For those of you who are younger than the movement, a UTC bus was an ordinary bus, which belonged to a government company, ran by arrogant employees and made more losses than African teams at the World Cup.
But the story is about a campuser who was travelling in a UTC bus to Mbarara for holidays with his girlfriend, looking like Ruhemba Ogwâ€™enjura. That guy was me!
At Masaka, the bus stopped and my chick wanted to do what she had to do outside. But before she returned, the conductor slapped the bus hard which meant that the driver should speed off, in spite of my pleas that some VIP was being left behind. But UTC workers, behaved like military court marshals, decreed that since she had not informed anyone she had to do what she had to do, she can board another bus to Mbarara, condemning me to a 160km-ride without the person who made my heart beat comfortably. Their word was final.
But if you want to see a manâ€™s worst state, aggress his woman in his presence. The lion in me roared and I gave the whole bus an ultimatum to stop or face destruction. Before I knew it, I wrestled off the conductor from the bus corridor and was heading for the driver spitting fire like Tamale, Brig Lakaraâ€™s driver. I still canâ€™t figure out what I was going to do to the driver because he stopped before I did it. The tantrum split passengers into two sides; the reasonable (who were supporting me) and the nuggu side (who thought that a proud girl was not a reason for a bus to stop).
I need a comma here to wonder whether this girl is reading this and remembering what a Black Mamba she had for a boyfriend.
This came to my mind as I watched Beckhamâ€™s wife applauding her husbandâ€™s goal. England was playing Ecuador and David Beckham scored, sending his wife into wild cheers before she was heard saying: â€œKyoka Dadi naye also! He loves scoring in the corners of the thing!â€ The thing being the goal posts.
When a guy knows his woman is somewhere bragging to her neighbour about her man out there in the field, there is nothing he canâ€™t do for his ego, even if it means dribbling away from the pitch through the stadium and out into the streets. During my goal keeping days at school, the days when the opponent just couldnâ€™t believe it was possible to pass the ball into my net, there was always an answer somewhere among the spectators. Whenever my girlfriend was watching, I would make the World Cup keepers look like a joke! God knows what he put in a woman!
Actually, one of the tricks to make football players play their hearts out is to book front stadium places for their wives and girlfriends and let them know their egos are on trial. I e-mailed this to Raymond Domenech, Franceâ€™s coach and he ignored it and see what almost happened to them!
One friend told me how she was returning home from clubbing with her boyfriend and a ruffian put them at stick-point demanding money. The guy handed over his belongings and pleaded with the girl to hand over her bag. Instead the girl made noise and the ruffian took to his heels. That, she said, was the end of their relationship. â€œHow could I chase away a man you tremble to look at?â€ she said.
This goes to you cops who always succumb to the temptation of stopping me when I am returning home late in the night. Next time you see a woman by my side, she is likely to be my wife. Donâ€™t ask me questions I am likely to interpret as stupid because I will call you fearful names. Just understand and act scared. I will be grateful and I am likely to give you a big reward later. But if you decide to embarrass me before my wife when you also know what being a man means, I will easily do what I almost did to the UTC driver, namely, I donâ€™t quite know.
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