"Me I don't even think we are independent"

Nine year old Jenny is watching cartoons at six in the morning when her dad comes rushing out of the bedroom with his coat and tie in one hand and a pair of shoes in the other. She ambushes him and insists on sharing her views about independence, although she seems not to have a good idea about the subject. She blabbers on leaving her papa, a government minister, who is rushing to attend the national independence celebrations, almost defenseless.

Jenny: Dad are you still going to Kololo to listen to the president posing and abusing Obote? Are you going to watch those very many army men standing in the rain and some fainting in the sun? Are you going to samala at those big army cars wasting our fuel as they are driven slowly for the president to see them? As if he has never seen them before. And to see him being driven very slowly on his jeep as if he cannot walk faster?

Dad: Yes my dear. Duty calls. We have to celebrate independence. And bambi he won’t abuse Obote this time my dear.

Jenny: But I thought it is supposed to be a public holiday. That you would stay home and have some quality time with us. And after lunch you would take us out to play and eat a lot of ice cream. And then bring us back. And then you take mummy out also. And you come back so late when you are so tired and drunk. And then you go to your bedroom and laugh. And mummy cries a bit as you two shout about how nice independence is.

Dad: Jenny! Jenny my dear, you are talking about Christmas. It is just two months away and this time it is going to be so special. I promise.

Jenny: But dad, this independence thing we are celebrating. Me I don't even think we are independent! We should even be colonized afresh.

Dad: What?! Where the hell did you get that idea from?

Jenny: From school. Mr. Kasoma told us so.

Dad: Is that your Social Studies teacher? That opposition guy who rides a boda boda?

Jenny: Yeah. But it is a motorcycle dad, not a boda B!

Dad: I think that young man should be fired. He is misleading you. A guy like him who doesn't know what independence is shouldn't be on the national payroll.

Jenny: Then take away the payroll. Us we like him. He is soooooo handsome. and he is funny too.

Jenny: Anway, me I believe we are not independent. We should not even celebrate independence. And do you know why?

Dad: Jenny, I am afraid I have to go. Say hi to your mother when she finally wakes up.

Jenny: You are not listening to me dad! You have started treating me like mum and yet you always say you love me.

Dad: I love you two. You and mum. So very much. But I have to go.

Jenny: So you love the president and his independence party more than us. You are rushing to go and listen to him for hours and cannot even listen to your daughter for just ten minutes. Okay. Okay.

Dad: Alright Jenny come sit here. I am sorry for treating you that way. Please tell me, why do you think we are not independent?

Jenny: Dad, I want you to know that I love it when you carry me on your lap. I love it so much. Okay, I was saying we are not independent because of so many things. I cannot even remember most of them. But Mr. Kasoma said that we are still dependent on our former colon masters and their friends.

Dad: Colonial master! As in ko- lo-ni-yo.

Jenny: Thank you! But bambi don't interrupt me. I will get lost! He said that we rely on those people and other developed countries for a lot of things. They borrow us money to build our bad roads and they even become badder.

Dad: Lend! They lend us money. And it is not badder...

Jenny: They give us free mosquito nets and cheap medicine. They educate some of our people in outside countries for free. We cannot employ our people so they run to them for jobs. They decide how much they pay for our coffee and they can even say they don't like our bananas. He said although we have oil, we cannot get it out of the soil without calling them to help us and promising to give them half of it. We have failed to learn and write our languages and we force ourselves to use English very properly. Kale we even laugh at our mayor when he makes jokes in English. Mbu we even use their names as if we are not proud of our own. Me I don't even want to be called Jenny anymore!

Dad: Okay from today I shall be calling you Namisango.

Jenny: Eh eh. Kyoka daddy! Me I hate that gu name. You call me Nami at least. Like Naomi without the O.

Dad: Okay from today you will be called Nami.

Jenny: So now are you going to be like a loving dad and stay home with us today, after me showing you that we are still dependent?

