Category Archives: Dee’s Ire

Confronting mortality, embracing humanity

Standard

This could have been the last thing I ever saw! And this near death experience had me shaking like a leaf over an hour later.
The road was clear on both sides an occasional car whizzing by as I steadied my phone to capture the gathering rain clouds to my right and the red sunset sky opposite me.


Nearby a young man sang out the price of his Matooke.

Four quick bursts and I was ready to take another shot of the setting sun, when from the corner of my eye I saw a tipper truck, Dyna, come hurtling towards us as we stood on the opposite side of the road. Brakes screeched and the skid marks were temporarily ablaze as the smell of burnt rubber wafted towards us together with this monstrous vehicle.
It veered to the wrong side of the road, careening as if to topple over in the middle of the road.

For a moment it was on two wheels, as if held by an invisible wire, and then landed unsteadily onto all four narrowly missing a school bus full of Mukono Nursery school children, jumping the keen and coming to an abrupt halt less than a metre away from the bumper of the Toyota Hiace Supercustom on the other side. The Matooke merchant and everyone nearby scattered as fast as their legs could carry them, away from the now stationary vehicle.


Three visibly shaken youth jumped out of the co-drivers door, the truck belching blankets of black smoke as if the driver had slumped in his seat with his feet on both the accelerator and brake.

I was transfixed! Alone on the kerb as everyone seemed to have magically found refuge about 5 metres behind me.
Clumsily he reversed into the road, where all the traffic had stood still and drove in the same manner, taking a right turn further ahead, it’s former passengers melting into the growing crowd.
“Emmere ya bwerere” (The Matooke is free!), the young man began to chant again, perhaps grateful for his spared life.

The ensuing conversation retold the tale and speculated on the cause as I gathered my wits and embarked on my journey home.

Pensive, silent and re-living that moment in my mind, unable to brush away the vividness.
1. We need to have a conversation on the state of mental health in this nation. The precursors, the causes and effects and the general management of #MentalHealthUG
2. Youth unemployment in Uganda is a disaster waiting to happen. Drug use is rampant and this leads back to my suggestion on mental health.

Hashtag? #YouthUnemploymentUG
3. Whereas there is a need for Motor Vehicle inspection we need to be candid on SGS and the unanswered questions around it.

Empowering the department of motor vehicles of the Uganda Police or equipping the Ministry of Works divisions in every district to be able to do this would seem like a better option.

For now it seems only cars entering and leaving Kampala will be inspected which is suspect to say the least.

And there’s the JEVIC inspection on purchase to talk about.
4. Stay woke, be alert, love one another.

Be kind and polite. Say hello to your neighbours.

For you know not the day nor the hour.

Communicate because we live in a world where technology has enabled us to be connected and yet lonely and alone.

As we harness the shifts in our generation let us not lose our core, our humanity.

Advertisements

Where is the Uganda Communications Commission?

Standard
Where is the Uganda Communications Commission?

I have been on the inside, I know what they do. Several harried individuals keeping the commission on its feet. But for the average Uganda we  see nothing..

From digital migration back to SIM registration, it looks like the UCC can’t do anything right.

Cut them some slack.. They need more capacity, more time! 

Hilda will hear nothing of it.Her number of 7 years went missing and on arrival at Airtel, it belongs to someone else. HOW?!

I purchased a personalized number – preffered, MTN likes to call it – 832669 (DANNY) to match the other that I possess. On trying to retrieve my number,the call records are mine, and now  it is registered to a Unia. And I have to go to Headoffice who say I can’t get it back without the registration forms (that I filled and left with the agent)

Six months down the road, a second phase of registration, Unia has never used my number and the agent says it is back on the street, to be sold to someone else, BECAUSE IT HASNT BEEN ISED IN 6 MONTHS. HOW?

Can I buy it back? We don’t know which shop it is in!

Can I get a SIM and choose it as my preffered number? No!

Kati nkoleki?

The challenge is you customers lose the slip of paper that you were given, the SIM Packs – even for National IDs.

But I gave you my photo, my thumbprint and my details, where is your copy?!

I hope Richard gets it right at NSSF at least he can show the jokers the way – Kudos NSSF on 30 years (not of bananas)

But I want my number back

Aside

Mobile Money… the dangers of

Diasporadical

Sunday mornings are intended to be lazy. Well, mine are. It’s the only time I have the house to myself, since my house-help is off and my baby goes to visit church with her grand-dad. So my Sunday mornings are dedicated to sleep, Crime TV, and the occasional pancake. Which is exactly how I planned to spend this Sunday. Unfortunately, technology had other ideas.

See, there’s this new product that connects M-PESA to your bank account. For me, it’s a lifesaver, because my typical monthly cycle involves taking money out of the bank and putting it into M-PESA. Because my work hours and my bank hours don’t correspond, it takes me three days to pay all of my bills, which is really annoying. So helping me skip a few steps is pure genius!

I can only get to the bank on Saturdays, so I was really irritated when they told…

View original post 833 more words

Whodunnit

Standard

*this post is 2 weeks late for in the running of things I tend to forget.. 23rd of March 2012* Today I saw a young man die! His nose bleeding face scraped upon the tarmac and a motorcycle on his back; left arm lodged firmly under its metallic stand! He didn’t move! Someone from the crowd jumped onto his back with both feet. Another dragged the motorcycle till the young man’s arm came lose, hanging at an awkward angle behind his back before landing with a thud beside his already limp body. The blood from his face left a trail on the tarmac.
Frantically I dialled the emergency number, only to hear the engaged tone. Another of the mob kicked him hard, shifting the body, only for it to return to its original position. Only then did the crowd begin to disperse.. He must have died, I hang up the phone that was now redialling, turned and walked away. Ahead of me, a convoy drove past, escorting one of the dignitaries to the airport perhaps. A flash of anger and then quietness, why was I angry?
It hadn’t even been 5 minutes, the smartly dressed lad in a white tee, his friend in red walking unhurriedly on the cab. I walked briskly past, my bag clutched tightly undeneath my arm. No sooner had I turned the corner than the shout, “Mukwaate!” In response, hands reached out to grab the man, now trying to run away. I recognised him instantly. In his wake an elderly Indian man, his gold chain hanging on his shoulder, unclasped. His hand reached to his face, straightening his spectacles while the other took the chain and clenched it in a fist. He stumbled off the Boda Boda, the motorcycle that had been ferrying him and a friend, heading towards the young would be thief, now being pummeled by the mob. A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Begrudgingly he turned and followed
Meanwhile, whoever could land a blow or kick did, the force of the mob stopping the traffic and swinging them to the center of the junction. The bumberea swelled significantly, the story being retold in deviance from one onlooker to the other.
I shook my head and walked on, the image of the tattoo slowly fading from my mind, the young man more dead than alive. I didn’t know and didn’t check. Was the mob right? The nearest post was at least 200m in either direction. I recalled my murderous thoughts when I my phone had been snatched. Had he been caught, would I have clobbered him? To death?
Later I passed by, the smudge of blood on the road surface the only sign of what had happened there! A sad reminder of what had happened there. Murder or justice?