tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68033899473004031752024-02-08T06:07:36.965+03:00Kanyindo's Random RamblingsA collection of my musings, mutterings and mumbles...Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.comBlogger130125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-51464180810835702122021-06-03T13:37:00.000+03:002021-06-03T13:37:49.562+03:00Untitled (or, Tumbling Down the Rabbit Hole of Culture and Biodiversity).<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few days ago, I joined a group of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">pretty cool people</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to learn more about the work National Environment Management Authority (NEMA) does when it comes to protecting and preserving </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Uganda’s biodiversity. I was super excited because, ROAD TRIP! Also, I knew I was guaranteed a fun time with this crew.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoYnTCib1GMKUJaLDBR1apckM04TtEPTZ9m6UKPN4GYylLH33Y0cq8ZBMDVisLvAq0xz6XrBsmAyBHQ86Jz5c9znry4zycLAM2tzfjnhwYsbDbA9KRlZGkjsKlnN5KmtMyEKhpsk252aU/s1920/20210601120132_IMG_2088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoYnTCib1GMKUJaLDBR1apckM04TtEPTZ9m6UKPN4GYylLH33Y0cq8ZBMDVisLvAq0xz6XrBsmAyBHQ86Jz5c9znry4zycLAM2tzfjnhwYsbDbA9KRlZGkjsKlnN5KmtMyEKhpsk252aU/s320/20210601120132_IMG_2088.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"> <i><b><l-r Telma, Laura, Lilian, Uncle Mo, The Mith, Me, Kwizera and Edward>**</b></i></div></span><p style="text-align: left;"></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-71834e9e-7fff-1ab5-bf8e-76f10bc0ca4e"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were off to visit the Kalagala-Itanda Offset (no relation to the rapper), which was recently declared a Special Conservation Area. This means that it shall be protected and conserved as </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a natural habitat and water catchment for the Nile system to provide environmental, ecological, social, spiritual, cultural and economic values. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbD09OByln8RxvLQPHZvXmLc2FsgFmZWclc-eX_GB7KOyrCfhCoWsWbOPdsk_ufsosysRbn6ttSWgs6rAtfeP2SBEyozXxXIu9MZ7MaRQYx4HD2mX_6PXM8Zj3QGGk1CNNfql9mYhxDDI/s1080/IMG-20210603-WA0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbD09OByln8RxvLQPHZvXmLc2FsgFmZWclc-eX_GB7KOyrCfhCoWsWbOPdsk_ufsosysRbn6ttSWgs6rAtfeP2SBEyozXxXIu9MZ7MaRQYx4HD2mX_6PXM8Zj3QGGk1CNNfql9mYhxDDI/w305-h191/IMG-20210603-WA0006.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Kalagala-Itanda Offset*</b></i> </div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of all the values mentioned, the environmental, ecological, economic and even social values were all pretty obvious to me. But I had never given the spiritual and cultural values much thought, until this trip.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Now I’m low-key obsessed. First come and I tell you.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxO2rCFKIkSHIqLIzzqPzr4o6s6ovWGrLYO2_G8zWn0ltlX2h55mltBXjiuSl8s263FkgtdNyOCxnJ3rRJ0pr0Z9pBDMEslfsr_8GCv0gVn0ZbBHavo_GBmxw1TCpwmiLAXkKqsxSDhxE/s1920/20210601115544_IMG_2081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxO2rCFKIkSHIqLIzzqPzr4o6s6ovWGrLYO2_G8zWn0ltlX2h55mltBXjiuSl8s263FkgtdNyOCxnJ3rRJ0pr0Z9pBDMEslfsr_8GCv0gVn0ZbBHavo_GBmxw1TCpwmiLAXkKqsxSDhxE/s320/20210601115544_IMG_2081.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>"Come forth and I tell you things."**</i></b></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we finally arrived at Kalagala Falls, we met NEMA Executive Director Dr Tom Okurut, who generously took us on a brief tour, dropping pearls of wisdom and </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">deep knowledge the whole time. One of my favourites of all the things he said is that humans have to learn how to live in harmony with nature, not the other way round. “Remember, humans came here last.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2a7nYvCsLhyphenhyphen8qN0U0cASjRT9iCsclUYkKCPHaA759B4rqagnVKnaQ0Xfz5aQSsbTMmeR5xbYwwjcnuhe0XVRf1CA1Um3u7I1FBKoEVLnSAjDIOoGb3b7ffFlUItpev6bZoxkcTICmbMc/s1920/20210601125905_IMG_2162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2a7nYvCsLhyphenhyphen8qN0U0cASjRT9iCsclUYkKCPHaA759B4rqagnVKnaQ0Xfz5aQSsbTMmeR5xbYwwjcnuhe0XVRf1CA1Um3u7I1FBKoEVLnSAjDIOoGb3b7ffFlUItpev6bZoxkcTICmbMc/s320/20210601125905_IMG_2162.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>We were in class, for real.**</b></i></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before I could make it to the rocks where everyone was taking pictures, my eyes were drawn to a tree trunk, draped in what looked like a white sheet. At the foot of the tree was a gourd, a clay pot </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with what looked like solidified coconut oil and a bowl with coffee beans and shells. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmzyiZ-OpKaEq23gZCsB8SB238K2Ywoh4cDZYduELm8m_mI-hBrmnXjGg1ZDdA5mHPuSJGEMC5wbFkVBDDOwy7JtnMR50d9a5MbhFzm0Qa3szBKMP6QmSAN5Wd1mFbOrV4hDqYDznS6k/s2048/IMG_20210601_124033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmzyiZ-OpKaEq23gZCsB8SB238K2Ywoh4cDZYduELm8m_mI-hBrmnXjGg1ZDdA5mHPuSJGEMC5wbFkVBDDOwy7JtnMR50d9a5MbhFzm0Qa3szBKMP6QmSAN5Wd1mFbOrV4hDqYDznS6k/s320/IMG_20210601_124033.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>I just had so many questions...</b></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we crossed to another part of the falls, we came across a couple of guys who were guarding a fire. One of them explained that the fire has to be maintained 24/7. People come to the fire, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">make their requests to the ancestors, then leave coins/coffee beans as offerings. I couldn’t get a picture, but here’s one of Kwizera in a canoe.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gwt3boTGemd5TekNTCyghHpml88939LrG8-WYf9C9euGB-IJTDcmRXWmDOI4ipYg7XAYY-ARydYdtRN1wS-yqW80258KKiCA5BByJsaLx4C7vQku0MCocACWPEnVyteXuFedRRTInC4/s2048/IMG_20210601_132617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gwt3boTGemd5TekNTCyghHpml88939LrG8-WYf9C9euGB-IJTDcmRXWmDOI4ipYg7XAYY-ARydYdtRN1wS-yqW80258KKiCA5BByJsaLx4C7vQku0MCocACWPEnVyteXuFedRRTInC4/s320/IMG_20210601_132617.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>Row, row, row your boat...</i></b></div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m just so fascinated with the link between spirituality and protecting the environment.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The trees and water are revered. These guys protect the trees and the water. They understand the benefits of looking after the environment in which they live. Compare that with our towns and cities </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">where trees are constantly cut down and rubbish disposed of carelessly. We completely ignore the benefits of doing the right thing.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqa6YqhvvE5xiPPqcznFUHsoR-F-_Qj3MSv_OB0MTb-6WOg67LbdRqRkUAdrqvfMinr62FkMMFp4mQMnCQjAyRjHaqpmb2VEdfqCGA5FdUfYe_T7UbFXyPcAXzZXGyrcHndRG8MQcvi4/s2048/Infograph+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqa6YqhvvE5xiPPqcznFUHsoR-F-_Qj3MSv_OB0MTb-6WOg67LbdRqRkUAdrqvfMinr62FkMMFp4mQMnCQjAyRjHaqpmb2VEdfqCGA5FdUfYe_T7UbFXyPcAXzZXGyrcHndRG8MQcvi4/s320/Infograph+14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>It's that simple. But do we listen?</i></b></div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This trip really got me thinking about how much of our cultures are tied to the environment, to nature. From dances mimicking animals, to superstitions (owls, anyone?), to our totems. What’s your totem,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> by the way? Do you know?</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve fallen down a fascinating rabbit hole and I’m looking forward to finding out more, not only about how our culture is so closely tied to nature but also the role I can play to #BePartofTheSolution and protect</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Uganda’s biodiversity. Join me. And enjoy this video of us in the canoe. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyEQon_wpbIZ1m_SsjGUHASqu5YWKH6sDHBQzIkSxqnkSPDuI0_0Y0pnRNZ4OIJLJJqhs-mLjOuKkA1In7U3g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b>Good vibes just.</b></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;">#BiodiversityUG #BePartOfTheSolution #Uganda #CulturalTourism #Kalagala #MyUganda</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">📸 <span> </span>*@HiRolla256</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> ** @LNFUndisputed </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><br /></span>Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-38307770957213128582021-03-07T23:10:00.000+03:002021-03-07T23:10:15.762+03:00Untitled: or How I'm Trying To Do 8th March Differently.<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">8th March is my father’s birthday.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-8d8eede8-7fff-82dd-0f9f-4a7c1b7c91d7"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Up until 7 years ago, it was always a celebration in our home, especially because he always took time to celebrate the women in his life: his wife and his three daughters. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is a much less celebratory day, now, as each year is a harsh reminder that he is no longer with us.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year, I am determined to do something different with this day, which usually throws me into a pit of grief and despair. (Along with Christmas, my parents’ wedding anniversary, family birthdays, etc. The list is endless. The emptiness he left is vast and wide and infinite. Ugh. I miss him so damn much.)</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our family, like so many others around the world, has dealt with so much grief recently. I can’t tell you the number of funerals, church services, burials I have attended, or not been able to attend in the past few months. It is exhausting. It can break you. Especially when the one person who would comfort you, or help you make sense of the madness, or tell you that everything will be ok, is no longer here.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year, I am trying to be more grateful. In my endless grief, I am trying to be grateful that I had my Dad in my life. That he saw me grow into an adult. That he saw me make an effort to be a better person, and to grow into the person he always believed I could be. That he loved me so much when he was on this earth, that I can still feel it, even if I can’t hug him anymore or hear his voice. His laugh. Oh, that laugh! (Not to mention his sneezes that shook the house. I inherited those. Thanks, Pops.)</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am especially grateful that he taught my sisters and I to know our worth. To hold our heads high and never accept discrimination simply because we were female. To not accept any shit from men whatsoever. </span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And that he would love us no matter what.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am grateful. In pain, forever altered, but grateful.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Continue to rest peacefully, Daddy. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqV_1xnaVzs9smE24FxMTKoFpaLI3SCDYa5CMd5_3Y0FR__adUSOOhvOQr8tW4mVdsyAQgkQAblPKt1u2TgtPnfkxi0KhVRCXIa8suoe-pvY7nQqsEbCy3-cfOg9ZP1VInmQXnpakIF54/s1529/picture+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="1529" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqV_1xnaVzs9smE24FxMTKoFpaLI3SCDYa5CMd5_3Y0FR__adUSOOhvOQr8tW4mVdsyAQgkQAblPKt1u2TgtPnfkxi0KhVRCXIa8suoe-pvY7nQqsEbCy3-cfOg9ZP1VInmQXnpakIF54/s320/picture+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-17746358419538544292020-11-03T12:48:00.003+03:002020-11-03T12:48:33.473+03:00Untitled (Or, The Importance of Recognizing Your Mortality)<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It goes without saying that 2020 has been one hell of a year. And we still have 2 months to go.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-ba6e174a-7fff-6cd5-fdee-46c61e44da1c"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Apart from the anxiety, the dark days, and hoping that my ears aren’t permanently deformed by everything they have to carry lately (mask elastic, earphones, earrings, kitchen sink etc), I’ve been dealing with the loss of several family members. In quick succession.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not being able to attend funerals, and then not being able to hug people if I </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">can</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> attend, has weighed heavily on me. I’m a hugger, so this pandemic is tough.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What has been even harder is the fact that funerals, for me, are still very triggering. Every funeral I attend takes me right back to when we laid my Dad to rest. The hymns, the readings, the wreaths- I literally get transported back in time and have to remind myself to breathe. Every time someone I know loses a father, I want to hold them and tell them how sorry I am, that I understand that feeling of the earth falling out from under your feet.