Dad: You know Jenny, sorry, Nami. I have to go and celebrate our independence, or dependence as you and Mr. Kasoma might be thinking. I am a minister who understands these things a little better than you and your friend Mr. Kasoma. When I come back in the evening, I will tell you the truth about independence. But as for now, just take Mr. Kasoma's word and make a wish.

Jenny: Please buy me some chocolate and ice cream. Dad remember me I am still depending on you!

Jiggers: are the Basoga too poor or simply filthy?!

Just this week, The Daily Monitor (Thursday, 28 September) reported a case of a three months old baby who died as a result of jigger infestation. This was in Bugiri district, which is part of the controversial Busoga Kingdom. Controversial because two years since Kyabazinga Henry Wako Muloki passed on, my people probably don’t know who their new King is. Anyway, The Monitor further reported that nine people, including six from the baby’s family had been hospitalized. A shameful disaster! And yet these are just a few of the many Basoga suffering from this parasite. Some people have largely blamed this situation on poverty and poor hygiene. However, on comparing the poverty and hygiene levels of Busoga with northern Uganda, Mr. Daniel Kalinaki, Managing Editor of The Monitor, and I am risking to say, a musoga, doubted whether poverty and hygiene could explain Busoga’s jigger dilemma. He joked, I believe, that his brothers were “too poor to care and poor because they have been conditioned to mistake peace for prosperity”. But is that all we can say when people are dying and others are being incapacitated? Is there anything we can do to help the situation? Who is responsible and who can help?

First and foremost, I think it is important that we understand and appreciate these little bugs. Jiggers, also known as sand fleas, are scientifically referred to as Tunga penetrans. For some strange reason, this name revolves around piercing and penetration. Well the Tungas are the smallest of fleas, measuring about 1 millimiter in length. That is close to the size of the tip of your pen. These insects mainly dwell in warm sandy soils and feed on decaying organic matter. However, the breeding female prefers to burrow into the skin of mammals, mainly the feet, to get a better diet from the skin and blood vessels prior to laying a battalion of eggs. Jiggers infest the feet most because they cannot jump beyond twenty centimeters. But if a person sleeps on the ground, as is the case in many poor rural families, then the entire body is one hell of a buffet.

The life cycle of a jigger. Source: CDC, Parasites and health.

After two weeks of intensive feeding the female lays its eggs, dies off and the eggs drop to the ground hatching three to four days later. The numerous offspring are mature and ready to breed in just one month. A single episode of a jigger attack is nothing to write home about. All you do is endure the constant itching and then pluck the ‘pregnant’ madam out with a needle or safety pin. An infestation is, however, a totally different scenario all together since it can lead to ulcerations, infections, pain, trouble with locomotion, incapacitation and, as recently reported, anemia. And even death!

According to the New England Journal of Medicine, these insects are mainly endemic to tropical Africa, South America and subtropical Asia. They are, in essence, not a ‘Basoga problem’ but a problem of the tropics. In fact, Joyce Wangui in her article titled “Poor Kenyans still grapple with jigger infestation” gave a graphic detail of the problem in Kiangage village, Muranga district in southern Kenya. This region is about 500 kilometers away from Busoga Kingdom! The only common things between Kiangage and Bugiri, besides the jiggers, are poverty and hygiene. 

Hands infested by jiggers: Source EAif

But it is not simply enough to rub the issue aside by just calling this “a problem for the poor and unhygienic”. I was born into the family of a relatively rich medical doctor who had a very good sense of hygiene. He had a farm in Busoga on which I spent the earlier years of my life. We, however, occasionally suffered from jiggers despite the fact that we were neither poor nor dirty. Luckily enough, ours did not get to the level of an infestation because our parents endeavored to contain the situation. I have spent most of my life in peri-urban Buganda but have not at any one time suffered from a single jigger. Nor have I seen or heard of a jigger infestation in Buganda, despite the fact that we have lots of poor and dirty people in Buganda. The slums of Kampala are a good example if you are in doubt.       

