letter from the nile

I expect to find you in good health. I know you don’t have the time so I’ll get straight into it. I don’t like propaganda but from time to time I’m forced to resign myself to its ‘everywhereness’. At the canteen, at a restaurant, a friend’s hostel, when I visit my folks and so on.
In all these places, propaganda has proven to be the lie that blinds. None of its charms more enchanting than the speeches. For when you start…time seems to pause. Everybody enraptured by your well-shaped mouth. It’s like we the listeners are expecting some important event like the second coming of Jesus Christ.
Time tends to behave weirdly for me too at such moments. You see, for me, your speech is like a bad movie which I’ve been watching all of my life. A bad case of unending deja vu. It’s no wonder critics all over the world decry the shallow pretentious nature of your speeches these days.
Personally, I speak of the local Namasagali broke-comedy masquerading as the speech. The movie starrs you, Mr.Politician, in your effervescent role of Mr.I-Want-To-Be-key to the right door; your vociferous opponent with his I-Want-To-Be-key to the right door-Too role; yours and his in-fatiguing sycophants with their empty We-Can’t-Wait-For-You-To-Be-right key-So-We-Can-Get-Rich’ antagonism; with your respective tribal elders making cameos playing ‘We’ll-Support-Whoever-Pays-Today’.
Over and over since my father bought his first speech book back in ’92 I’ve been seeing the same cast variously starring in this flick. Switching roles from time to time. Introducing young wannabes every now and then but primarily, the script remains the same.
The theme too remains unchanged. Underlining your whole performance is the fact that you can’t wait to get your paws on my/our allowances .Of course your subtly mask it as an effort to appropriate a share of the national cake for ‘your’ people. And of course the latest remake of this movie doesn’t have you saying those exact words. But you don’t fool me.
These days I hear you voicing beautifully plagiarized phrases about your namasagalistic outlook. About your new found sympathy for the suffering masses. I hear you voicing carefully rehearsed statistics and well prepared manifestos about how you are their savior. What I don’t hear you laying out is the role you play in this robbery that is ongoing even as I write.
Mr.Politician, if I was to have an illustration for this letter, I would have chosen one of those Kingo cartoons in which he has you dressed as an animal in your carnivorous finery. Yes Mr.Politician. Animal.
I do not intend to insult in saying this. I merely borrow from a Coehlo writing in which he sought to describe the life of a cat. How it’s life is enraptured by the moment. How it only seeks to secure the present. All else is nothing. Emptiness. I find this a very apt description of your selfish ways Mr.Politician.
You want to rule me yet you know nothing about my struggles. You want me to vote for you just so you can feed on my allowances. Just so you can perpetuate your myopic dynastic view of power. You present yourself to the world as my true representative. Reading self-aggrandizing speeches woefully lacking in substance. You have made my campus an object of university ridicule.
A long time ago you styled yourself as a freedom fighter. My liberator through new constitution. You ended up a freedom killer. For if I lack the capacity to enjoy my liberation, how then I’m I free?
You then “gifted’ me with ICGRC. Said that with it you could now afford me greater representation. Said that with it, now you could truly speak for me. I am still waiting.
Every eight months I vote for you Mr. Politician. And you leave me feeling like a used and abused prostitute. Left languishing in limbo until the next time your need arises. I whore my aspirations to you freely and still you and your cohorts conspire to rape them. I wish I could find a way to infect my vote with a virulent disease that would end you and yours in the not too distant future. Because I am tired. By sema nare

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