The Series: Black & White Kampala

The sun wouldn't let him be, but more than that, Malinga Allan hated their eyes; following him as he entered the building, all the way to the reception desk. "Good Morning, i am here to drop my application" More eyes, his heart was beating faster than it did when he had his first kiss back in high school, causing him to sweat more than his shirt could contain. Sweat marks around his shirts yet he spent his money on deodorants which promised to keep the sweat out even during hot times - thieves. The receptionist took her precious time to respond like all the others in the fifteen companies he had visited since unemployment hit home after graduation. It takes a while to realise an ACCA certification plus a Second Class Upper degree from the once-prestigious Makerere University doesn't necessarily guarantee one a job. "You can leave your envelope here". He quickly did as he was told lest she noticed his shaking hands and the growing need to escape their eyes. Unemployment; something he wished his lecturers covered, but all they told him was to read hard, "Get a first class, companies will be privileged to have you work for them" Read hard, he did, hard enough to miss all the drinking and partying that usually went on at campus. Well, he wasn't attractive enough to get the money-hungry campus ladies. "Lose your glasses, they make you look less-accessible and more of a geek", his sister often teased, but he couldn't care less for their opinions for he was focused on achieving his goals. Years after graduation he was still unemployed, broke and no less of a geek. The promises education offered all seemed to mean nothing in real life as it was all about connections and money. Jesus, to make millions, he needed millions and to get employed, he needed millions to pay off the Human Resource managers like most did nowadays. Out of the building finally, he thought of using a boda boda, but his wallet thought otherwise. The last thing he wanted to do was run to family for funds for not only was it wrong for him to do it, it was demeaning on his side. With five thousand shillings left in his wallet, a boda boda ride would cost him three thousand shillings to the Park where he would catch a taxi to his empty bachelor pad whose rent was wanting. He opted to walk the long route from Upper Nakasero to the Park with the sun baking his bald head and his shirt sticking more and more to his body. He made a mental note to purchase a new deodorant but money...


 Menya Grace watched as another desperate sweat-filled ex-student left her desk. Being a receptionist was never her dream but dreams don't come true as life finds a way to stick the fuck-you finger in all your plans. If only the job was as good as the building that housed the company. Lined with wooden floors and glass windows, exquisite office furniture and a little bit of lighting to have you thinking you were in a hotel, it wasn't such a bad place to work. Her boss was a tough possessive animal who spent most of his time on phone making or receiving calls. For the 2 years she has spent at the company, he has fired about twenty secretaries over petty things like missing pens or speaking too loud in the office corridor. She wouldn't survive the sacking bag if she worked directly under him, but luckily he seldom paid attention to the receiption area. Word has it his wife left him because she couldn't stand his long hours at work and constant need for perfection. Once she overheard one of the guys from the PR department talking about how he changes drivers every week because he couldn't stand having the same person drive him around everyday. Away from his bad side, he was a sharp dressed man; always sleek in his double-breasted suits, top shelf and spotless. He always carried a vintage briefcase and a blackberry close to his ears. One thing that puzzled her about him was his calm voice even in times of panic. He was the type of man who could kill you while telling you to stay calm. "Relax, i'm not going to kill you" as he sharpens his knife. As excruciating as it was working for him, she was glad she had the opportunity to work for him, like all the people in this building. They all hated him but the salary and the massive benefits stopped them from quitting. Thinking of the devil, Mr Tumusiime Stanley, her boss, was approaching her desk.
 “How many applications have you received today?” No greeting as usual, straight to the point.
 “About fifteen” 
 “We are not taking anymore, tell everyone to meet me in the boardroom in ten minutes” By ten minutes, he meant five minutes and anyone who arrived after five minutes would lose his or her job.


