid and Rudy would sucker punch him.  And of course, whenever we do our customary greeting.  See below.

Wednesday, 14 November 2018

Gratitude List: Work Buddies. Ghill.

I first met Ghill when Xfm was hosting house parties for listeners.  His house had won, so me, other presenters and Pam, our marketing manager at the time, traipsed over to this bachelor pad to throw them a party.  I was in charge of mixing cocktails, so made myself busy in the kitchen, chucking vodka, gin and God knows what else into a bucket, chopping fruit and supervising set up outside.  I just remember feeling stressed and frayed, and this nice young man coming to check that I was ok and had everything I needed.  Fast-forward a year or so, and Ghill was brought in to the breakfast show.  I was hosting with Rudende and Bush Baby at the time, and we were in desperate need of some comic relief.  Enter Ghill aka Libolo.  He came onto the show as the guy supposed to bring us breakfast, but his hilarious quips soon made him a staple.  Before we knew it,  Bush left and Libolo officially joined the breakfast crew.  The rest is history.

My favourite part of being in studio…

You guys.  Ghill is funny AF.  There are times he’d say shit and Rudy and I would DIE.  As in, fall off your chair, fart on your grandmother funny.  This one time we were talking about the movie 300, and Ghill did this hilarious impression of Xerxes.  We were always pissing about in reception during the news, because we had to get out of the studio.  Call it cabin fever.  Anyway, Ghill did this impression of Xerxes that had us on the floor.  I swear my coffee came through my nose that morning.  Such an iJOT.

A lot of people don’t know…

Dude is brilliant. Ghill is a total geek.  In a good way.  He’s my go-to guy for gadgets.  He helped me get my last 4 phones, my TV, my hard drive, and he’s working on getting me an online thingamajiggy.  He speaks fluent French.  And he drove me and my bridesmaids to my faux wedding.  He also took over from me as station manager at Xfm and is doing a stellar job.  He’s certainly killed less people than I would have done if I was still there.  Top lad.

I laughed the hardest…

This one time (at band camp… JK), we’d gone out for drinks with certain members of the crew who shall remain nameless.  One crew member stole another crew member’s girl (ok she wasn’t technically his but she was about to be but dude dozed on jobo).  Anyway.  We laughed.  We salvaged the situation.  That is all.  Oh, there was also the time Ghill was being chased by a crazy drunk chick who wanted his stuff and I had to try to get rid of her.  Because he was too nice to tell her to sling her hook.  He’s one of the nice ones.

Gratitude List: Work Buddies. KK.

I first met KK in a staff meeting.  I was still relatively new as station manager, and should have been chairing the meeting, but this post isn’t about micro-managing, so let’s move on.
We were all told about his glittering career, and how he was back from a stint in Kigali.  KK was practically silent throughout the meeting, in his self-deprecating way.  We were eventually put together on the breakfast show, which didn’t start off too well.  I thought he was too risqué, he thought I was too prudish.  One day, during a music break, he just let loose and told me to relax, dammit!  And I did.  Thus began some of the greatest radio lessons I have ever received.  From a somewhat crazy, off-kilter guy.

My favourite part of being in studio…

When we started hosting The Morning After Show on Saturday mornings.  I would be hungover, KK would be fresh and full of mischief.  He’d be downloading porn questionable content and series, introducing me to GOT and House of Cards and Mad Men and tons of other dope shit.  During music breaks, we’d tune in online to Phat Joe in South Africa and dream about how we’d change the radio scene in Uganda.  We’d buy each other breakfast.  He taught me how to roll a sausage in a chapatti AND NO THAT ISN’T A EUPHEMISM FOR ANYTHING YOU DIRTY-MINDED MISCREANTS.  We’d plan road trips with the crew.  He’d tell me about friends of his who had crushes on me and gave me so much confidence in my delivery I felt like Uganda’s Jo Wiley (Google her).  He taught me how to script and to go off the cuff and how to let my on-air freak flag fly.  We laughed ALL.  THE.  TIME

A lot of people don’t know…

KK is super-private.  That’s all.  But he’s also one of the most polite, loving, passive aggressive savage beings I know.

