WHY I AM SCARED TO MEET THE PRESIDENT

I dread to meet the president of this republic of ours. This is because when I do, I would look him straight in the eyes and punch him squarely on the nose. To his bodyguards: Do not kill the messenger, I have been sent by Walubende. Walubende is popularly known in my village as the man who greeted the president in 1998. Since he was too scared to punch the then president, he has sent me to complete his mission if/when I meet the president.

Don't get me wrong, i do like that guy who stays in state house. in fact I almost voted for him (darn those electronics masquerading as laptops during the general elections!) Shhhhh... Walubende thinks I actually voted and voted for Dida.

Walubende tells me that one only gets a chance to punch "big people" His expired in 1998. i try to reason with him. I tell him that our new president is different from the 1924 born dude.
"Are you crazy?" Walubende screams as he hits me on the head with his new walking stick. "He is the son of that old guy from Kabartonjo!" I am tempted to correct him but this old boy is wise, he foresees my impending correction and hits me on the same spot with astonishing accuracy.
"Those people killed Matiba! This is why I am telling you, Punch that man on the face!" I shake my head. Walubende is painfully behind in current affairs. I tell him that our president was not even a politician then and that Matiba is alive and kicking. I n fact, i add, the deputy president went to the hotel where he stays and had a chat with the good old boy.
"He stays in a hotel?" Walubende is shocked. this old man is good at looking on the negative sides of things. "And if he is alive, why didnt he run for president?" Walubende asks, preparing his walking stick just in case he doesnt like my answer.
"That is because he suffered a stroke while in detention and has not recovered properly. you should know that bwana Walubende!" Walubende hits my big head again.
"Go punch your president!"
Reasoning with walubende is like forcing a cow to lay eggs! I try to approach the situation from another angle...
"Tell me bwana Walubende, what has the president really done to you?" I move away after this question just in case it warrants another walking stick to my head.
"You fool!" he screams (it was wise to move away!) "he has not done anything wrong to me, he has done everything wrong to you! Why do you klisten to him when you know he is good at convincing people? look at what he did with the teachers!" i am now blinking like a faulty motor bike indicator. " Taxes on everything are risising! look at his cabinet! it was better when we had politicians in there!" he clears his throat and spits on the dying fire that made his breakfast. "now i hear we are not getting things from America and that parliament is back from holiday just to remove us from the Rome statute! isnt your president aware that this country is poor?" He is now trembling. " i could continue counting but I have run out of fingers!"  I laugh at this. Walubende is really funny. I wonder why people say he is a crazy old man with bad politics...
"And milk! Why is the price of milk going up?" AHA! Now i know why the old man has "caught feelings" like they say!
"have we sold our cows to Uganda?" he asks painfully.
"Actuall7y we have stolen all our cows from Uganda!" I try to be funny which only attracts another hit on the head. how does he manage to hit that exact same spot?
"Dont you care about milk?" Actually I dont. I don't take milk. WAlubende sends me away.

So next time someone punches the president, that might just be me... or Walubende. It is not my intention, I would just be helping an old man express himself. Otherwise I would rather shake his hand and tell him some of my best jokes...

MY COUSIN IS HEARTLESS

My cousin killed a cat with one stone. He picked up the rock and hurled it with such a determined force that the feline went down without a fight. if that is not heartlessness then my name is not Kennedy Nalyanya!
Maybe there are to sides to this story (there are always two sides). since the cat is not alive to tell the tale, i will tell it from my perspective.
I was perched on top of my favourite guava tree that grew mysteriously next to our leaning toilet that i usually refer to as the tower of Pisa. i was swallowing away the guava seeds in a very hungry fashion. In my defence, for those who might be tempted to critic my feeding habit, i had waited for this month of the year when the guavas are just about to turn yellow. You have to get them at this stage before the birds discover this delicacy. Enough with my agricultural expertise. Where was i? Right, at the top of the tree munching away guava seeds....
So i was perched between two strong branches enjoying this God sent fruit when something flashed under the tree. I hugged one of the branches in fright, fighting to remain as still as a cold corpse. It might have been a snake. you don't move when there is a snake in the area otherwise i would have gladly done so! Everything was so quiet. I think i peed a little. (it happens to everyone, do not judge me!)
there it passed again. This time my biological sense discerned that this was a rat. a very big white and black cat... or was it? It was at this point that my cousin saved me from the tedious task of identifying the creature.
"Arrest that cat!" He screamed in Bukusu, the language of the people from my village. all this while he was waving a cooking stick wildly above his head. He was jumping up and down like a possessed donkey (I have seen a possessed donkey!) This dance was accompanied by some words which are only uttered when a traditional circumcision ceremony has gone wrong.
Something bad happens when these words are uttered.
Still hugging the tree, i decided to help. I can be a really good negotiator when put to the task. i remember solving a huge dispute between the woman who makes bad alcohol and the county women representative. It was a big case that one.
Moving on with our story, i decided to help and immediately wished i had not!
"I think it has gone under that bush..." my heartless cousin did not let me finish my well intended sentence. A cooking stick caked in hot ugali locked me squarely on the nose sending me headfirst to the ground. that is not the worst part: my shorts were hooked at the top of the tree leaving me naked from the waist downwards. And I landed on the cat! This time I am sure I peed.
"There it is!" My bad cousin shouted adding the wicked circumcision sentence while hurling a brick which landed directly to where the ugali coated cooking stick had previously visited. Without even apologizing, my cruel cousin reached for a king sized rock, bigger than Chipkeezy's head. he hurled it; it missed me by two inches (I measured0. The next thing I know I was lying next to a dead cat.
The other side of the story is short and precise. I got it from my cousin as he picked up his cooking stick. Without even looking at me he offered the explanation: "IT LICKED MY SOUP."