No More Beauty Pageants For Me
Oct 14, 2002
I have seen a lot of beautiful women in my life. Too many, said an elderly lady I met recently. And therein may lie the problem.
A journalist at a beauty contest does not really have any time to enjoy the show
By Kalungi Kabuye
I have seen a lot of beautiful women in my life. Too many, said an elderly lady I met recently. And therein may lie the problem. According to her, seeing too many pretty faces causes problems in one’s romantic life. And she said, with a wink, “That is why I am yet to get married.â€
So, what is the big deal with beauty contests? What is it about models and fashion shows that raises people’s temperatures? I have seen them all and more, believe me, and it is nothing to write home about.
In my life and career, I must have attended at least one thousand fashion shows and beauty contests and what I really want to do when I hear of another one is to run to my bed and hide.
I have tried to take pictures of a Miss Uganda pre-selection at Kampala Casino when all the men in the place were swarming all over the catwalk to take a closer look at the girls during the swimsuit phase (that was the last time Brenda Nanyonjo was on stage). I got a lot of heads in my pictures that time, and one of the judges later told me he spotted his girlfriend there.
I have attended Miss Uganda preliminaries where some of the contestants could hardly express themselves in English, and those that could gave us some memorable quotes. (One girl said she liked travelling as a hobby. Where has she travelled? To Germany. Can she speak any German? No, because she was only six months old at the time. Another named swimming as her hobby. What was her favourite stroke? She swam just for fun, not for learning strokes!)
I have not been to the contests in Nateete where some girls bared all. But I attended the first ever Face of Africa finals in the beautiful resort town of Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, before Mugabe's veterans messed it up.
At the eve of the finals, during the 'press-meet-the-finalists' event, almost everybody ignored that gangly-looking girl from Nigeria called Patricia Oluchi. So, what do we know?
I have interviewed Benvinda Mundunge in Windhoek, and taken pictures of her on the Brooklyn Bridge. I have spoken to Kiara in Los Angeles, and had lunch with Oluchi in New York, where I was to catch a glimpse of Naomi Campbell. I have been to Namayirira’s home in Entebbe, where she swept the yard, fed their cow with grass and harvested matooke from their small plantation at the back of the house. I have also met her in Sun City, looking like the million dollars she might make one day.
I have seen so many Miss Uganda pageants it is almost coming out of my ears and have seen more models than I have had classmates all my life.
Big deal, right? Not in a journalists life, and we do not understand it when people go on about how lucky are, looking and interacting with all those ‘beautiful’ girls. First, not all those ‘beautiful’ girls are actually beautiful. You should see them without the make-up and clever lighting. Plain, that is what they look like. But put them up on the catwalk under all those lights and they look like a dream.
And then, covering those events is hard work. Really. When you look through that 300mm lens at Benvinda's smiling face, all you see is an image partly in shadow and wish they could get the lights right for once.
You are thinking of composition, and how the flash might wipe out that interesting dimple on her right cheek. When you get the teasing expression in the eyes just right, you are thinking how the editor will say ‘what a nice picture’ the next day, and probably use it on page one.
When Oluchi's long legs are coming at you on the catwalk, you do not see them, but are just timing those steps, one-two-one-two so you get the timing just right and make sure the slit shows so Bukedde readers can drool over them the next day.
Then there is this belief about being around ‘those beauties!’ Some guy even quoted a Kisoga a proverb about ‘giving your brother what you won’t eat.' He thought after the pageant is over the guys can get their pick.
And a girl recently said she understood what we go through, what “...with all those beautiful girls you see, it must be difficult to choose."
Everybody seems to think it is a whale of a time covering events like these. For the record: It is not. There is nothing glamourous about the pageant when you are sweating while trying to get the best shots you can.
While everybody else is wearing tuxedos and sipping champagne, you are perched on some rickety platform made up of empty crates of beer, trying to get your shots just right while some idiot mzungu is telling you to move so he can see. While the house is yelling out its support to Connie Nankya, you are cursing her because she walked too fast or turned the wrong way and made you miss the shot.
And just when you thought you are ready for that perfect shot, the film runs out because some block-head in the purchasing department bought 24-exposure films instead of 36, and did not bother to tell you.
This year, I never got to see the Miss Uganda contestants till the finals in Munyonyo. And only because the camera I was using jammed, all I could do was just sit there and look.
All that time since May I had taken pictures of them, sure, but apart from through the view-finder I had never seen them. For the last ten years, that is the first beauty pageant I have ever watched.