What point am I trying to make here? Jiggers may be endemic to Busoga not just because its people are poor and filthy! It could be that the environment and conditions in Busoga are simply more favorable for them to thrive. We have heard of other insect related infestations in different parts of the country: river blindness (Mbale, Gulu, Kasese, Kabale etc.), Guinea worm (West Nile region) and Elephantiasis (Kamwenge, Kapchorwa). I have also come across stories of Bilharzia in Busia and other parts of the country. Fortunately, some of these problems have been successfully managed.  

How can we manage the problem? We first need to recognize it as a genuine and serious problem that can affect the productivity of our workforce just like disease and malnutrition do. We need to appreciate that these so-called poor people are the majority in Uganda and they are responsible for producing the food that we eat. They provide the manual labor for various industries/sectors. They do all the menial jobs that most of the educated people shun. They sustain us. And we somehow ought it to them. We can borrow a leaf from Kenya’s NGO: Ahadi Kenya Trust. These guys set up a campaign code named “Help remove my jigger.” Ahadi used the former Miss Kenya 2005, Cecilia Mwangi and journalists to champion this cause. They have embarked on massive education of the masses, treatment of those afflicted as well as fumigation of homesteads. This is something we can also do. The Basoga have prominent sons and daughters in the media who can highlight this cause. We also have prominent artistes such as Afande Gen. Mega Dee, Rachel Magoola and many others who can act as ambassadors towards this cause. They can also ‘edutain’ our folks through their music and tell them that jiggers are neither hereditary nor a curse but something that can be managed. Schools in Busoga region can also borrow from the approach used in Busia to sensitive locals on Bilharzia. According to Health Exchange, school children, through the “Acting against worms” project, were used to act skits with the objective of educating locals.

Our local leaders should encourage such approaches instead of threatening to arrest those with jiggers, as was the case in 2008. They should also not shy away from finding solutions to the problems their voters face. “When you tell them they need to bathe and maintain cleanliness around their homes, they say you are abusing them and that they will not give you their vote the next time round.” Irresponsible statements like this one, from Ms. Robinah Namukose, area woman district councillor for Bugiri should be discouraged. Jiggers are not a result of spontaneous generation. And they cannot be eradicated by simply taking a shower every day, wearing shoes and disposing garbage in the right place. And I am also yet to hear that the destitute of Kampala, who sleep on the streets and eat from the bins, are suffering from jigger infestation.

To claim that the Basoga suffer from jiggers because of poverty and poor hygiene is like saying that the Baganda of Rakai/Masaka, or whichever tribe inhabits that region, suffered a lot from HIV/AIDs merely because they were poor, ignorant, promiscuous or plainly unlucky. If the nation had looked at it that way and stopped at that, we would have missed the point and would have been unable to make the sort of progress we see today in the fight against HIV/AIDS.

We need to clearly understand why the jiggers thrive in this area. Or maybe we don’t even need to! We just have to accept that they thrive. We have to be seriously committed, as government, local leaders and civil society, to develop and adopt strategies to educate our people and to eradicate jiggers. We must remember that the government has in the past, with the help of the Carter Center, been able to manage river blindness and guinea worm through vector control, treatment and education. This too can be done for jiggers. But as we wait for the problem to escalate, so that government can put it on its agenda, we as the Basoga can also take a stand.  

If Angella Katatumba can set up “For You Gulu” for the people in northern Uganda, why can’t Gen. Mega Dee launch “Rid Busoga of Jiggers”?! I am sincerely looking forward to hearing of such an initiative by our well placed sons and daughters so that I can ‘put my behind on their campaign’. And I am sure many other Basoga would be glad to add theirs as well.

Can popular artiste, Gen. Mega Dee, one of Busoga's prominet musical sons, command the battle against 'Busoga's notorius bugs?'

When Elephants fight

...is it the grass that suffers?!

 Not all the time. And at least not in business. The recent price wars in Uganda's telecom sector are a clear example that some 'elephant fights' do actually benefit the guys at the grassroots. The prices are skiing further south and I am sure the customers are even going to get better services.