 Useless workers, all useless every one of them. If it was possible, he could do everything by himself. It is possible but then again, one can't run a big company without the exhausting support of useless people better known as employees! Their salaries all came from his hard work since they weren't good for anything just like his drivers and maids. Is it too much to ask for sanity at his own company? His doctor had prescribed a vacation - months away from everything. He cringed at the thought of leaving everything in the hands of the useless people who worked for him - no, vacations weren't for him, not in the least bit. Work is important, hard work is crucial. Work ended his marriage, but it freed him from another useless being better known as his wife, ex-wife. A lady who day in and day out worked towards achieving one goal, driving him crazy. Living alone has never frightened him, the less the better; one can't surround oneself with extra useless people. Receptionists, what do they do all day but sit in the same place and entertain strangers, politely? He doubts ever having looked at her face, her accent could do the job and that is all he cared about. The boardroom was basically a brightly lit room with a large table his ex-wife had picked out for the office. She came in handy once in a while, a few times, in the long years of marriage she would do something other than working on her appearance. Appearance didn't matter as much as money; it gave you power, it gave him power - power to fire anyone who would enter the boardroom five minutes late. He loved it. They were all in by the first five minutes, sadly he wouldn't fire anyone today. It's not that he loved getting rid of these useless people in front of him, it's that he wanted to surround himself with the best people in the industry, that excluded lazy dwanzies who couldn't respect time at the workplace. To surround himself with the best meant picking out the best people to fill the available vacancies - he didn't trust HR to deliver even the basic deliverables like employing the best. It is his company, only he can identify the best. Someone was chewing gum, chewing gum in his company; he stared with revulsion at him as he chewed on and on like a goat. He must have sensed eyes on him for he quickly excused himself and came back seconds later without gum. Insolent worm!! Another useless one he couldn't wait to add to the sack bag.
“Good morning, i believe you all received emails hours ago explaining your various roles in this meeting. Do we have anyone who did not receive an email? --Alright, can we do everything in the shortest time possible? You understand time is money, don't you?” 
“Sir, there is a report i want you--- 
“Ambrose, how many times have i told you never to interrupt me when i'm talking? If you have something to tell me, something you assume i don't already know, you wait till i can spare a few minutes for you in my office, am i clear?” 
 “It is crucial sir --- 
“For now our priority is finding the best accountant for my company, the rest can wait. Do you have a problem with that, Ambrose?”  Useless useless empty heads, he cursed.


It was the perfect idea, so brillant that he, Wamala Henry, didn't have to think twice about it, well, like most of his other ideas. Ugandans were tricky to work with unlike Kenyans who are about five years ahead. They understand technology, they understood his works - his babies. Applications - Apps, he designed them specifically for Kampala - tools to help the everyday 'Kampalan' get through the city with ease, but did they understand him? Like his juice, 'Zenitah', a marvel made from natural ingredients, call it organic if you like, was supposed to make him millions. Why was he still stuck in a tiny office struggling to pay rent and barely coming up with enough to pay his employees? It takes time, he often told himself, soon his ideas will be understood and not by everyone, but by the upper echelons of society; the Sudirs, the Tumusiimes, the Bitatures - soon he will be a household name. He dreamed of the day he would be able to make a change but things were not likely to change. It all went wrong the moment people tasted his juice; awful, bitter, disgusting, worse than herbs, waste of money, they all said but he wasn't deterred from his dream for those who understood pure organic juice would truly appreciate his product. They did appreciate it, well, about two cups were sold everyday and that wasn't bad for a start but it's been three years! Without his Father's financial help every month, everything, his dream, would be nothing. He was ready for his big break but the world wasn't ready for him. If only he could get a sponsor - someone rich enough to understand his vision and most importantly to support it. “Hello Ambrose, have you talked to him?” “What do you mean you are still TRYING?” “I need just one meeting with him--yeah, i know he is busy but i HAVE to talk to him mehn--- You are busy right now---, in a meeting---, alright, i understand.” If Ambrose couldn't do it, there was no use of a middleman anymore.