I laughed the hardest…

When KK and Rudy passed by home to pick me up for some event, I can’t remember which one.  My Dad had broken his hip and was bed-ridden, but the lads came in to say hello.  When I got back home, my parents were concerned at how skinny he was, “with all that beard”, and asked me why I wasn’t making more of a concerted effort to ensure he was being fed.  I laughed and let it go, because I wasn’t about to explain the munchies to my folks.

Gratitude List: Work Buddies. Rudende.

I first met Rudende when he came to what was then Vision Voice radio, for a voice test.  KK had told me about a friend of his who was hilarious and was just what we needed at the station.  I was station manager at the time, and was always on the lookout for fresh talent.  So Rudy came in, and we were introduced.  I remember thinking he had annoyingly nice hair.  He said he was very nervous, and actually requested to go pee before stepping into the studio.  He eventually went in and delivered what is, to this day, the best voice test I have ever heard.  Truth.

My favourite part of being in studio…
Whenever we would dance.  Rudy is a great dancer, no matter the genre of music.  He is particularly fond of reggaeton (I know.  Ugh.).  Whenever we’d have a long music break, he’d often bust a move and force me and Ghill to join in.  Ghill is also a very good dancer.  By comparison, I have two left feet.  A fact Rudy would eagerly tell anyone willing to listen.  So I’d usually relegate myself to being behind the camera, as I watched these two fools executing the most complex of shuffles.  Always a fun time.

A lot of people don’t know…
Much as he often verbally abuses me, Rudy is actually one of my best friends.  We have fought, disagreed, gone for weeks without speaking.  But the day I was travelling to bury my father and had to pass by the office, he was the first person to hug me.  And he was right there when we laid Pops to rest.  Rudy is my gango for life.  Also yes, he is always hungry.  That’s his superpower.

I laughed the hardest…
Everytime he gesticulated too much and broke a chair in studio.  Priceless.

Gratitude List: Work Buddies (A Teeny Tiny Explanation).

First of all, I know it has been a while and I appreciate you coming back to read my writings.

I’ve been hosting a few pity-parties recently.  It happens, once in a while.  When I find myself in such spaces, I usually sit and make what I like to call Gratitude Lists (such as this one HERE).  

It reminds me that I really do not have anything to complain about and need to stop feeling sorry for myself.

I am currently reading Amy Poehler’s Yes, Please! (thanks Mimi!).  In the most recent chapter I read, she talks about people she has worked with and the best things about having them in her life.  It got me thinking about the awesome people I’ve been privileged to work with over the past (almost) 10 years, and so I decided to write a series of posts and tell you about these ballistic beings. 

So, here goes.  Gratitude List: Work Buddies.

1. Rudende
2. KK
3. Ghill
4. BK

PSA: It might get a bit schmaltzy up in here.  Allow.

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

HBD, B. (Happy Birthday, Bish.)

I didn’t think that it was possible to make firm friends past a certain age in life.

Don’t ask me why I settled on this (non) fact.  Maybe because I’m so set in my ways, I can be a bit weird sometimes, plus I rarely hang out and will happily spend a weekend at home, cooking, reading, pottering around, listening to music and chilling with my dogs.

Not exactly a place to meet people and expand my social circle.  But I’m not complaining.

I met Kemiyondo on Twitter.  Like, for real.  There I was, minding my own business and loving hard on Idris.  I remember it was about a month before my birthday, and people had started Tweeting Idris to wish me a Happy Birthday.  (This campaign was in its 6th year. Eh. We tried).

Yes. This actually happened. Sigh.

So this chick starts trolling me.  Yes, TROLLING.  Talking about how she’s his other wife, bla bla bla.  We had some interesting exchanges.

She has no manners.

For real. This chick doesn't know when to quit.  Until I annihilate her azzz.

I. Did. Not. Come. To. Play.

She’s even gone so far as to report my birthday tweet from Idrissa to Twitter, after complaining for ages.  Her levels of petty know no bounds.

Why so salty?

Sick of her nonsense, I sent her a DM telling her to stay the hell away from my man and challenged her to a boob-off, which I knew I’d win.  I’m happy to report she has settled into her (second) place at House Elba and is at least trying to learn how to play Hide The Chocolate Sausage.  Or so he says.

Bish deliberately cut me out of this shot. SMH.