So, I’ve seen them all, right? But, no, I will not choose one of them. Maybe I will follow Eddie Murphy's suggestion, and go to the jungle and find myself a girl riding bareback on a zebra, and hope she has never heard of Miss Uganda or Face of Africa, or New York.
lucky man? Kalungi with Oluchi during the first Face of Africa contest in Windhoek. Ends
By Kalungi Kabuye
I have seen a lot of beautiful women in my life. Too many, said an elderly lady I met recently. And therein may lie the problem. According to her, seeing too many pretty faces causes problems in one’s romantic life. And she said, with a wink, “That is why I am yet to get married.â€
So, what is the big deal with beauty contests? What is it about models and fashion shows that raises people’s temperatures? I have seen them all and more, believe me, and it is nothing to write home about.
In my life and career, I must have attended at least one thousand fashion shows and beauty contests and what I really want to do when I hear of another one is to run to my bed and hide.
I have tried to take pictures of a Miss Uganda pre-selection at Kampala Casino when all the men in the place were swarming all over the catwalk to take a closer look at the girls during the swimsuit phase (that was the last time Brenda Nanyonjo was on stage). I got a lot of heads in my pictures that time, and one of the judges later told me he spotted his girlfriend there.
I have attended Miss Uganda preliminaries where some of the contestants could hardly express themselves in English, and those that could gave us some memorable quotes. (One girl said she liked travelling as a hobby. Where has she travelled? To Germany. Can she speak any German? No, because she was only six months old at the time. Another named swimming as her hobby. What was her favourite stroke? She swam just for fun, not for learning strokes!)
I have not been to the contests in Nateete where some girls bared all. But I attended the first ever Face of Africa finals in the beautiful resort town of Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, before Mugabe's veterans messed it up.
At the eve of the finals, during the 'press-meet-the-finalists' event, almost everybody ignored that gangly-looking girl from Nigeria called Patricia Oluchi. So, what do we know?
I have interviewed Benvinda Mundunge in Windhoek, and taken pictures of her on the Brooklyn Bridge. I have spoken to Kiara in Los Angeles, and had lunch with Oluchi in New York, where I was to catch a glimpse of Naomi Campbell. I have been to Namayirira’s home in Entebbe, where she swept the yard, fed their cow with grass and harvested matooke from their small plantation at the back of the house. I have also met her in Sun City, looking like the million dollars she might make one day.
I have seen so many Miss Uganda pageants it is almost coming out of my ears and have seen more models than I have had classmates all my life.
Big deal, right? Not in a journalists life, and we do not understand it when people go on about how lucky are, looking and interacting with all those ‘beautiful’ girls. First, not all those ‘beautiful’ girls are actually beautiful. You should see them without the make-up and clever lighting. Plain, that is what they look like. But put them up on the catwalk under all those lights and they look like a dream.
And then, covering those events is hard work. Really. When you look through that 300mm lens at Benvinda's smiling face, all you see is an image partly in shadow and wish they could get the lights right for once.
You are thinking of composition, and how the flash might wipe out that interesting dimple on her right cheek. When you get the teasing expression in the eyes just right, you are thinking how the editor will say ‘what a nice picture’ the next day, and probably use it on page one.
When Oluchi's long legs are coming at you on the catwalk, you do not see them, but are just timing those steps, one-two-one-two so you get the timing just right and make sure the slit shows so Bukedde readers can drool over them the next day.
Then there is this belief about being around ‘those beauties!’ Some guy even quoted a Kisoga a proverb about ‘giving your brother what you won’t eat.' He thought after the pageant is over the guys can get their pick.
And a girl recently said she understood what we go through, what “...with all those beautiful girls you see, it must be difficult to choose."
Everybody seems to think it is a whale of a time covering events like these. For the record: It is not. There is nothing glamourous about the pageant when you are sweating while trying to get the best shots you can.
While everybody else is wearing tuxedos and sipping champagne, you are perched on some rickety platform made up of empty crates of beer, trying to get your shots just right while some idiot mzungu is telling you to move so he can see. While the house is yelling out its support to Connie Nankya, you are cursing her because she walked too fast or turned the wrong way and made you miss the shot.
And just when you thought you are ready for that perfect shot, the film runs out because some block-head in the purchasing department bought 24-exposure films instead of 36, and did not bother to tell you.
This year, I never got to see the Miss Uganda contestants till the finals in Munyonyo. And only because the camera I was using jammed, all I could do was just sit there and look.
All that time since May I had taken pictures of them, sure, but apart from through the view-finder I had never seen them. For the last ten years, that is the first beauty pageant I have ever watched.
So, I’ve seen them all, right? But, no, I will not choose one of them. Maybe I will follow Eddie Murphy's suggestion, and go to the jungle and find myself a girl riding bareback on a zebra, and hope she has never heard of Miss Uganda or Face of Africa, or New York.
lucky man? Kalungi with Oluchi during the first Face of Africa contest in Windhoek. Ends