 He couldn't stand it anymore. What did they take him for? He was an important part of the company, more than just an Assistant. Without him the company would be nothing, without his resilience, his hard work , his long hours put into making the company what it stood to represent, but what did he, Tumusiime Ambrose, get in return? Looking at his Father as he spoke into his BlackBerry, he couldn't hide his resentment. Being the only son out of a marriage that was doomed to fail right from the start didn't make things any better. For the past four years he has run this company and worked as a loyal lap dog only to have to beg for his Father's time. He at some point contemplated murdering him, but he was sure he wouldn't get a thing out of his will. Stanley, he rarely called him father, would rather give everything to some random street children than to him. Cold and bitter, he chose to work by his side where he could embezzle some company funds, but the old man studied the books religiously to a point that he'd sniffed out the crook Accountant before he could steal a cent from the company. Dead end, the old man was so clever and he was destined to be a lap dog. Like that wasn’t too much to deal with, he had to deal with Henry, the rat from his old campus days who thought Stanley was a light at the end of his tunnel. Crazy rat, he should give up already because Stanley wasn’t known for his charitable works. Then again, Henry could be his last chance to get some money out of the company. His balls twitched and they usually did whenever he came up with a brilliant plan. ***

Age; The Factor Within Part TWO

13:00 hours, she kept time, always.. Light makeup and strong perfume, he loved perfumes; French, that he kept in tiny bottles like some sort of collector. She wasn't sure about what he did for a living and she wasn't bothered about it - the less you knew about them, the better. She hated tight dresses -Flaunting it all with hopes of looking extra sexy. What makes a lady sexy? She wasn't sure because things were changing quite drastically over the years. The micro minis were replaced by the two-piece dresses (if you want to call them dresses) bikinis and the awful leggings - she wasn't sure she owned one. She was selling but loved to keep it on the down low and preferred to flaunt everything only after the deal was struck and she was sure she wasn't dealing with a `runner'. He was wearing a casual shirt paired with khaki pants and the traditional black shoes; an ensemble that was supposed to make him look a little bit younger (wasn't sure it was working). His age wasn't an issue she cared about however much it was evident in everything they did. Like that one time he nearly had a heart attack - traumatising. What normally happens after the mid-life crisis is a deep longing for companionship in most men. They long for someone to talk to - someone who will pretend to care or better yet, be genuinely interested in them rather than their money and connections. It is sad how you spend your entire life making money and taking care of all the responsibilities on your back only to be ignored when you are close to your last days. She neither felt pity nor sympathized with their situation. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, `How are you?' followed by `How is work?' concluded by `Is mum alright?' She wasn't sure whether it was out of pretence or care that he made inquires about her mother. She was indeed the only person close to her, but most importantly the only person she had ever told him about. Again, the little he knew, the better. It was a policy that seemed to work out for the both of them.

A waiter approached them, he was a 'newbie'. Over the months she was familiar with at least most of the workers at this particular restaurant - their restaurant. Location was important; quiet, not too crowded and most importantly less conspicuous -the kind of place where it wouldn't be odd for two people of different ages to be seen together; a place where such an arrangement would be interpreted as a simple father-daughter meeting. Everything was going great except for the odd guy who couldn't stop staring at her carelessly; shameless guy was probably stripping off her black dress in his perverse mind. He seemed to be having a lunch meeting with a White guy (probably his boss) who was talking so loudly about something to do with solar and fucking. Sparkling water was his usual order because his heart couldn't handle alcohol anymore and hers was white wine which she took simply because she wanted to pass time. She would die of boredom listening to the long stories he loved to tell on and on, but the important thing was to smile and look happy at all times. She had to show interest and ask questions mostly about current affairs - he loved it. Work, she always wanted to do something other than making money off her encounters with old men, but salary wasn't as attractive as her teachers had made it seem. Salary was taxed and received after a month or two weeks of hard work - the kind of hard work she had never been interested in. All excuses aside, she simply made more money. She wasn't proud of her actions but pride doesn't put food on the table especially when one has a drunken father to deal with and a large family to support. Morality is what you make it and besides that, who gets to choose what is right from what is wrong? 