One evening the relatively new company, Warid Telecom, decides to drop the internetwork rate to 5 shillings per second. The so called drawing of the first blood. And while the country is still celebrating this blow to the head, and planning to buy more Warid sims, the other companies throw their punches in an attempt to equalize. But then Zain quickly knocks out their teeth by dropping the rate to 3 shillings. This is the kind of fight worth cheering on.

Why? Coz we have come a long way! When the grandfather of mobile telephony in Uganda, Celtel (aka Zain but still broadly known as Selotelo to the old folks), started operations at home, I was a beardless skinny 17 year old lad in senior two at the famous Busoga College Mwiri. The cost of a mobile phone, a rather massive gadget at the time, was quite obscene. Two million Uganda shillings (that is what I heard back then!) was a rather high price. This was the kind of money that would be sufficient to take your child through the four years of O'level in a good school such as Mwiri. Or even a much better school like the one you went to. These gadgets were owned by a few individuals, who not only really seriously needed them but could also afford. These included the president, ministers, a few members of parliament and selected medics among others. The only person I remember owning a mobile phone at that time was my senior brother in law, a respected and much sought after orthopedic surgeon. I think the service was postpaid and it was also pretty costly. Someone informed me that Celtel charged a minimum of 10 US dollars (close to 200,000 Shillings now).

And then MTN arrived on the scene in 1998 or there about. I was a freshman at Makerere University , just settling into Lumumba Hall. More people acquired mobile phones. The prominent model at the time was the Ericsson 628. The famous one that came to be known as the 'block' or 'phone booth'. Every parent must have somehow owned one. Those were the days when phones were bought from possibly one MTN or Celtel outlet in Kampala. They were brand new phones. Wrapped in polythene and packed in a box. And they were still pretty expensive although MTN had managed to bring the prices down. Oh, and people basically held the same phone model! Back then MTN levied an evil monthly tax called ‘Service fee’ to have you on their network. You basically had to pay 18,000 shillings (later cut to 10,000) every month if you wanted to be able receive calls. If you intended to make a call then you would have to throw in some airtime as well. I remember a few students using their faculty allowance to buy phones and later on failing to maintain them because of the service fee. For them holding a phone was a status symbol. To some of us, moving around with a mobile phone that could neither place a call nor receive, was equivalent to one pushing a car to and fro work just to prove to his colleagues that he has wheels. That was dog poo!

And suddenly UTL Telecom came along in 2000. The students’ choice! I cannot forget the famous Mango campaign. UTL made it possible for most of us to own mobile phones. I bought mine, a Motorolla V28, complete with a radio and headphones, from UTL. While UTL started off by not charging service fee, MTN insisted on continuing to ‘recover its costs’ by fleecing its customers. And sadly, being on the MTN network was a status symbol for some. Guys would deliberately stroll around with useless thirsty phones, just because they were on MTN, and they found it rewarding to tease us for being on a students’ network. But we were ‘on air’ all the time and they were off most of the time. The term ‘service fee’ came to be as popular as ‘ability’ or ‘potential’ are today.  

 But the fact that UTL had joined the fray meant that the monopoly of Celtel, and now MTN, was busted. The costs came down. Second hand phones hit the market making it even possible for the common guy on the streets of Kampala to own a mobile phone. MTN finally dropped their silly monthly tax. The three elephants fought. The grass enjoyed the benefits. The war, if I recall very well, initially revolved around network coverage. Who was covering the country best? Celtel rebranded and lowered the prices further down that the once expensive, for-the-rich-only network now became quite cheap and even despised by taxi drivers.

Numerous promotions have come and gone in the course of these companies fighting for customers. New and cheap phones from China were offered at give away prices sometimes two for the price of one. Do you remember Kabiriti (MTN), Kiboko (Celtel), Katikitiki (UTL), Katala, and Katoki?! I remember buying a Kabiriti during one Christmas promotion, for just 25,000 shillings and using it for a year plus. Can you imagine, that inflation aside, a guy who bought the first Celtel phones back in 1993 would have driven away with eighty Kabiritis about two years ago?! Air time has been split from the once smallest denomination of 10,000 to as low as 500 shillings. And probably even lower!  Simcards are sold on the streets like bubble gum. Now even housemaids have mobile phones and can afford to load airtime using the small savings they make from buying tomatoes and onions from the road side market. Those on Walidi can call their relatives and talk pakalast!

