Archive for July, 2015

I Don’t Own Land

July 20, 2015

Land is surely the most valuable physical resource in a country where war and civil strife is prevalent. its value can depreciate but with an ever growing population, its value is and will most likely always rise. Land does not is one investment where the risks are supposed to be very low. So it’s safe to say that investing in land is one sure way of keeping your hard earned savings in a permanent place.
As villages develop into towns and towns expand into cities the previously neglected lands start selling like hot cake and suddenly everyone wants a piece of the pie. Speculators start speculating, sellers start selling and buyers start buying. Demand is a given, but supply is static.  That being the case some people with no lands also start to sell. They sell what they do not have and the buyers buy what the seller could not sell and that’s when trouble begins.
With registered land chances of one losing one’s land through a forgery are minimized. But in a country where over 50% of the land is unregistered, both the land owners and the prospective buyers are at a risk. As a young man you dream of buying a plot of land setting up a house and starting a family there. So you save every penny half starve yourself, stay home most Friday nights basically almost cease to exist on the social scene. So now you have saved enough and so you would like to put your dream into reality. You contact a few land brokers but prices are so prohibitive even those several kilometers from town. What’s one to do? You ask around and good news there is some land somewhere along Busabala Road. You rush to meet this seller who is offering land in your price range you are so excited you see the land and like it, its location and neighborhood. You elect to take it up. But first you need to know you owns it so you ask for the land title. The expression you get is for world cup. The broker, seller e.t.c look at you like you are from Mars. You have no idea why! Unknown to you, you are the only one in Jerusalem who does not know that Jesus is risen.
Realizing that you are totally clueless, the broker takes you aside and narrates to you how all the land in that area is Kabaka’s land and how he thought that it’s a known fact. You understand that it’s difficult to establish the true ownership and so you leave that deal. The broker is furious and demands for his commissions. Even when you don’t like the land the rule is that you have to pay the broker to compensate for his time. You are furious but nothing to be done you part with a cool Ugx 100k for no work done. You remember the trials and tribulations of getting a rental soon after school where you had to pay like over 5 brokers before you could land on a rental in a habitable state.
What to do what to do? You are like to hell with Kampala land so you decide to try your luck in Mbarara. To your shock it’s not different either there. Almost all the land that is not owned either by the church or the municipal council or companies is unregistered. You are told that this is how the system works and that an agreement from the seller is all it takes to transfer the land. This seems very risky, but you need the land. What’s one got to do?


A sweet disaster

July 20, 2015

In a Christian country or may be religious is the better term, considering that a significant number of people are more religious than Christian ok this is now confusing. Can one be Christian and not religious? Well enough of that. What I wanted to say before I got distracted is that or is it was that? Well, was or is that in Christianity polygamy is a sin. Is a sin a crime and are all crimes sins. Polygamous Christians commit a sin when they take up more than two wives ok so why is the plural of wife not wifes, the English need to explain how their language works. How many married Christians visit more than their wife’s bed? How many? Huh? … so why is polygamy not operationalized or is the right word legalised. And by the way, why are the priests not allowed to marry. We all know that chastity is a myth. May be there are some people that are chaste. Not all. And is one still chaste if they masturbate? What do the wives of a priest call each other since they are not officially wives in the true sense of the word Co-cohabits? Or girlfriends but they no longer qualify as girls?  Let’s use wifes, yes? Ok this is not a word but it looks like a word so yes I pronounce it a word. Who defines words as official? Is there like a supreme court of grammar? I know of words now that were not official a few years back. Who decided and decreed their existence? Why were they nonexistent a few years back? If these words evolved why can’t Christianity evolve?
Back to where we were … once upon a time in a not so far land there lived a little boy whose dream was to be like one of those people who used to pass by their home riding those fine machines. And so the young man decided he was going to be like that man when he grew up. Blah blah blah. You see, motorcycles were a preserve of the anointed few.
He is now grown up and his dream came true. Yes! dreams don’t only come true in movies and blogs but in real life as well as was the case with this little boy. This is not fictions I don’t write fiction, am not a fictional writer, I am a live being. The priest was loved by all and you know why? He was lovely and loveable and so he was loved and he too loved to love so love was in the air. The air around the parish was scented with love. And everyone was happy, the nuns, the female cooks and all. But love is strange, it’s selfish it does not want to be shared. It traps you it devours you it can break you and it can also embarrass you. It can bring president Bill down. On his knees I mean. That was quite a sweet scandal I suppose. There was this particular “love”, sweet brown beauty don’t ask me how I know that she was sweet. But sweet she was and tasty. Is that possible? Shiiii! In this case it was. I am the one telling the story. This beauty worked as secretary at the parish. Kalaani! That’s the word that’s used. She wore long (usually white) skirts and soft little blouses. Hmm seems bras were scarce those days, you could see clearly the …. Ok I am drifting from the story. The priest would make it a point to pass by the window of the secretary’s office every morning. To give her instructions but we all know he did not have to do this personally. But do this himself he still did. I knew why, he could not resist nor miss a day without looking at her, actually her chest. Oh that pointy little chest. Oh that chest, I would take the whole day just ogling them. Good thing she loved the attention her chest received. I was therefore never in trouble for indulging my eyes. Can we just say the secretary’s chest pierced through the priest’s heart and so began the secret (-ary) relationship herein after called the secretaryship.
This is how it all began, it was one lazy rainy Saturday afternoon, there was paper work to be completed for Sunday service or something, my memory fails me. Most of the parish workers were off duty and there was an air of quiet around the hill. The nuns were all back at the convent. It was the priest and the secretary who were around that whole day. He passed by her office window the allure was particularly stronger this cold lonely day. He had no power to resist this temptation and he but gave in to it. He invited her into his room for take some tea. There is no harm in sharing some tea, is there? Not always. There was in this case, you see the tea was to be taken in the priests room. The problem or the good thing depending on how one looks at it, was that there was a bed in his room. A warm bed! Actually his room was basically a bedroom. You know like those bed sitters we had at campus. May be you did not have one but you get it, yes? OK! You see, it’s not wise to put a boy and a girl in a room where there is a bed, especially when they are unmarried, hot blooded and sexually starved. That’s a recipe for sweet wet disaster.
That, my friends, is how the secretaryship began or started or commenced or whatever suits. But there was a problem. This priest had someone else from his previous deployment. The two only met outside the parish premises and did this so cleverly that no one else knew about it, except me of course! I have to get back to work, so I will summarize the story.
When the young secretary learns of the priest’s old flame, she plots on overthrowing her. It’s now two secretaries vying for the priest’s affection. It’s no long the case of a sole secretary. First she has to convince the priest that surely twenty nine years must be too long and he must be tired of tasting the same fruit, that the fruit must be tired as well and the time is ripe to pluck a new fruit. It’s now a game of alters. May the best secretary win. But what of the priest, what about his views? What if he wants a new secretary? What if he is tired of secretaries? What if he wants a transfer from the parish. What is the priest to do? These questions will be answered in season two coming soon. 
… To Be Continued ….