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I miss my Dad. Dear God, I miss him. There are so many things I want to tell him, to ask him. I long to hear his voice. His laugh. I want to smell his aftershave. I even want to see that look he’d give over the top of his newspaper when he thought I was chatting nonsense.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I have learned, in these moments, to be grateful. Grateful for the lessons he left behind. On so many levels.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Recently, I came across a show on TV (to be honest, I tuned in because Dr Mitch was hosting and I hadn’t seen or heard him in a while). The show is about different aspects of security- burglar bars, alarm systems, cybersecurity and so on. The episode I caught was about posterity, wills- all the stuff many of us don’t like talking about.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I find it strange that a society, ridden with cases of family disputes and murders regarding land and property, perpetuates the idea that writing one’s will is morbid. I am so grateful that at the time of his death, my Dad had everything in order. My Mum, the love of his life, is taken care of. Which is what matters.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I remember the first time I wrote my own will. Granted, it wasn’t witnessed by a lawyer, which is understandable considering the fact that I was about 14 years old, and just wanted to be clear about who would get my collection of Michael Jackson and Jamiroquai posters, and how I want my flute placed in my coffin with me when my time comes. Of course, as I’ve gotten older, details such as next of kin have been duly registered. (Petty as I am, I’m considering a guest list for my funeral. Don’t come and weep louder than the bereaved when you KNOW you hated my guts before I shuffled off this mortal coil.)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I guess all I’m trying to say is, planning for your demise (which is inevitable) does not make it any more certain, nor does it hasten the date of its arrival. And you don’t need to be a millionaire or an elderly person to plan for what happens to your property. Think of the mess you could leave behind for your loved ones if you don’t.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Write your will. And keep updating it if necessary. It’s not morbid- it’s common sense.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And could prevent unsavoury characters from turning up at your going-away party for free food and theatrics. I’m ready to haunt anyone who does so at mine. Stand warned.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><b>*Here’s a link to the episode of The Sekanyolya Security Show that got me thinking. It airs every Sunday at 7.40pm on NBS. </b></i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MwJ7dzFXiKU">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MwJ7dzFXiKU</a> .<b> <i>Follow @sekanyolyaug on Twitter.</i></b></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-74332887732762154992020-07-30T23:58:00.000+03:002020-07-30T23:58:42.633+03:00Untitled (or, It's July 31st Happy Birthday Kainembabazi I miss you like crazy damn The Rona please stay warm and safe I'll hug you soon)<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
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<i>See a Queen. LOOOOOK AT HER!! </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wiKiEq6jjOhuXROvY6p95d5erbj587PIPgxblHl_Qpx3izzMafFJxg1CdLQ8AGCXMairK7cXWkOBsKNUsWiZ07el0uYd3Hg3bQmmLgSf0fTcPx5gNzhR5zg8nIUmFLxr_5RAU6Wt-4c/s1600/IMG_20200730_220827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wiKiEq6jjOhuXROvY6p95d5erbj587PIPgxblHl_Qpx3izzMafFJxg1CdLQ8AGCXMairK7cXWkOBsKNUsWiZ07el0uYd3Hg3bQmmLgSf0fTcPx5gNzhR5zg8nIUmFLxr_5RAU6Wt-4c/s1600/IMG_20200730_220827.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><i>Although as if always tying down my FOMO...</i></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">And always being supportive. And holding me up.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><i>See sisterly giggles. Again, tying down my FOMO.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am so blessed to have you in my life, for many reasons. There is no way I could ever list them. But an interesting one comes to mind.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">By the time I came along, our parents were so tired they didn't even flinch when, years later, I pierced my ears (again. And again. Aaaand again). My days of mini skirts and 6-inch heels fled in a blur and by the time I got my tattoos, Ma had pretty much set me free. You always said that, as the youngest girl. I got away with murder. And piercings. Anyway. Yeah ok maybe but this isn't about me.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsW1yUd7zrudBHnumXERtLUCGnFV4mTMZteRCjOAQzea7Idn7XyAbQLfXV9aA58v9p33PskD7uOoeXWpywgNGFvFMw21cc70GIn_fGjUinewauXa8GfttRCxwPVb6YVRR35H4qkqjY5kY/s1600/67655962_702707140171471_6053207158999220224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="451" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsW1yUd7zrudBHnumXERtLUCGnFV4mTMZteRCjOAQzea7Idn7XyAbQLfXV9aA58v9p33PskD7uOoeXWpywgNGFvFMw21cc70GIn_fGjUinewauXa8GfttRCxwPVb6YVRR35H4qkqjY5kY/s320/67655962_702707140171471_6053207158999220224_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i> Again, pinching my rib and holding down my FOMO.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">You, on the other hand, always had to get it right. Ok, not always, because our parents knew that you were only human. But you had the unique position of having to set an example. For everyone who came after you. Because you were our big sister and "that's what big sisters do!". I'm paraphrasing somewhat. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And Kaine, that is exactly what you did. And have done. And continue to do. Your grace, your work ethic, your sense of humour and your loyalty have secured the foundations of the lessons our parents taught us.</span></div>
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<i>Twins, a sibling apart. Mbu.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Knowing the little messages Mum and Dad would write in every single book they got us, where they would advise each recipient of said book to “keep it for your sibling”, it is no surprise to me that you always share your life lessons with us whenever you can. (I am willing to return the favour and expound on the lessons we can glean from Alice In Wonderland. WhatsApp Call me whenever. Alice knows what IS UP!)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">If I grow up to be half the woman you are, I deserve all the puppies! People always say how much I look and sound like you, to the point of getting us mixed up, and I always feel so proud (despite my eyeroll) to share DNA with such a phenomenal woman. (And a blood group. Kumbe we are what again?!)</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-b3c7691c-7fff-0c8c-66b0-43d1479a4560"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Happy Birthday Ju. Named for Our Father. Named for Our Mother. We call you JujuBee. Mukulu. Mbabazi. La Seule La Vraie. I miss you, I'm grateful for you, I love you. Always, your baby sister. </span></div>
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Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-61247711023693846122020-07-01T17:56:00.000+03:002020-07-01T17:56:46.856+03:00Untitled (or, my experience in a toxic work environment.)I’ve been feeling guilty for the longest time that I haven’t posted on my blog for AGES: I even started questioning whether I could legitimately call it a blog anymore, considering how long it had been since I was inspired to write anything worth sharing.<br />
<br />
But I woke up yesterday and came across an article detailing a toxic work environment and when I tell you I was TRIGGERED. I know that word is used so often these days, but some of the instances described in that article catapulted me back to a situation I found myself in, that I haven’t felt able to speak about publicly.<br />
<br />
Until now.<br />
<br />
I consider myself extremely blessed to have worked in different positions where I was able to pursue my passions and dedicate my talents, all the while working with incredible people and learning from the best in the business.<br />
<br />
I was transferred from a job I loved, and thought I was performing well at (if my performance reviews were anything to go by, anyway). I didn’t understand why I was being moved at the time, although it eventually became clear to me (and was confirmed by those in the know) that I was being punished for someone else’s mistake. Despite some apprehension on my part, I accepted the transfer, and prepared to dedicate myself to my new role with my usual enthusiasm and hard work.<br />
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My role was not only new to me: it was new to the company. This came with pros and cons- I was essentially working with a clean slate and was helping set up the role, which was exciting. The downside is that some of the responsibilities were not clear. I’ll come back to that later.<br />
<br />
I dived into my new role, ready to learn and ready to apply myself.<br />
<br />
But about one month in, things started to go downhill.<br />
<br />
I would be assigned tasks that were clearly not within the job description I had been given. As someone who is a stickler for detail (ok, I’m a perfectionist), this was hard to swallow because I KNOW that I can deliver. I live for it.<br />
<br />
I would be belittled in meetings for not following up on issues that were either not in my docket, or completely out of my sphere of control. Please note, this wasn’t just during working hours- I remember getting calls or messages up to 10pm on occasion. I soon learned to switch off my phone between the hours of 8pm to 6am, or at least switching off my data, because it just became too much.<br />
<br />
But I had no idea that things were about to get unbearable.<br />
<br />
At the time, I didn’t know that I wasn’t the only one going through it. Unfortunately, due to some crazy stupid misunderstanding, I had fallen out with a colleague who was actually a friend. We worked together, but barely spoke anymore. This only worsened the atmosphere in the office, which was already tense. As colleagues, we were discouraged from talking to each other in the office, because this was seen as “gossiping”. Considering the fact that this used to be a lively, fun department, it was always a shock to walk in and find the place silent, everyone sat silently at their desks, murmuring “good morning” to each other as we walked in. Eventually I would hear stories about, and witness, colleagues being reduced to tears. I witnessed many people becoming shells of their former selves. It was devastating.<br />
<br />
Two months in. At this point, I was seriously doubting my abilities to do this job. I would dread meetings, wondering if I was going to be blasted for something I had done, or not done. I dreaded watching my colleagues being humiliated in the same meetings. I would submit work as requested, only for it to be returned with no indication of what was wrong with it, just that it wasn’t satisfactory. I would be asked for reports, which would be submitted, only to be ignored. And then asked for AGAIN, days later. “Frustrating” doesn’t even cover it.<br />
<br />
I remember one instance when I could not attend an event because my mother was scheduled for surgery that weekend. I had communicated officially that I would not be able to be part of the event, and why. I fulfilled the tasks assigned to me leading up to the event. I had been asked to MC at the event and explained that I would not be able to. I remember an email being sent to my supervisor, essentially requesting that I be “convinced” to do so. As if I was being deliberately stubborn, not that I wanted to be able to help look after my mother after her surgery.<br />
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The result? Silent treatment from my supervisor. “Non-team players” called out in emails and post-event meetings and Whatsapp groups. I must admit I initially laughed it off, because this wasn’t high school, for goodness sake.<br />
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It got to the point where I would look forward to meetings in other departments because the atmosphere in the office was just toxic. Anything to just get out of there.<br />
<br />
One day, after a particularly disastrous meeting, I went back to my desk and drafted a resignation letter. I also messaged my colleague-friend and explained what was going on. The upside of that is we ironed out our issues and became even closer. When I tell you the WEIGHT lifted by that conversation! I wasn’t alone in this mess anymore and I had someone I could confide in, who could see exactly what was going on and was going through much of the same thing. This wasn’t all in my head.<br />
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I submitted my resignation and went home. The next day I was summoned to my supervisor’s office. I was asked why I resigned, was assured that issues would be resolved and that my resignation was not accepted.<br />
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I continued to work, hoping that things would get better. Silly me.<br />
<br />
