Tonight, I am wearing my butiiti waist-beads again. I am done mourning and crying about the carcass called Uganda’s leadership. Ah-ah, I am done worrying myself about an agedc corrupt dictator, his nepotistic relations, his corrupt public officers, and his evil praise-singers. I have thrown off the silence I swallowed out of fear, and I am the brazen wanton woman my loved ones love.
Tonight, as the last night of August dies away, I am oiling my waist with the fine-smelling aloe-vera cream that I bought expensively in Cape Town. I am going to wear some sexy lingerie under my well-pressed pink satin nighty. I refuse to hold onto the worry and anxiety about the enduring impacts of Musevenism, as an idolater holds onto a tiny ensiriba bracelet. I abandon the fear of dictators who will soon be mere footnotes in obscure history books dumped in dusty library shelves.
Tonight, I pity every failed leader of Uganda. You impotent flabby lumps of muscles! You brought so much promise when you ascended to whichever thrones you sit on. But alas, the leadership deficits, the leadership gaps, the leadership failures leave your masses staggering with hunger, poverty, powerlessness, unemployment, disgruntlement and disillusionment. Tonight, I am breaking the hold of your malaise over my life. I am sleeping in my big bed, with my butiiti waist-beads adorning my well-oiled waist. I will be dreaming of a new post-Museveni free Uganda.