Mr historical

Couple days ago some structure built on orders from above and seriously peeing shit onto the definition of city planning did the bend over dance for us. It prostrated and was knocked down onto the floor under the heavy weight of bull dozers and the iron arm of the city laws championed by the executive director. Yes for the lazy journalists at their desks and the social media war mongers this was like manna falling from heaven as they jumped onto the band wagon to express what lay in their shallow craniums. This squatter I mean structure of a building with disregard of the scenic surrounding created by the roundabout and architectural minds of those who sank millions into study. You see here in Uganda a plan can be deviated if some dude who sits on the historical lists says it should because those fellas jumped outta their senses a couple of years ago to be specific 26 years and fought in a bush war to dump their definition of freedom unto our shoulders so forcefully expect us to always I am reminded we are religiously meant to return the favour unto them. Even giving the juicy jobs and contracts has not been enough to fill their abyss of bellies and neither cologne their suits we pay for through our taxes.

The big men work in several miraculous ways like they can own the air we breathe in and call it tendered services to God. See that dude upstairs so ashamed of these dudes he even hides his face behind light where our historicals don’t operate.

At their office is a bald man framed up high all straight up in makeup reeling on the helms of democracy screaming at our face am the president of Uganda and thou that believe me shall not impoverish in poverty but will for ever watch their stomach bulge sideways and front ways under the weight of juicy jobs am throwing unto and appointments am making them choose what best fit them like manna because Uganda the new promised for am not Moses but God himself.

No wonder the rip face who sits below the picture all they do is ask

‘You know who the fuck am is’

Yes I know some historical am told who carried a gun when I was still kicking it in my mother’s womb and brought your sanity to the pearl of Africa. See since you brought it we live in a state of not biting the hand that giveth. We not want to begin hustling with trouble because my friend seen that kids face on the Kampala street screaming

 ‘Times are hard’

The day I went hunting for this mysterious chick nick named jobs and I aren’t talking about stuff like dating sites and pick up lines. I carried my thick envelope not littered and bulging with shake pears bald lines but this French Madame moiselle resume. To get to Mr historical was like picking a needle out a hay stack. That sandal dressed dude even prophesied that easier for a camel to get through a needle hole and I swear meeting this historical is close to this feeling. The secretary breathes arrogance and politeness is her worst virtue. Her face sneer at me like is out to flush her out her job something she held like when Jesus walked this ass.

As the clock drags its lazy feet doing the 360 on its face she finally allows me into the office. Well if you want to see how the museum and modernity mix then historicals office is the right pilot test. He sits with his legs spread like a tiger shark on the prowl and his chics dropping down like the economy. Down his lips drip saliva spread in disgust on these kids who have been natured in their freedom now screaming we need change with all these placards talking about how they the historicals are old. Do they know what it meant to carry no guns but sticks in search of freedom under the hateful eyes of the past leaders like Amin and Obote. Do they know what it meant to sacrifice chances to graduate from university and sleeping next to our loved ones fighting for these dam wits?

 Do they know and now all they do is sing song of how people are tired and we growing old but let the know that we brought this freedom courts and shit………………so where we got it we can always take it back.



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