I began to get physically ill. At the time, I thought there was something else wrong with me. I was not sleeping. Every morning before going to work, I would either have a running stomach, or would be violently sick. Every. Day. My skin was a mess. I barely had any appetite. I didn’t know at the time that I was going through major anxiety- it’s only relatively recently that I have been able to identify that whatever I was going through was manifesting physically.<br />
<br />
I had started looking into other job opportunities, because I knew that something had to give. Every morning, I would tweet affirmations, which many people appreciated. And I’m glad that they did. What people didn’t know is that, initially, I was doing it for myself. I needed those affirmations and positive words. I needed someone to say those words TO ME. Because I had no other way of keeping one foot in front of the other. I literally felt myself breaking from the inside out.<br />
<br />
Then I was knocked sideways by malaria. I remember working through it for a day. One morning I got up to get ready for work, and almost blacked out in the bathroom. Instead of thinking, shit, something is seriously wrong with me, all I could think was, “I can’t miss today’s meeting because I just do not want to deal with the backlash.”<br />
<br />
But my body refused to cooperate. I messaged my supervisor and explained I could not make it to work. That was at around 7.30am. After that communication, I lay down and did not get up again until 3pm, when I forced myself up and went to the doctor. Who told me that I had a really bad case of malaria and if it had reached my brain it could have been fatal.<br />
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You know how messed up this is? Throughout the three days of injections twice daily (ugh, I hate needles), the fever dreams, the nausea, the sweats, that horrible malaria smell that was seeping out of my pores- much as I was glad I didn’t have to step into that office, I was in a constant panic every time my phone rang, or a work email came through. Wave of nausea upon wave of nausea.<br />
<br />
I remember one particular dream. I was talking to my Dad. And he asked me, “Little One. What are you doing? This isn’t you.” It was one of the few dreams I’d had about my Dad when I didn’t wake up crying.<br />
<br />
Once I was better and back at work, I had made up my mind. I had to leave. As the song goes, “I can’t come and kill myself”.<br />
<br />
I finally resigned. No turning back.<br />
<br />
And you know what happened? My skin cleared. My stomach settled. My appetite came back. My final month was blissful (by comparison. Ha). I worked, submitted everything I was asked to, even though some of the things were pointless because whoever was going to get the job after me was going to have to deal with things that were beyond my control. I had to draft plans for tasks that were going to be carried out when I was long gone. Some of my colleagues asked why I was bothering. I was just determined not to give any opportunity for my reputation to be trashed. Did the schnide comments stop? No. My supervisor even commented that I was glowing, now that I knew I was leaving.<br />
<br />
That was true.<br />
<br />
Please note, I didn’t take this decision lightly. And no, I haven’t put down everything that happened, because some of the things I witnessed are not for me to tell. And no, I do not recommend doing what I did, if you are reading this and find yourself in a similar situation. What I DO recommend, is the following:<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>1. Listen to your body: </b>I should have done this from the beginning. Right from that weird feeling in my belly when I was moved. To when my skin started breaking out, to when I couldn’t hold anything in or down, to when malaria hammered me. I really think we don’t fully appreciate how much our mental and emotional state can affect us physically.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Find your happy place:</b> I know I say this often and it may sound trivial. But it worked for me. I listened to music CONSTANTLY. Well, as often as possible, anyway. People teased me that I always had my earphones in and I’d be like “damn straight.” There was an external project I was working on with some friends which kept me going and gave me something to look forward to. And of course as much as possible, I tried to make my home a haven so once I left work, I could leave as much of the bullshit behind as possible. Apart from the calls and emails I’d get haha.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Talk to someone: </b>I did speak to senior management about challenges I was having with the work atmosphere and so on. I guess there wasn’t much that could be done (shrugs). It didn’t help, but I did speak up. I’m also glad that I sorted out my issues with my friend: knowing that there was someone who could see what was happening really helped. My family was also aware of what was going on. If you are suffering in a toxic environment, please do not keep it to yourself. It is very easy to get into your own head and convince yourself that what is happening is either you being too sensitive or imagining things. Speaking of which...<br />
<br />
<b>4. Fight the gaslighting: </b>“Don’t be so sensitive.” “That’s not what happened.” “You are just not open to change.” “If you can’t handle it, just leave.” NO. I don’t care what job it is, how much you are earning, whatever prestige comes along with the position, by the time you are dreading going to work every single day, despite putting in the hours and working your butt off, there is a problem. Do not ignore it. How on earth are you supposed to perform at your best in an atmosphere that is breaking you down bit by bit? Protect your mental health at all costs.<br />
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<b>5. Explore your options:</b> Those were different times, of course. The world wasn’t in the grip of a pandemic, with companies slashing salaries and laying people off. But take time to truly and honestly self-evaluate. What else can you do? What other skills do you possess? What can you do with the networks you have built?<br />
<br />
<br />
Please understand, I’m not speaking in any kind of professional capacity. I am simply telling you what I went through in the hope that if you or anyone you know finds themselves in a similar situation, you know that you are not alone, and it is not the end of the world. I know many people deal with far worse than this, and this is in no way a sob story. I guess it’s just my way of reminding you that not all that glitters is gold, and you never truly know what a person is going through. I also hope that any employers reading this will learn a thing or two. If someone’s performance suddenly dips for no reason, or a previously successful team seems not to be performing, there are deeper questions that need to be asked. The fish rots from the head.<br />
<br />
Is there a silver lining? Always! My health improved. My friendship is back on track. And I had no idea how many people wanted to work with me! I was terrified when I left: unemployment is scary! But I had to step out on faith: faith in myself and my capabilities and what I bring to the table. And once that door closed, many others opened.<br />
<br />
Trust yourself. LOOK AFTER YOURSELF. Drink water, mind your business, and don’t let the bastards get you down.Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-74196985720810658362019-05-20T13:59:00.000+03:002019-05-20T13:59:26.837+03:00#7DayChallengeUganda Days 3, 4 and 5<br />
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So, I ended my last post with “Can’t wait to see what
tomorrow brings.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ha.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Malaria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day
brought malaria.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By the time I left work on Friday, I knew something wasn’t
right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First of all, I was
freezing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>FREEZING.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, I had been in a studio for a good
hour or two, but I’m used to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I
rarely feel cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i><b>#Cold</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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I got home, took off my shoes, wrapped myself in a blanket
and collapsed on the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Needless to say I had a rough night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And never got to cook that delicious
butternut squash I had such great plans for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Saturday found me hauling myself out of the house and
straight to the doctor, who confirmed that I had malaria. Great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in, this is the last thing I need right
now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>I have suffered.</i></b></div>
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I went back home and all I could do was drink water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know all the horrible symptoms that come
with malaria:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>aches and pains, zero
appetite, that nasty slimy feeling in your mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no way I was going to make it to
the kitchen or be a useful human being in any way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The most I have been able to contribute to the
#7DayChallengeUganda for days 3 and 4 is turning off the lights during the day and
switching appliances off at the mains, not leaving them in standby mode.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>Don't say I didn't tell you!</i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Today is Day 5, so I decided that my best option was to MOVE
SMART:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>which I did, carpooling to work
with my colleague Becky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not all is
lost. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/l41Ymn9tf1TIJm1gY/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="480" height="176" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/l41Ymn9tf1TIJm1gY/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>Becks and I were like this, except I was a bit more malarial.</i></b></div>
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Fingers crossed I’ll be able to finish the next couple of
days strong, because the noise on Twitter is deafening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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#7DayChallengeUganda<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-11286057151045752852019-05-17T17:30:00.000+03:002019-05-17T17:30:37.986+03:00#7DayChallengeUganda Day 2Friday 17th May<br />
<br />
Today started off fantastic! A friend of mine had brought me mangoes from the tree in her garden the other day, so I took them out of the fridge this morning and chopped them up to take to work for breakfast.<br />
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<b><i>Yummy in my Tummy.</i></b></div>
<br />
Apart from my boss trolling me on Twitter AGAIN (spreading malicious lies about me being spotted in KFC last night), this Friday looked like it was going to be a good one.<br />
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<b><i>Honestly. You'd think he had better things to do than troll an employee.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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I swung by Blu Flamingo to hang out with the #NotRadio crew, thinking it would just take my lunch-hour, then I could come back and tuck into the delicious salad I had carried for my lunch. No chance! As soon as I got back to my desk, things got hectic and the lunch was forgotten. Which explains why it is 5.30pm and I am grumpy as hell. At least I've got something extra to look forward to when I get home, apart from the butternut squash and avocado that will accompany my dinner!</div>
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<b><i>Butternut squash from the market (with kedo on the side!)</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings...</div>
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#7DayChallengeUganda</div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-17686003264481043002019-05-16T16:59:00.000+03:002019-05-16T17:00:50.625+03:00#7DayChallengeUganda : Day 1<br />
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<b>Thursday 16th May</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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On my way home yesterday, I passed by the market and picked
up some tomatoes, lettuce and cucumber; I figured I’d make a salad to carry to
work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Woke up early this morning, chopped the lettuce, tomatoes and
cucumber, threw in some feta cheese and packed them ready for work (after a
sprinkle of black pepper and apple cider vinegar, of course).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Had a minor panic after throwing the cheese in: I’m supposed
to be eating food with a low carbon footprint for the next 7 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t cheese high on the list?! A quick
check-in online and I was relieved to find that feta has a relatively low