Anyway. The point of this post is not to remind the world that she is a hubby-stealing heifer, but to actually wish this bish a Happy Birthday.

Kemi, you get on my last nerve, but you make me laugh.  Thank you for being super-supportive, for having my BACK!!! For always telling me the truth.  For including me in projects that I never thought I'd get the chance to be part of.  (BBC!! WHAT?!). Thank you for bringing me out of myself at a time when I had literally shut down and closed off the world.  Thank you for changing my mind. Thank you for understanding how much I love my dogs and just GETTING IT!!! (They love you too, by the way.)

Thank you for being my friend.

I know it’s a bittersweet birthday, but I hope you at least try to have fun.   This coming year is going to be huge, I just know it. May you go forth, find Donald Glover and/or Kofi Siriboe AND GET THE HELL OUT OF MY MARRIAGE COZ YOU KNOW YOU DON'T EVEN LOVE IDRIS AND YOU THOUGHT HE WAS NIGERIAN!!!!!

Sorry.  Lost myself there for a moment.

Happy Birthday, Bish. Have a blast.


Thursday, 8 June 2017

L.O.L (Live, Laugh, Love Out Loud)

It’s been 3 years, 2 months and 56 days since Pops left us.

Or one thousand, one hundred and sixty-two days.

I can, for the most part, think about him and talk about him without ending up a sobbing pile on the ground, but it’s still difficult. 

There are days I desperately want to share something with him and then it hits me that I can’t. (I still say it out loud anyway. Eish, what I’d give to hear his thoughts on Marmalade Mussolini).

I had a pleasant memory of him the other day, precisely when I needed it.  I was tired, had just got back from work, was fed up and in no mood to adult AT ALL. 

I flopped on the couch, and for some unknown reason I remembered one of the many church services we attended as a family during Christmas.

My family knows how I dread those interminable services, and I have tried every trick in the book to dodge them.  To no avail.

Me: I’m not feeling well. Ma:  Come we pray for you.

Me: Let me stay behind and cook lunch. Ma: It’s almost all done, we’ll finish when we get back from church.

Me: I’m too hungover. Ma: Serves you right. You thought you were drinking water?! Msscheeew. Get in the car.

My Mum just cannot be thwarted.  She even tells the reverend in August that I’m going to perform in church on Christmas Day so I can’t get out of it. Anyway, I digress.

On this particular day, there we were, the six of us in the usual pew. I sat next to Dad and away from Ma, who has this quick-slap thing she does if she catches me on my phone and I’m within reach.  Pa would dispense The Side Eye of Fatherly Disapproval of course but gwe, a slap on the back of the wrist hurts a lot more.

Time for the usual auction, one of the most mind-numbingly boring parts of the service.  At this point I am usually losing the will to live and have gone past the point of hunger, but on this day the auction was particularly entertaining.

Someone had brought a chicken to be auctioned.  Please note, this is not what was funny.  First of all, the poor bird didn’t seem to realize it was in The House of the Lord and decided to crap everywhere.  And then at some point, some hapless member of the congregation, on his way up to give his own auction offering of 3 rather bereft-looking avocados, STEPPED on said chicken, which only made the poor thing shit itself even more.

What really made me laugh was the fact that Dad, usually suitably solemn in church, was cracking up.  Ok, not throw-your-head-back-and-slap-your-thigh cracking up (we’d all do that later around the Christmas tree), but shaking, with tears running down both cheeks, at the Comedy of Errors this bloody auction had turned out to be.

Now, I’m not a quiet laugher at the best of times, and once I start crying, then Kaine’s going to kick off, then Bain and Asiimwe then before you know it we’re all on the floor.  So our pew was a bit of a mess.  All six of us, doubled over, laughing and not being able to stop.

These are the memories that improve my crappy days.

Ma, Kaine, Asiimwe, Baingana and I have been able to laugh again.  And we do.  We laugh about stuff that happens now, stuff that happened then.  Stuff that used to make Pa laugh and stuff that we know would have him cracking up with that unmistakable guffaw of his.  Eish, how I miss it.

I guess all I’m saying is, store those moments.  Keep those moments of hilarity and mirth or whatever you want to call them.  Because there are days you’ll need them to pick you up after a naff day.

I miss you Pops.