He had problems with this restaurant; first it was the crowd, upbeat with a high chance of running into one of his grandchildren (the thought of Kevin running to hug him while calling him grandpa in such a location scared the shit out of him) and then it was the service, slow and nagging. The restaurant used to be private before a bunch of people jumped on board and now it was just a restaurant! He could handle everything but the nosy bastard seated with a White guy who couldn't stop staring at them, particularly her. The prospect of having a young man admiring his lady pleased him at first but with time he couldn't stand it. He wanted to punch that little bastard, to teach him some manners his mother failed to teach him but his frail hands couldn't punch anymore. The White guy next to him had a loud mouth for they were two tables away, but he could make out most of what he was saying... something about money and fucking. She was a beauty in a black silk dress but he cared less about her dress and more about her smile; radiant and provocative - begging him to love her. With her, he felt understood, not loved for he wasn't sure he knew what love meant anymore. After three wives and four grandchildren, one wasn't sure of anything anymore. 

He was wealthy but it wasn't always like that for him. He worked his way out of the jungles of Congo and into the finer cities of the world as a UN delegate. He had married the first wife before the money came in, they were sweet hearts. Three children later, she couldn't stand him anymore and neither could he. Trust issues were her biggest problem. He wasn't cheating on her for he loved the life out of her and worked only to create a better life for her and the kids, but she couldn't understand it. She hated it when he spent months away on some mission out of the country though she loved the pay checks that came with it. Soon they couldn't stand each other and divorce was inevitable. She took everything and he didn't complain. A divorce was messy enough to include a fight for properties; they were a few things at that time and he believed more would come over the years. More came. Three years later he took on a second wife, married her for all the wrong reasons, funny how he couldn't remember why he took on Sandra - even her name was a joke. Sandra; like those maids by the slums cooking snake meat for lunch. One child was all they had before he called it quits. He cannot recall the crazy name she gave to the poor child for he rarely visited. This time round, she took a quarter of everything which meant nothing to him. Time was going by fast and he wasn't getting any younger, he needed warmth; something to run home to and maybe if it wasn't too much to ask for, a reason to make more money. Catherine was the last; she was a secretary in one of the many offices he visited in Canada - his vacation destination. She was different from the three but still a woman like the rest. She was bound to want more and more even when you gave her everything. That's the one characteristic he had come to find in most women that he couldn't stand. She was his current wife and the mother of his two kids whose expenditure was twice as much as his ex wives spent in a month. She was sucking the life out of him and he couldn't divorce her because she would take most, if not everything he owned. As luck would have it, he was permanently transferred to Uganda; a small country with beautiful women and money whose value was close to nothing. It was the perfect place to spend the last few years of one's employment. He bought a beautiful house and four large plots of land on which he was constructing apartments to rent out to fellow UN personnel. He was a great businessman and he loved that about himself. His life was narrowed down to a simple evening walk around the beautiful neighbourhood and it was on one of those walks that he met her. Her butt was the first thing he noticed before she turned around and walked towards what he'd later learn was her home. He wasn't going to approach her for she was young - younger than his daughter and his granddaughter probably. He was going to walk away and forget his urge to talk to her. He couldn't. Six months later, they were facing each other in a restaurant somewhere in Kololo with different intentions; money for her and a fourth wife for him. ****