processing impact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phew.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Now I’m sitting at my desk waiting for lunch to roll around
because I’m hungry and need to stop daydreaming about chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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That said, I’m drinking loads of water and trying not to
watch the clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can do this.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Update: the salad was delicious!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i><b>Cucumber, tomato, lettuce and feta cheese. Heaven.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Annoyingly, my boss keeps trolling me and talking about
chicken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is life?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><b>SMH. Why is he like this?</b></i></div>
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Sigh. Anyway.</div>
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All set for Day 2!<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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#7DayChallengeUgandaKanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-20672767063240968752019-05-15T16:22:00.000+03:002019-05-15T16:22:53.415+03:00#7DayChallenge Here I Come!<br />
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When I heard about the 7 Day Challenge spearheaded by the
Swedish Institute (in collaboration with Green Team Initiative), I immediately
thought that I would love to get involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Reading more about the challenge, I felt a bit apprehensive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I really do this?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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The call to action invites committed individuals to practice
sustainable lifestyles that could improve their quality of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are 3 categories:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EAT SMART, MOVE SMART and LIVE SMART.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Eating smart involves knowing the source of the food on your
plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you get your vegetables from
a supermarket, or the organic farmer at the market down the road from your
home?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you know that someone with
meat in their diet has a higher carbon footprint than someone who doesn’t? (I
didn’t, but now I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You learn
something new every day).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Nom nom nom</i></div>
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Moving smart is pretty obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you driving a fuel guzzler, regardless of
the distance?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you considered taking
public transport or car-pooling to get to work?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Walking or even jogging to your destination?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Just because Barack looks good jogging</i></div>
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Living smart is quite possibly the simplest of the 3
categories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Switch off your appliances
when they’re not in use, rather than leaving them on standby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turn off the lights and AC when you leave the
office at the end of the day, that kind of thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Deciding which of the categories I was going commit to was not
as easy as I thought, so I’m going to do a bit of each.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The most challenging one for me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eat smart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For the next 7 days, starting Thursday 16<sup>th</sup> May, I’m going to
follow a vegetarian diet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t eat
meat that often, but you guys know how much I love chicken!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, no more lazy stops at the supermarket
veggie stall: I’ll be buying all my fruit and veg from the market at the
trading centre.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Just imagine me with my little kikapu! </i></div>
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Speaking of the market, I admit I usually hop on a boda to
get there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since moving smart is a part
of the campaign, I’ll be walking over, with my shopping basket (because, no
plastics, please), and buying fruit and veg that are in season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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I admit that I am guilty of leaving my TV on standby, but I’ll
be making a conscious effort not to do so any more, throughout the 7 days and
beyond.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now I know that doing my small bit to develop a sustainable
urban lifestyle does NOT mean living like a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Survivor
</i>contestant or eating bark like Bear Grylls, I’m ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Why don’t you join me?<o:p></o:p></div>
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#7DayChallengeUganda<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-36021258804291075302018-11-15T09:59:00.000+03:002018-11-15T09:59:37.663+03:00Gratitude List: Work Buddies. BK.<br />
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I first met BK when he joined Xfm as a DJ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was sitting at my boss’ desk
for a while, and I just carried on minding my business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until later that I was told “This
is THE DJ BK.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed very serious
and put together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How wrong I was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I soon found out the guy is a LUMPEN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>BK is 50 Shades of Stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Naturally, we became fast friends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His stupid totally gets mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Apart from being a ballistic DJ, BK eventually became the
station’s marketing manager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would
spend ages brainstorming, and eventually executing stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
favourite part of being in studio…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every morning around 7am, Rudy, Ghill and I would look out the studio window to find BK doing some stupid jig outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So BK would stop outside, and dance, or gesticulate, to get
our attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes we would
indulge him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One time we all blatantly
ignored him for 5 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He eventually
stormed into the studio complaining that we’d made a fool of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dude, you did that all by yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes he’d come in to dance with us, or to be The Random
Guy In The Corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His mixes were always
INSANE and made us lose our collective shit on numerous occasions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lot of people don’t know…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are his friend, BK will do anything for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(He will also DESTROY you with cocktails on
your birthday. Chisos.) He has come through for me so many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I’ll never forget getting to the
church on the day of my Dad’s funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>BK was the first person I saw as I walked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember thinking wait, how come he is
here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then later on I was like, of
course he was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’s also the one who told me to get my arse in gear and do
a podcast with the lads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#NotRadio is
largely due to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s the guy who
cracks the whip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And laughs at
everything we say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I laughed the hardest…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are too
many moments to name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The times he’d
pretend to be snogging someone in the corner of the studio (I have video of
that, somewhere).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he’d say
something MONUMENTALLY stupid and Rudy would sucker punch him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, whenever we do our customary
greeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See below.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-41896658864574653372018-11-14T10:19:00.000+03:002018-11-14T10:19:27.149+03:00Gratitude List: Work Buddies. Ghill.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I first met Ghill when Xfm was hosting house parties for
listeners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
remember feeling stressed and frayed, and this nice young man coming to check
that I was ok and had everything I needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fast-forward a year or so, and Ghill was brought in to the breakfast
show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hosting with Rudende and
Bush Baby at the time, and we were in desperate need of some comic relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enter Ghill aka Libolo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came onto the show as the guy supposed to
bring us breakfast, but his hilarious quips soon made him a staple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before we knew it,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bush left and Libolo officially joined the
breakfast crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest is history.<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
favourite part of being in studio…</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You guys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ghill is
funny AF.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are times he’d say shit
and Rudy and I would DIE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in, fall
off your chair, fart on your grandmother funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This one time we were talking about the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">300,</i> and Ghill did this hilarious impression of Xerxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were always pissing about in reception
during the news, because we had to get out of the studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Call it cabin fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, Ghill did this impression of Xerxes
that had us on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear my
coffee came through my nose that morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Such an iJOT.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lot of people don’t know…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dude is brilliant. Ghill is a total geek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a good way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s my go-to guy for gadgets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He helped me get my last 4 phones, my TV, my
hard drive, and he’s working on getting me an online thingamajiggy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He speaks fluent French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he drove me and my bridesmaids to my faux
wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also took over from me as
station manager at Xfm and is doing a stellar job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s certainly killed less people than I
would have done if I was still there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Top lad.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I laughed the hardest…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This one time (at band camp… JK), we’d gone out for drinks
with certain members of the crew who shall remain nameless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We salvaged the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
is all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because he was
too nice to tell her to sling her hook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’s one of the nice ones.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-23145629857053489072018-11-14T10:06:00.001+03:002018-11-14T10:06:31.366+03:00Gratitude List: Work Buddies. KK.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I first met KK in a staff meeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were all told about his glittering career, and how he was