Close to twenty years down the road, since Celtel first penetrated the mobile telephone market in Uganda, we have six or so players in this market. One of the latest entrants in this battlefield is the famous Warid Telecom (Walidi, pakalast) from the United Arab Emirates. These guys mean business! They have brought the prices very down and are still doing so. And they have brought the former heavy weights (Celtel and MTN) down on their knees!

And can anyone say the grass has suffered? In a sense yes! There was a time when the big guys carried two phones (one MTN and the other Celtel) just to be in touch with their cronies on both networks. At an affordable cost! Sometimes Celtel made sense when you were travelling to places, like Masaka, that were outside the network coverage of MTN. When the Ka-phone revolution came in even students could afford to carry two or three phones to reap the benefits of the intra network price battle. The advent of the dual sim phone didn’t help much because the list of service providers was growing big. You simply had to carry more phones. Remember the days of the ‘phone tycoon’ advert? It all looked like a joke back then but this now is the life of the average Ugandan phone user. Thieves also took advantage of the situation. They could buy a sim card off the street, use it to make their devious deals and then throw it away.

But can we really call that suffering?! When we can send money to anywhere in Uganda using these phone companies? When we can access the internet on our phones? When even pets are soon going to own mobiles? No way! All we ought to pray for is that these elephants should fight more and more and more. Someone please fan these fires. Because we are definitely reaping lots from the price wars of this perfect competition. Things are getting better and better.

In the meantime just brace yourselves for more splashes in the taxis as guys bleat “Harrooo, Harroooo. Norinkahe?...Munha obukoko bwazaala?...Wanjiiiii…nga sikuwulira....Eeeeeh, awadifo...eeeh!”


I know this is not a perfect way to end a nice story. But just imagine if this sort of thing were to happen in our politics: the wars with benefits, not the splashing!

My 'novel' fried posho recipe

I recently promised to give one of my friends a new 'one of a kind' recipe for preparing delicious posho (maize pap). I had been working on this recipe for about two weeks and was ready to brag it off to him when google changed my story.

Papa's fried posho and beans.

I am, in fact, a little bit disappointed with myself tonight. You see, just when I thought I had perfected my posho recipe, and was ready to proudly throw it around, I discovered that it is actually not something novel at all, if I can be very honest from the start.

Someone 'stole' the blue prints from me, did some editing and published the recipe in The New Vision almost three years ago! I was engrossed with other important issues like feeding bacteria, when a dude called Hillary 'Wharever' cut the tape. Yeah, go ahead. Do the 'ouch' thing. Smile. Infact burst out and laugh. Roll on the floor if you have ample space. And then write back and tell me how sorry you are about this. You being sorry that someone got this idea before and even published it. I know that is what friends are for. And that is why we like them. They comfort us. Sometimes after laughing behind our backs.

I am, however, glad that I googled my recipe name: 'Fried Posho', before getting down to write and post 'Papa's fried posho recipe' You know, high level science, and media in general, is extremely serious when it comes to the evil of plagiarism. I just wanted to be sure that I was not going to end up like someone who had done a copy & paste job just to impress others about my innovativeness. You know this business of getting other people's ideas and texts and reproducing them as your own without acknowledging the original author(s) is just so not cool. It is actually very unethical! It is very morally wrong. It is a sign of dishonesty.

Right now I am thinking that plagiarism it is akin to a pauper dressing up in the King's robes, riding into town on the royal horse and having everyone bow down for him! He, the pauper, will definitely feel like he is King but deep inside his stupid heart he knows he is a dirt eating impositor! I am sure you can imagine what would happen if the King's subjects found out that they were paying their respects to a disrespectful slimy-nosed pig. What would the king himself do to this hog?

And yet people continue to plagiarise!

