Better the devil you know
Mar 18, 2009
There was a time when fire was good news and everyone expected it in our kitchens and bedrooms. And at its best performance, bedroom fire would bring walls tumbling down amidst praises of no ordinary kind.
There was a time when fire was good news and everyone expected it in our kitchens and bedrooms. And at its best performance, bedroom fire would bring walls tumbling down amidst praises of no ordinary kind.
But today, fire and tumbling walls don’t kill in the bedroom way. They kill completely and they are becoming an emblem of Kampala city, the city we fear to live in but still cannot vacate. Even when, as of now, we need an insurance policy to enter a city building or market, we still don’t find it in us to flee Gomorrah.
In this column, I ordinarily do not provide extensive coverage of city buildings unless major news occurs down there, such as a government minister staggering out of a bar with a beer in one hand and a male friend in another. But when the entire KCC system, which boasts of an annual maintenance budget in billions (currently, - if not permanently, stolen), feeds us on a daily menu of accidents, I can not hide my head in the sand like people proclaiming victory in Garamba. For it is increasingly becoming difficult to make love amidst violent crime, ritual murders, poverty, tear gas, political extremism, drugs, corruption, traffic jams, stinking spots and ethnic hatred.
But Uganda is like an African marriage where you cannot migrate to another city when the current one is flooded. Like the African wife; battered, tattered, disappointed, trampled and cheated upon, we have only one choice – stay put and hope things will improve. Changing husbands is called prostitution and only the brave can click the button. So, your shopping arcade tumbles down and you shift to a market, which burns up and you go street vending, which is not a good idea because KCC vigilantes will be waiting like hawks to pounce on your goods. But, still, you will not emigrate.
Natural law dictates that a free person will migrate from a bad to a good environment. That is why we love to ask people in bad, unfulfilling, abusive or badly designed relationships why they don’t just pull out. And we cannot understand them when they seem unwilling to stay in a burning city. But look in the mirror; what is that person you are seeing doing in this city which even the mayor threatens to quit and actually go ahead to flee the country citing political pressure? Simple, the person will reply, there is no other city to flee to and start afresh; every Ugandan administration is the same; we are getting used to calamity; we are not quitters, cowards and the list goes on.
So, how different are these answers from those we give when our love affairs are burning up? Let it be my friends; sometimes the devil who knows your name kills softer than the angel who is a stranger. Staying put and welding the cracks may be better than jumping into a new environment, which may turn out worse.
If the partner you have smells exactly like KCC, I am really sorry. But I will not ask you why you are not leaving. Because I am also not leaving this place even if Workers’ House burns into ashes. Please do not call me unless you have reason to believe that our NSSF money is being scattered by the fire onto the streets.
hbainemigisha@newvision.co.ug
But today, fire and tumbling walls don’t kill in the bedroom way. They kill completely and they are becoming an emblem of Kampala city, the city we fear to live in but still cannot vacate. Even when, as of now, we need an insurance policy to enter a city building or market, we still don’t find it in us to flee Gomorrah.
In this column, I ordinarily do not provide extensive coverage of city buildings unless major news occurs down there, such as a government minister staggering out of a bar with a beer in one hand and a male friend in another. But when the entire KCC system, which boasts of an annual maintenance budget in billions (currently, - if not permanently, stolen), feeds us on a daily menu of accidents, I can not hide my head in the sand like people proclaiming victory in Garamba. For it is increasingly becoming difficult to make love amidst violent crime, ritual murders, poverty, tear gas, political extremism, drugs, corruption, traffic jams, stinking spots and ethnic hatred.
But Uganda is like an African marriage where you cannot migrate to another city when the current one is flooded. Like the African wife; battered, tattered, disappointed, trampled and cheated upon, we have only one choice – stay put and hope things will improve. Changing husbands is called prostitution and only the brave can click the button. So, your shopping arcade tumbles down and you shift to a market, which burns up and you go street vending, which is not a good idea because KCC vigilantes will be waiting like hawks to pounce on your goods. But, still, you will not emigrate.
Natural law dictates that a free person will migrate from a bad to a good environment. That is why we love to ask people in bad, unfulfilling, abusive or badly designed relationships why they don’t just pull out. And we cannot understand them when they seem unwilling to stay in a burning city. But look in the mirror; what is that person you are seeing doing in this city which even the mayor threatens to quit and actually go ahead to flee the country citing political pressure? Simple, the person will reply, there is no other city to flee to and start afresh; every Ugandan administration is the same; we are getting used to calamity; we are not quitters, cowards and the list goes on.
So, how different are these answers from those we give when our love affairs are burning up? Let it be my friends; sometimes the devil who knows your name kills softer than the angel who is a stranger. Staying put and welding the cracks may be better than jumping into a new environment, which may turn out worse.
If the partner you have smells exactly like KCC, I am really sorry. But I will not ask you why you are not leaving. Because I am also not leaving this place even if Workers’ House burns into ashes. Please do not call me unless you have reason to believe that our NSSF money is being scattered by the fire onto the streets.
hbainemigisha@newvision.co.ug