back from a stint in Kigali.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>KK was
practically silent throughout the meeting, in his self-deprecating way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were eventually put together on the
breakfast show, which didn’t start off too well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought he was too risqué, he thought I was
too prudish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, during a music
break, he just let loose and told me to relax, dammit!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thus began some of the greatest radio lessons I have ever received.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From a somewhat crazy, off-kilter guy.<br />
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
favourite part of being in studio…</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we started hosting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Morning After Show</i> on Saturday mornings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would be hungover, KK would be fresh and full of mischief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d be downloading <s>porn</s> questionable
content and series, introducing me to GOT and House of Cards and Mad Men and
tons of other dope shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d
buy each other breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He taught me
how to roll a sausage in a chapatti AND NO THAT ISN’T A EUPHEMISM FOR ANYTHING
YOU DIRTY-MINDED MISCREANTS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d plan
road trips with the crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He taught me how to script and to go off the
cuff and how to let my on-air freak flag fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We laughed ALL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>TIME<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lot of people don’t know…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KK is super-private.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he’s also one of
the most polite, loving, passive aggressive savage beings I know.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I laughed the hardest…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When KK and Rudy passed by home to pick me up for some
event, I can’t remember which one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Dad
had broken his hip and was bed-ridden, but the lads came in to say hello.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laughed and let it go, because I wasn’t
about to explain the munchies to my folks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-75158196303111796772018-11-14T10:00:00.000+03:002018-11-14T10:00:36.713+03:00Gratitude List: Work Buddies. Rudende.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
favourite part of being in studio…</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whenever we would dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Rudy is a great dancer, no matter the genre of music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is particularly fond of reggaeton (I
know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ugh.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever we’d have a long music break, he’d
often bust a move and force me and Ghill to join in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ghill is also a very good dancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By comparison, I have two left feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A fact Rudy would eagerly tell anyone willing
to listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’d usually relegate
myself to being behind the camera, as I watched these two fools executing the
most complex of shuffles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always a fun
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lot of people don’t know…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Much as he often verbally abuses me, Rudy is actually one of
my best friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have fought,
disagreed, gone for weeks without speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And he was right there when we laid Pops to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rudy is my gango for life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also yes, he is always hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s his superpower.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I laughed the hardest…<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everytime he gesticulated too much and broke a chair in
studio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Priceless.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-47019404144449180022018-11-14T09:29:00.002+03:002018-11-15T10:00:57.055+03:00Gratitude List: Work Buddies (A Teeny Tiny Explanation).<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, I know it has been a while and I appreciate
you coming back to read my writings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been hosting a few pity-parties recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It happens, once in a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I find myself in such spaces, I usually
sit and make what I like to call Gratitude Lists (such as this one <b><a href="http://kanyindo.blogspot.com/2016/02/gratitude-list-awesomeness-of-big.html" target="_blank">HERE</a></b>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It reminds me that I really do not
have anything to complain about and need to stop feeling sorry for myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am currently reading Amy Poehler’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes, Please!</i></b> (thanks
Mimi!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, here goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Gratitude List: Work Buddies.<br />
<br />
1. <a href="https://kanyindo.blogspot.com/2018/11/gratitude-list-work-buddies-rudende.html" target="_blank"><b>Rudende</b></a><br />
2. <b><a href="https://kanyindo.blogspot.com/2018/11/gratitude-list-work-buddies-kk.html" target="_blank">KK</a></b><br />
3. <b><a href="https://kanyindo.blogspot.com/2018/11/gratitude-list-work-buddies-ghill.html" target="_blank">Ghill</a></b><br />
<a href="https://kanyindo.blogspot.com/2018/11/gratitude-list-work-buddies-bk.html" target="_blank">4. BK</a><br />
<br />
PSA: It might get a bit schmaltzy up in here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Allow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-71083290281770752182017-08-23T00:41:00.000+03:002017-08-23T00:41:34.533+03:00HBD, B. (Happy Birthday, Bish.)<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t think that it was possible to make firm friends
past a certain age in life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not exactly a place to meet people and expand my social
circle. But I’m not complaining.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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 6<sup>th</sup>
year. Eh. We tried).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUncTl3jmWZsf1ZESumXId_oswQ6ydx4gU4Rr0Cni8O299U473hbQwqY4pZNiad8MbFNsFFYjMv6UxBCIoHw1L9LRIZLJmtZ_BRz_8D2mOT10Qo2tpxj5_Bizw6JAkqnac3dW6flT-fM/s1600/idris+tweet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="962" data-original-width="1080" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUncTl3jmWZsf1ZESumXId_oswQ6ydx4gU4Rr0Cni8O299U473hbQwqY4pZNiad8MbFNsFFYjMv6UxBCIoHw1L9LRIZLJmtZ_BRz_8D2mOT10Qo2tpxj5_Bizw6JAkqnac3dW6flT-fM/s320/idris+tweet.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<i><b>Yes. This actually happened. Sigh.</b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So this chick starts trolling me. Yes, TROLLING. Talking about how she’s his other wife, bla
bla bla. We had some interesting
exchanges.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqcif1GM0SpSnpYs-6N6UNrIUAI6GGZWQiKoaPVZAmFGlz2cONBjlFDDTwfxby29NLGiSD7NjiHLBQ1tTwEt-IHY0sil8LvLr97XfYYGw1remxamm7-iZkET6VVEkCkiIQWM_43agu7M/s1600/Exhibit+Bii.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1138" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqcif1GM0SpSnpYs-6N6UNrIUAI6GGZWQiKoaPVZAmFGlz2cONBjlFDDTwfxby29NLGiSD7NjiHLBQ1tTwEt-IHY0sil8LvLr97XfYYGw1remxamm7-iZkET6VVEkCkiIQWM_43agu7M/s640/Exhibit+Bii.png" width="606" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>She has no manners.</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
For real. This chick doesn't know when to quit. Until I annihilate her azzz.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9WCbsQhwbp2RZr6l12ffNt9A9AI8Z-zkE9ub4ge08RxGDWghK1uFdzyx9p0p9jL9O6q6BUuGysVxYgvH_prnHVMxEOBRu_k0nTSxTtAc5JX5DFFV3iMHWAcBhoeoiXnUzAIpFltO4gY/s1600/Exhibit+B.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="1064" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9WCbsQhwbp2RZr6l12ffNt9A9AI8Z-zkE9ub4ge08RxGDWghK1uFdzyx9p0p9jL9O6q6BUuGysVxYgvH_prnHVMxEOBRu_k0nTSxTtAc5JX5DFFV3iMHWAcBhoeoiXnUzAIpFltO4gY/s640/Exhibit+B.png" width="588" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>I. Did. Not. Come. To. Play.</b></i></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfxjeFTZzumgwbEESzqclw3bEb9B12Y55j8jRgCqEKg4qzir2PVcd2gF_NnLmREO_bWJ_65ITZuL55hSVm4JBzvJBtnTu5eGP1IdeVX3Zur8QoppMqv99P7VFPcQslQvl9sXQIOUI56M/s1600/Exhibit+C.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1368" data-original-width="1079" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfxjeFTZzumgwbEESzqclw3bEb9B12Y55j8jRgCqEKg4qzir2PVcd2gF_NnLmREO_bWJ_65ITZuL55hSVm4JBzvJBtnTu5eGP1IdeVX3Zur8QoppMqv99P7VFPcQslQvl9sXQIOUI56M/s640/Exhibit+C.png" width="504" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Why so salty?</b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWv-y3-TrpSHb7gSrsYYvf6wpGLidhXNMX0XekIYTEM2xOSZUIfKwK56aHJj3cTan-ubZlpvDfR3XmYIBuehtW3G98NJmaeuB5INXZCW7i-3cpPn_bhYZxsht6pzv3dhvcs94S0QAzuQg/s1600/FB_IMG_1489754905192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="463" data-original-width="480" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWv-y3-TrpSHb7gSrsYYvf6wpGLidhXNMX0XekIYTEM2xOSZUIfKwK56aHJj3cTan-ubZlpvDfR3XmYIBuehtW3G98NJmaeuB5INXZCW7i-3cpPn_bhYZxsht6pzv3dhvcs94S0QAzuQg/s320/FB_IMG_1489754905192.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Bish deliberately cut me out of this shot. SMH.</i></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwahxH8wP0S_EdMhwEf1zXON1enIHJqBtXXly3ljO0G6wlUlf2sju0dIhAGvuKeIXduNrbu1kGPcyyM_SI0SsV05jQg-G2e9ieK-nlO_UWkvNnlerQwCegD1Gr0wnIZnhEFhCQrsBoxsQ/s1600/20170401_230106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwahxH8wP0S_EdMhwEf1zXON1enIHJqBtXXly3ljO0G6wlUlf2sju0dIhAGvuKeIXduNrbu1kGPcyyM_SI0SsV05jQg-G2e9ieK-nlO_UWkvNnlerQwCegD1Gr0wnIZnhEFhCQrsBoxsQ/s320/20170401_230106.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you for
being my friend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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!!!!!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Sorry. Lost myself there for a moment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Happy Birthday, Bish. Have a blast.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWIYPJ5PYb_s8YdpIPBGyI_FOnFfK_5BUjqVfA5mTHTqC8CQklmmc-m_IYzh8S72JiB2GSn_VZg_WIbV9pCMuPD3XnoHNC8ZUN-qcJaUXvGMidEEwCc4wBoxDNCZFQ8AIjbqEoJUu_f0/s1600/IMG_20170709_184951_360.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfWIYPJ5PYb_s8YdpIPBGyI_FOnFfK_5BUjqVfA5mTHTqC8CQklmmc-m_IYzh8S72JiB2GSn_VZg_WIbV9pCMuPD3XnoHNC8ZUN-qcJaUXvGMidEEwCc4wBoxDNCZFQ8AIjbqEoJUu_f0/s320/IMG_20170709_184951_360.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i>#HouseElba</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-3132549593377671712017-06-08T13:23:00.001+03:002017-06-08T13:23:56.395+03:00L.O.L (Live, Laugh, Love Out Loud)<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been 3 years, 2 months and 56 days since Pops left us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or one thousand, one hundred and sixty-two days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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 <i>give</i> to hear his thoughts on
Marmalade Mussolini).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My family knows how I dread those interminable services, and
I have tried every trick in the book to dodge them. To no avail.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> I’m not
feeling well. <b>Ma:</b> Come we pray for you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> Let me stay
behind and cook lunch. <b>Ma:</b> It’s
almost all done, we’ll finish when we get back from church. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> I’m too
hungover. <b>Ma:</b> Serves you right. You
thought you were drinking water?! Msscheeew. Get in the car. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My Mum just cannot be thwarted. She even tells the reverend in <i>August</i> that I’m going to perform in church
on <i>Christmas Day</i> so I can’t get out
of it. Anyway, I digress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are the memories that improve my crappy days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I miss you Pops.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-33518527586065803972017-05-11T13:14:00.001+03:002017-05-11T13:14:15.490+03:00Untitled (But Pretty Damn Furious).<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Can I vent?