Please be informed that I picked this from Wordpress:

Journalists steal their friends stories, panel beat them here and there and re-publish them. I read a little about a one Jayson Blair, a former reporter for the New York Times, who thrived on this evil. He finally lost his career! I have read about an academician (an Associate Professor) in the US who republished a paper that had already been authored by other people. I do not think, in my wisdom, that I should tell you where I have read these two stories from. I have already made it clear that 'I read' from somewhere! Besides, even if I told you where I got those stories from I am sure you would not cross check.

Anyway, let me tell you that I read about Jason Blair from here and the Associate Prof from here so that you do not think I made up  the stories.

I have also seen students ' reports with paragraphs upon paragraphs of text copy- pasted from the internet. Often without even a single reference quoted. I can not tell you where I read this from because this is my very own original writing from personal experience. Just believe me! But if you ever use this part of my information then kindly inform your audience that "Papa's Cocktail revealed that some students produce copy-pasted reports..."

It is quite sad that the internet has made it so easy for people to practice this vice. You see what you like on a website, you copy it and paste it into your document and voila! How often do you, for instance, see facebook status messages that you simply know could not have been conceived by the guys to whose names they are attached? It is terrible, isn't it?

I have told some students before that these days it is very easy for one's work to be checked for plagiarism. I can personally smell it in their work just by reading through once. It is possibe for anyone to get suspicious about some sort of fraud if they are familiar with your writing style and their know your capabilities. Sometimes I read something written by someone I know and a voice in my mind says "this is too good to be true...John could not have written this!" And I can confirm it by using various online plagiarism detecting tools such as Plagiarism Checker, Copyscape, Plagiarism.org and many others.

Well that  'novel' fried posho recipe of mine?! Are you still hoping to read the recipe here?! You wish.

I am very very afraid I am going to have to ask you to follow this link  and try it out "Hilary’s Fried Posho". All I can say, at this point, is that personally I do add a little salt at point number three. I have also experimented with a range of spices and different vegetables. But in moderation! And at point number four I add flour until I have a paste (not porridge)! Please do experiment and tell me how everything works out for you.

Singin' with the students

I am standing in front of a class of second year undergraduate students, explaining something a little hard and boring, something that I quite can't remember now, when one of the bold students in the class raises her hand. " Yes Ray, what could be the problem?" She stands up, rolls her eyes in a way that suggests she is about to ask for a big favour. And then she yawns,  "Sir, I think we are having a hard time following and my friends here feel that we need a short break. Just to reorganise. Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase!"

Well, that is fine with me. In fact so fine because I was personally getting bored stiff by the non-responsive lot before me. So I suggest, "We shall have a short musical break. We are going to rewind on a short nursery song. I will drop the first line and you shall join me henceforth. Okay?!" They all agree. "Okay, lets go!"

"Doe, a deer, a female deer Ray, a drop of golden sun Me, a name I call myself Far, a long, long way to run Sew, a needle pulling thread La, a note to follow Sew Tea, a drink with jam and bread That will bring us back to Do (oh-oh-oh)..."

The whole class jumps in when I am singing "...a female deer..."  Even that quiet, shabby and very serious  boy from the rural environs, the one they call Professor, the guy who looks like he never went to nursery school and most likely never watched Sound of Music joins the fray. Someone starts whistling to the song as the kids go on and on neglecting my pleas of bringing the circus to a halt.

And then I hear foot steps. Not of one, but of a group of men. And most definitely one lady. I know who the lady is. She hates me. And I can hear the hatred in a very step she takes. The class breaks into a gravely silence when they see the head of department standing by the doorway. I can tell they are already feeling sorry for me when the whistling sound resumes, piercing into the thick mist of silence that had engulfed us.

What saves me from the impending disciplinary committee drama is the realisation that my phone alarm had gone off during my dream. I quickly jump out of bed to prepare myself for our church's trip to the Island of Koster in Sweden. I rarely wake up this early (6:00 am) on a Saturday. And I don't need an alarm to rise and shine!

Off to Sweden!