Just a little bit? It’s a long one, so please bear with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am sick
and tired of men who go around claiming to have slept with women who wouldn’t
even touch them with a barge pole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I got a
message from a friend of mine this morning asking if I knew of a certain
guy. I said yes. She laughed and said, he’s been going around
telling people that he dated me, my friend and another friend of ours,
separately, for about a year each.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This is not
the first time this has happened to me.
Yet I cannot for the life of me understand it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You want to
have sex with me? Ok. You have created
all kinds of elaborate fantasies of what you’d like to do to me in your mind?
Alright then. Too chicken shit to
perhaps give it a shot or maybe you acknowledge that you are simply not good
enough to step to me? FINE. (Usually with guys like this, it’s always the last
one. Self-awareness is key).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But do not
go flapping your gums talking about ‘I hit that’ in reference to me when you
know damn well I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man on earth and I was
a deaf dumb blind nymphomaniac with no sense of smell and a free-for-all
vagina.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There’s this
guy who went around telling people that he and I had made the beast with two
backs. Now, I knew this guy had a thing
for me but I was always like, no thanks.
I’m not attracted to you, bad body odour is a turn off and if you cannot
stimulate me intellectually there aren’t going to be any fireworks going off in
the bedroom either, sorry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, dude
goes round telling all and sundry how he’s had Siima’s goodies. I got to hear about it, and was livid. As luck would have it, I was performing at a
certain hotel and had gone to the bar during the break, and spotted the fool,
surrounded by his boys, drinking whiskey and having a right old knees-up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I walked up
to him, and loud enough for his friends to hear, asked him to remind me of our
night of passion as it seemed to have slipped my mind. I said, either it was so good it gave me
amnesia when you literally blew my mind, or it was so bad that I’ve developed a
mild form of PTSD and blocked it out. Or
it never happened. Which was it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dickhead sat
there looking like a drowning fish. I
told him to keep my name out of his mouth, and walked away. Part of me does still wish I’d kicked him in
the balls seeing as he really was that desperate for me to have some kind of
contact with his bits, but I was wearing a brand new pair of heels that I LOVED
and he just wasn’t worthy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All I’m
saying is, guys, we KNOW you fantasize and all that shit. But every time you lie about having sex with
a woman you KNOW DAMN WELL YOU HAVEN’T, all you do is give yourself some weird
sense of bragging right and give her a reputation. Especially since, being the kind of guy to
tell such a lie, you’re a POS anyway, and people will think she’s willing to
stoop that low to give her stuff to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Go to your
room with your fantasy and use your hand.
Because by the time you have to make shit up about a woman, you don’t
deserve one. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">May your balls forever be blue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">End of rant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-16736683306423266352017-01-12T14:23:00.000+03:002017-01-12T14:23:39.762+03:00Stages of Grief Re-revisited.<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been 2 years, 9 months and 16 days since my Dad
passed away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or one thousand and sixteen days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been ages, yet it has been a split second, at the same
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some days are still pretty bad, but some are better than
others. And today started off as one of
the better ones. Since this is a good
thing, I decided to be grateful about it, and write about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night, I dreamt that a very dear uncle of mine was
hosting a huge party at his house. My
cousins were there, my aunt and her sisters were there, and of course, my
parents and siblings. It was an awesome
party! Dreams where my Dad appears used
to really upset me, but I’ve reached a stage in my grieving where they are more
comforting than heart breaking. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>(I've written about the stages of grief before- you
can read the post here: <a href="http://kanyindo.blogspot.ug/2016/02/gratitude-list-stages-of-grief-revisited.html">http://kanyindo.blogspot.ug/2016/02/gratitude-list-stages-of-grief-revisited.html</a> ).</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, my alarm went off at 4am as usual, and as I got
ready for work I was struggling to remember what happened in my dream. All I knew is that all my people were there,
and that it was a great party. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The studio was empty when I got to work, and I had at least
30 minutes before the show started, so I decided to check out some Beatles
videos on YouTube (the few originals that are left on there!). My Dad was a HUGE Beatles fan and as I grew
up, I learned to love them too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I was, listening to Here, There and Everywhere,
when BOOM! Tears out of nowhere. Crikey,
not this again, I thought. I was doing
so well! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know, before I lost my Dad, I believed that once people
left this earth, they went to some other level that was so far removed from you that
every part of their essence was gone from your life. But I’ve learned that when you love someone,
and when that person loves you, they are with you forever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Standing alone in the studio, crying and shaking, I literally
heard my Dad telling me to pull myself together before my co-hosts got in,
change the music to something slightly less melancholy, and try to smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I did. And played
Nowhere Man by the Beatles, off my Dad’s favourite album of theirs, Rubber Soul. I pulled myself together and did the show.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What am I trying to say here?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever it is you are going through, understand that there
are stages to everything. Be kind to
yourself. Be patient with yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And don’t ignore that voice telling you to take a deep
breath and be still. Sometimes, it’s all
you need.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-64540628624651754692016-12-07T13:09:00.001+03:002016-12-07T13:09:33.277+03:00Of Tactless Volume Deficient Aunties and Death Grips.<div class="MsoNormal">
I attended a wedding on behalf of my mother recently, and it
turned out to be a test of my manners and overall self-control.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Usually I would have gone with one of my siblings but they
were all caught up, so I made my way to the church ceremony all alone, ready to
represent the family and make my Mama proud.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got there early, so luckily I was able to have a chat with
the groom before he went in and give him my absent family members’ best wishes
and hearty congratulations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned around and spotted one of those senior aunties that
one simply MUST greet, on pain of death.
I made a beeline for her and patiently waited my turn to say hello. No sooner had she turned around to see who
had tapped her politely on the arm (me) than she immediately launched into me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’EH EH EH!!! NOW SEE THIS ONE!!’’ I’ve stressed the CAPS
just to convey loudness. Volume control
is a foreign concept to this woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’CAN YOU IMAGINE?! EH BUT WEDDINGS CAN REALLY BRING OUT
PEOPLE!!’’ She then proceeded to ask everyone within earshot (and those on the
other side of the church building, presumably) when they had last seen me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smiling politely and laughing in an ‘’aww,
shucks’’ manner, I extricated myself from the uncomfortable huddle and started
to make my way inside the church.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just before I was able to get in and quietly find a seat,
bemused that no one had yet confused me with my sister Kaine (this happens
often) I was stopped in my tracks by an elderly aunt. Peering at me over her glasses, she gripped
my wrist and promptly cut off my circulation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I may digress: if you are ever stuck somewhere in the
wilderness, and need to sever a limb to extricate yourself from under a rock,
or to stop snake poison from travelling further up your body, you don’t need a
tourniquet. You need an elderly auntie’s
death grip. I don’t know if there’s a school where they are taught how to do this,
or whether it is something that comes with age.
Either way, that shit is for real.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I am, frantically trying to recall this auntie’s name
(so that I don’t offend her) and wishing she’d ease up on my wrist (because my fingers were changing colour).
She smiled warmly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’So, is this Kaine or is this Siima?’’ Ah.
Here we go. I should have known
it was too good to be true.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She eased her grip a little, so I let the stupid question
slide, smiled and answered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’No, Auntie. I’m
Siima. How are you?’’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’I’m fine bambi,’’ she said, releasing my wrist. Relieved, I began to relax when suddenly she
was squeezing my upper arms, pinching my waist and patting my behind. Alarmed, I looked around to see if anyone
else had noticed this assault on my person.
Nope, no one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She continued. ‘’Eh,
you have lost WEIGHT!!’’ So loud. I don’t
understand why senior aunties develop death grips and the ability to throw
their voices.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’You used to be FAT, eh!’’ Tactless Aunt continued
undeterred. She even spread her arms for
emphasis. Because clearly the fact that
she dragged out the word so it sounded like it was spelt ‘fwaaaaaaaaatiii’ was
not enough for me to comprehend my previous girth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’d think my humiliation ended here. Oh no, dear reader. She kept on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’Eh, even the ki-face was fat!! But now look, you have made
it!’’ She said this while stroking my face.
She gave me a thumbs-up, one last congratulatory pat on my
recently-reduced behind, and walked into church.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Already exhausted, I walked in to the church. Saying a quick prayer, I beseeched the Sweet
Baby Jesus to duct-tape my mouth shut and not let me cuss anyone out. I muttered ‘FML’, in my head, then felt bad
because I was in the house of God and He’d hear me anyway. Dammit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of the service passed by in a bit of a blur. It was a beautiful ceremony, the lovely
couple was all smiles, and the choir was fantastic. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we walked out into the bright sunshine to take pictures
with the happy couple, I made a solemn vow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will not be a Tactless Volume-Control-Deficient Death Grip
Auntie in my old age. I’ll attend my
nieces’ and nephews’ functions, and be the smiley, quiet one in the
corner. I’ll just sip my vodka from my
hip-flask and be happy. Because
sincerely. There are enough of them in
the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-62060922003085767912016-11-30T13:45:00.000+03:002016-11-30T13:45:17.143+03:00Gratitude: Of Bittersweet Anniversaries and Happy MemoriesToday marks what would have been my parents' 42nd wedding anniversary. A day that we always celebrated as a family became bittersweet years ago, as my paternal Grandmother passed away on this date, but even more so now that my Dad is no longer with us.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2xXG_a-Goh22HnhDPt7GCeLPV25Hv0pwc6eQtEQOvmIkelpRoPzTJws89M08ELsACBXZW0r-wjbilxLMeLbaBOOf1lDeZeD0U_uoIcn-uMCKpzL1us7RfsOn7P4eVQbtWOx13ExbY5E/s1600/IMG_20151128_082729_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2xXG_a-Goh22HnhDPt7GCeLPV25Hv0pwc6eQtEQOvmIkelpRoPzTJws89M08ELsACBXZW0r-wjbilxLMeLbaBOOf1lDeZeD0U_uoIcn-uMCKpzL1us7RfsOn7P4eVQbtWOx13ExbY5E/s320/IMG_20151128_082729_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
That said, my siblings and I would always celebrate this day, even as children, before we understood its significance. We would spend hours poring over our parents' wedding album, and laugh at Mum's stories of how Dad refused to take his shades off when they were posing for pictures outside church (his kasiki was the night before- madness!), and then Dad's stories about the guest who opened all the beers at once so they went flat before anyone could even get a drink in (who DOES that?!). <br />
<br />
Over the years the responsibility of throwing a party to celebrate our parents' big day fell to my siblings and I. Whether it was a shindig with friends and family, or a simple dinner just the 6 of us, it was always an extra day to celebrate love and family.<br />
<br />
Having parents who are relationship goals is a double-edged sword. My siblings and I are so blessed to have grown up secure in our parents' love for us and for each other, which was always evident. I grew up with such a strong example of a man, and a strong example of the woman I wanted to be (and still do. My mother is a Warrior Queen).<br />
<br />
On the other hand, has it made it harder for me to find someone that I feel measures up? Am I being impossibly hard on myself, wanting a relationship like the one my parents had? Should I just accept, like any Daddy's girl, that my father was the last of his kind, and be content that I was his daughter? So many questions.<br />
<br />
As I have done for the past goodness-knows how many years, the first thing I did this morning was send my mother a Happy Anniversary message. I know every day is difficult for her- today is yet another day underlining my Dad's absence. How can someone be absent and yet so very present at the same time? Sigh...<br />
<br />
Happy Anniversary, Ma and Pa. Here's to love lasting forever.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Emx-5kPn4YwKUiJ_W6I0mfy6XRzWdt5UMdZKJLt29NyYiUiGUuPPvZ6vwrcR2PZcDjB90yTkUxZ8sKaz-J9EzWLzIGZKx5tZ3wp8MWCMOubf3GDAfO7NMj_Zx4t4BWqXtT7vOEc-xsY/s1600/picture+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Emx-5kPn4YwKUiJ_W6I0mfy6XRzWdt5UMdZKJLt29NyYiUiGUuPPvZ6vwrcR2PZcDjB90yTkUxZ8sKaz-J9EzWLzIGZKx5tZ3wp8MWCMOubf3GDAfO7NMj_Zx4t4BWqXtT7vOEc-xsY/s320/picture+2.jpg" width="187" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-51465515630054556442016-11-18T15:21:00.001+03:002016-11-18T15:26:09.953+03:00The 30-Day Music Challenge, Compressed Into A Single Afternoon.I came across this awesome challenge on Instagram (thank you @thisis_esi!) and just HAD to do it. Of course, there was no way in hell that my infinite FOMO was going to let me do this day-by-day for 30 days, so I grabbed a few free minutes, refilled my coffee mug, and got to writing.<br />
<br />
I loved this challenge for several reasons- namely because it totally appeals to someone as obsessed with music as I am, but it also got me pulling out old classics (I say pulling out but what I really mean is scrolling through my iTunes) and reminiscing, singing along and generally making a bit of a twat of myself at my desk. Thankfully, my colleagues played along and didn't make me feel like too much of a muppet.<br />
<br />
So, here's my list. I'd love to hear yours. <br />
<br />
<i><u><b>Siima's 30 Day Music Challenge Compressed Into A Single Afternoon.</b></u></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song you like with a colour in the title<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Blue For You- Wet Wet Wet<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song you like with a number in the title<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>99 Red Balloons- Nena<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song you like that reminds you of summertime<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Start of the Sumer- Ash<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that reminds you of someone you would rather forget about<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Queen of my Heart- Westlife<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that needs to be played LOUD<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Song 2- Blur<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that makes you want to dance<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Get Down Saturday Night- Oliver Cheatham<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song to drive to<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Cruz- Christina Aguilera<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song about drugs or alcohol<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>E’s and Whizz- Pulp<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that makes you happy<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Mr Blue Sky- Electric Light Orchestra<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->10.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that makes you sad<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Trying To Get The Feeling Again- Christian
Bautista<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->11.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that you never get tired of<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>I’ve Told You Now- Sam Smith<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->12.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song from your preteen years<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>All That She Wants- Ace of Base<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->13.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->One
of your favourite 70s songs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Boogie Oogie Oogie- Taste of Honey<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->14.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that you would love played at your wedding<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>In The Stone- Earth Wind and Fire<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->15.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that is a cover by another artist<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Come Together- Michael Jackson<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->16.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->One
of your favourite classical songs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Au Fond du Temple Saint (from The Pearl
Fisher, Act 1)- George Bizet <o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->17.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that you would sing as a duet at karaoke<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Don’t Go Breaking My Heart- Elton John and
Kiki Dee<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->18.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song from the year you were born<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Don’t Stop Believing- Journey<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->19.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that makes you think about life<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Picture of my Life- Jamiroquai<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->20.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that has many meanings to you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Nightswimming- REM<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->21.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
favourite song with a person’s name in the title<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Gloria- Donna Summer<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->22.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that moves you forward<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Break My Stride- Matthew Wilder<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->23.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that you think everybody should listen to<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Tallulah- Sonata Arctica<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->24.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song by a band you wish were still together<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>FU-GEE-LA- The Fugees<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->25.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song by an artist no longer living<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Songbird- Eva Cassidy<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->26.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that makes you want to fall in love<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>For You- Tracy Chapman<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->27.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that breaks your heart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Little Susie- Michael Jackson<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->28.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song by an artist with a voice that you love<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Where I Belong- Sia<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->29.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that you remembered from your childhood<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Reggae Night- Jimmy Cliff<o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->30.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->A
song that reminds you of yourself</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i>Not The Doctor- Alanis Morissette</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Thank goodness for music. I think I'd go quite mad without it.</span></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-61064458172297906212016-11-07T16:35:00.000+03:002016-11-07T16:35:29.311+03:00An Exercise in Patience, Courtesy of Uber.<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned a very important lesson in patience last Friday,
courtesy of Uber.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My radio show starts at 6am, so I always make it a point to
get to studio latest 5.45am. Just to get
into the groove, banter with my co-hosts before we kick off and so on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That morning, Uber had other plans for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I placed my first request at 5.15am, in case the Uber driver
was violently opposed to GPS and needed detailed directions to my house, which
is almost always the case in my experience.
To my delight, my request was accepted almost immediately. I was pleasantly surprised to be informed
that my driver was completing a trip and would be with me in 17 minutes. Fair enough, I thought. Gives me time to chill a bit, and I’ll still
be in time for the show.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
17 minutes later, I checked the app and noticed that the
driver’s car was in exactly the same spot it was 17 minutes previously, that he
still seemed to be completing the trip, and was STILL ’17 minutes away’.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hmmm. I decided to
call him. Conversation went as follows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Yes, hello?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Good morning ssebo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Yes madam.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Where have you reached now? You don’t seem to be moving and it’s been
almost 20 minutes since you accepted my request.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Now you see madam, I have this very bad customer, I
think he is drunk, he told me to wait for him here and went inside the
building, and told me not to end the trip, so I am just here, and he hasn’t
come out. Can you imagine? Such a person! And I am here, just seeing these requests,
but now I can’t tell you how long I will take, these customers really give us a
hard time…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Erm, it’s ok. Let
me just cancel and request another one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Thank you madam.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hung up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please note, I felt sorry for the guy. I understood that he couldn’t end the trip
until his wayward customer came back out of the building otherwise he might not
get his money. I just didn’t need the
whole story. I cursed the customer on
the driver’s behalf, and thought no more of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Checking the time, I was relieved that I still had time, if
I was lucky enough to get another driver right away, to get to work on
time. So I requested another Uber.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lo and behold, who accepts?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The driver stranded with the wayward customer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Incredulous, I wondered why the hell he was accepting my
request when he was stuck. (Please note,
his car STILL hadn’t moved, he was STILL ‘completing a trip’, and he was STILL
’17 minutes away’). I cancelled, and
requested another one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Same dude accepts.
I’m thinking, what the hell?! Why
can’t he let me prosper and let another driver pick me up and take me to work?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting irritated now, I cancelled, called him and asked him
to stop accepting seeing as he bloody well wasn’t able to pick me up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took a few deep breaths, reopened the app, and requested
again. After a few seconds, a driver
accepted. ‘’Hurray!’’, I thought, even
though I could see that the guy was in Kololo and was going to take 17 minutes
(what WAS it with that number that morning?!) to get to me. I’d miss the first song on air, no big deal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat. And waited. Watching the little car icon on the map.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I call the guy. He
answers. Clearly, this guy is not in a
moving car. Conversation went as
follows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Harro.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: (deep breath) Good morning ssebo. Where have you reached?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: (clearly giving zero fucks) I’m in Kololo. At Meditteraneo. Where are you?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: (trying to unclench my teeth, fists, buttocks, soul) In
Kansanga.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: (having now gone past zero and entered negative
fucks territory) Haaaa, but Kansanga is far!
I’m here in Kololo…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: (losing it now) SO WHY DID YOU ACCEPT MY REQUEST?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hung up on him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I may digress, I hate the fact that smartphones have
robbed us of the satisfaction of slamming down the phone. I miss that.
Trevor Noah was right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, at this point I had to accept that I was going to be
late for work. I messaged my co-hosts,
who told me not to worry and to just get in when I could.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taking a deep breath, I requested yet another Uber.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My request was accepted in less than a minute.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My phone rang, and hoping that this would finally be the
ride that would get me to work, I answered.
Conversation went as follows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: H-hello?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Good morning madam!
Please could you direct me to your precise location?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Of course!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went on to describe my precise location to the lady on the
other end of the line. I even asked her
if she was familiar with specific landmarks, she replied in the
affirmative. She was coming from
Nsambya, traffic wasn’t bad yet, she’d be with me in 15 minutes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My Friday was starting to look up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until it wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
20 minutes later, my driver still hadn’t turned up. I tried really hard to be a bit more patient-
I mean, I was already late for the show, for goodness’ sake- but after 25
minutes had passed, I had to call her.
Conversation went as follows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: (trying not to sound panicked) HelloYesNyaboWhereHaveYouReachedAreYouAlmostHere?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: (speaking painfully slowly. Eh, my people) Yes Nyabo. Nooooow, I am here at Buziga…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Hold up. BUZIGA?!
How?! Why?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Driver: Oh no, no. I
am these ends of Makindye.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Desperate, exasperated, I took her through the directions to
my house, again. I spoke extra
slowly. I told her to get to a specific
landmark and PARK. THE. CAR. THEN. CALL. ME.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All because I was too scared to cancel this one and call
another one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt like I was being Punk’d or something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, she arrived at my house at 7.15am. Almost an hour after she’d accepted my
request.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d been standing outside my gate, just to make sure she didn’t
drive past and end up in Jinja or some shit.
Imagine my horror when the car approaches and I see an elderly lady
behind the wheel, old enough to be my mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All my rage just evaporated.
There was no way I could blast this woman!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still can’t believe I paid for the bloody ride.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now apart from being late for work and pissed off, I
have to deal with the tinge of guilt at being mad at an elderly lady.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got to work. Guess
what I was told?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘’Ah, no worries. We
were off air anyway. Some problem at the
mast.’’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
FML.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-41783495591070659422016-10-31T16:13:00.000+03:002016-10-31T16:13:14.692+03:00Untitled.<div class="MsoNormal">
I was doing some spring cleaning recently and decided to
clean out the glasses cabinet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know <i>that</i>
cabinet. The one with the glass shelves
and the good wine glasses that only come out when you’ve got guests. And I’m not talking about the ones you use
when your friends come over for a drink up.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean the cabinet where you keep the glasses you serve
aunties and uncles with. The one with
the silver set, the one with the teacups your parents were given as a wedding
gift- the ones you never, ever touch for fear of breaking them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My inner klutz comes out at the most
inappropriate times, so I stay away from that cabinet as much as is physically
possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, so there I was, listening to music and humming along
(tunefully, I might add), carefully taking each glass off the shelf. I lovingly dusted each shelf, taking extra
care to not do one of two things that always happen when I find myself in such
a precarious position i.e dealing with glass:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ol>
<li>Break a glass and/or glass shelf</li>
<li>Cut myself with said glass and/or piece of shattered shelf.</li>
</ol>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My life is hard sometimes.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was putting the glasses back, kicking myself for not
having taken a picture of the cabinet so I could remember where everything was
originally, I started noticing the glasses as I put them back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The shot glasses my sister brought back from Spain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tiny glass my Mum used to drink Tia Maria out of way
back when.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The white wine glass that has ended up solo since the other
5 in the set broke. (I’d like to state
for the record that said breakages had nothing to do with me.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My Dad’s collector beer mugs. He almost had one from every
country we’ve lived in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each glass brought back its own set of memories, or memories
of my parents telling me the memories they evoked for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I picked up one particular beer mug, which, rarely used, only
used to come out on special occasions. A
gift from my Mum to my Dad, with ‘To Godfrey, love Sara’’ etched into the side.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart squeezed, as it still does whenever I think of my
Dad. Every time I come across something
that belonged to him, or was a gift from him, inevitably my mind wanders off
and I’m almost floored by the sheer force of missing him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat for a while, thinking about how my parents are just
relationship GOALS. About how blessed my
siblings and I are, to have grown up in a home so obviously full of the love my
parents had for us, and each other. And
how lucky I am, even now that he’s gone, that he will always be here. Telling me to smile, and carry on. And put his mug away before I break it.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-78713068752475789072016-10-26T11:38:00.000+03:002016-10-26T11:38:07.097+03:00This Mistaken Identity Thing...<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know why, but lately, people keep confusing me with
Karitas Karisimbi.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have a problem with this in principle- I don’t know
Karitas personally, I just know that she’s a media personality and was on
radio. But it’s crazy how many people
have either greeted me by her name or confidently pointed me out as being her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was at a recording studio voicing an ad recently, and the
producer asked the receptionist if she knew who I was. She scoffed at him and rolled her eyes,
replying ‘Shyaa. Of course. She’s Karitas!’ I was so stunned I didn’t even have the gas
to correct her before I entered the booth.
I wasn’t expecting her to know who I was at all, never mind her mistaking
me for someone else altogether.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another time, I was patiently waiting at the ATM for the
lady in front of me to quit wasting time, get her money and go. As always, I had my headphones in and was
blasting some tune or other, when she came out and stopped in her tracks in
front of me. I looked up and found her
grinning at me. Confused and a little
unsure, I smiled back, not knowing who this woman was, but wondering if she had
confused me with my big sister Kaine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(It happens often, even with relatives. Why, I will never know, but we have accepted
that we are twins, born several years apart and with a whole sibling in
between. But I digress). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, I smiled politely and tried to get past the woman
and into the ATM. No such luck.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Hi Karitas!’ She chirped cheerfully. Trying really hard not to roll my eyes, I
fixed my grin and turned around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Ha ha, I’m not Karitas,’ I responded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Are you sure?’ she looked at me incredulously. Like that look you give someone who clearly
has no idea what they are talking about and might be somewhat touched in the
head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Yes, I am sure. I’m
not her,’ I replied, with more uneasy laughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Yiiyiiii, but you are Karitaaaaaas!! Stop
denyyyyyiiiiiing!! Ok kale you are her sister!’ This woman wouldn’t let
up. I gritted my teeth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘I’m not her sister.
I don’t know her, honestly.’ Hoping this was the end of the
conversation, I turned to get on with withdrawing my money. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two minutes later, I walked out the ATM to find the same
woman leaning against the railing, looking at me as if she couldn’t understand
why I was denying my true identity. ‘Bye
Karitas!’ she called after me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t have the strength to argue.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like I said, I don’t know Karitas. And I’m not sure how she’d feel if she knew
people keep thinking I’m her, but just to be clear, I thought I’d include a
list of other people and/or things that I most certainly am NOT.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>An Arsenal fan</li>
<li>Here for your nonsense</li>
<li>Against Marmite</li>
<li>Obsessed with Idris Elba</li>
<li>A fan of spiders</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think Karitas is beautiful and I’m flattered that some
people think we bear a passing resemblance. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least I’m not being confused with the wrong end of a bus. I guess I should count my blessings.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6803389947300403175.post-23524430761884019372016-08-02T13:35:00.000+03:002016-08-02T13:35:42.683+03:00Ugh, disappointment.<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t deal with disappointment very well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that might sound like an obvious thing to say,
because, who does? But I realized today
that I really need to find a coping mechanism for that crushing feeling when
things don’t quite go the way you hoped they would.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is partly my fault, because I was looking at things
perhaps I shouldn’t have been. Nothing
illegal, mind. Just that normal
curiosity, more so now because technology makes it so easy for us to look back
at what people were doing this time last year or the other year, and tally that
with what we were doing at the same time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s when I saw it.
I wish to God I hadn’t. I wish to
God I had Google Imaged Idris Elba instead.
But that split second before my world came crashing down around my ears,
right before this stress headache hit (it’s moved all the way down my neck, by
the way), that split second before the wave of nausea I still can’t shake came
over me- I thought, what harm will it do?
I’ll just have a look.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s when I saw it.
The post that made my happiness a lie and broke my heart and pissed me
off and broke my heart and gave me a headache and broke my heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t stop there, by the way. Sitting at my desk, shaking, trying to act
normal so the intern stationed next to me didn’t notice that I was trying not
to throw up all over my (brand new) laptop.
I kept looking. And
clicking. And reading. I think that’s when the muscles in my neck
bunched up and this damn stress headache intensified.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not yet sad. I’m
just pissed off. Because I had promised
myself I would never ever ever ever go through this again. I’m super pissed that I’ve let myself down,
that I didn’t listen to myself, that I didn’t just NOT GO THERE. I’m disappointed in myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I just don’t deal with disappointment very well.<o:p></o:p></div>
Kanyindohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10879295633047521638noreply@blogger.com3