Book Review: The Bonfire Of The Vanities by Tom Wolfe

I am not the type to read nonfiction or long poems, but i do read a lot of books. Looking at a book presents my mind with a challenge especially with big volumes. I know what you are thinking, "Oh you have a lot of time on your hands" but that isn't the case. I do not have a lot of time but just as many watch movies or series all night long, i prefer to read books all night long (if i can). I was about eight years old when i read my first book; The Grapes Of Wrath by John Steinbeck (1939) it was entitled. It was a large print if my memory serves me right and it took me about two months to finish it. "What was i doing with such a book at that tender point in time?", you might ask. Like most Entebbe kids back then, I was subjected to mandatory long morning hours at the library. "Read, dont just stay home to watch Cartoon network", they said. Read, we did but not what they wanted us to read. Soon it became an unbreakable habit and to this date I have read about, give or take 95 books. Enough about me, let's talk Tom Wolfe - the Man in a White suit

You've not read books until you read a Tom Wolfe novel, that was the saying back in the day. With his unique style of writing and narratives, Tom is a class apart - delivering the type of fiction still strangely absent in today's literature. You can look through thousands of books but you won't find any like his and he has a few. The Bonfire Of The Vanities was his eleventh book but it is his first novel, before that, he had written a few nonfiction works like 'The Right Stuff" (1979) 'The Electronic Kool-Acid Test' (1968) and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby (1965). The Bonfire Of The Vanities, was written at a time when black vs white was a question every author tackled one way or another, Tom brilliantly tackles the issue without making the book feel like another one of those darn racist books, with the same detailed on-scene reporting you only find in his works. It is more than just the black and white issue, it is a deeply researched book about New York - It is New York in a way you have never seen before. He is different and being different is often misunderstood by many. It takes a certain amount of bravery to do something that's never been done before especially for a writer. Although, The Bonfire Of The Vanities didn't sell as many copies as A Man In Full but if i had to pick, i would definitely go with it. Gracious, both are good books reinforcing Tom's reputation as the best chronicler of the American way of life.

You have the rich Sherman McCoy and the poor Mrs Lamb representing two races in real time. Tom hides nothing as he gives you the feel of the rich air of Park Avenue and the deep projects of the Bronx. With each character being portrayed as a unique and separate individual with thoughts that don't have to relate to the story at hand, giving you much more to look forward to with every turn of a page. It is sad how books are reduced to pocket-size volumes unlike the original large volumes. Reading a pocket-size volume of Tom Wolfe's works is a crime as you are denying yourself the chance to read more from a crazy writer. The novel opens with a Black crowd attacking the Mayor and later on throwing him out of Harlem. The news of this event is received differently amongst the different characters that soon grow on you as you read farther into the novel.  Characters like; Sherman McCoy, a Wall Street broker who considers himself to be a Master of the Universe; Larry Kramer, an Assistant District Attornery and his obsession with the lady with brown lipstick; Peter Fallow, a struggling alcoholic working for the Daily Light; Reverend Bacon, a conniving Reverend who spends most of his time using his Church for his own personal benefit...and so many more supporting characters. I'm not going to spoil the book for you but here's an excerpt from the book.

"The world was upside down. what was he, a master of the universe, doing down here on the floor, reduced to ransacking his brain for white lies to circumvent the sweet logic of his wife? The Masters of the Universe were a set of lurid, rapacious plastic dolls that his otherwise perfect daughter liked to play with. They looked like Norse gods who lifted weights, and they had names such as Dracon, Ahor, Mangelred, and Blutong. they were unusually vulgar, even for plastic toys. Yet one fine day, in a fit of euphoria, after he had picked up the telephone and taken an order for zero-coupon bonds that had brought him $50000 commission, just like that, this very phrase had bubbled up into his brain. On wall street he and a few others - how many?- three hundred, four hundred, five hundred?- had become precisely that... Masters of the universe. There was...no limit whatsoever! Naturally he had never so much as whispered this phrase to a living soul. He was no fool. Yet he couldn't get it out of his head. And here he was the Master of the universe, on the floor with a dog, hog-tied by sweetness, guilt, and logic...Why couldn't he (being a Master of the universe) simply explain it to her? Look Judy, i still love you and i love our daughter and i love our home and i love our life, and i dont want to change any of it- its just that i, a Master of the universe, a young man still in the season of the rising sap, deserves more from time to time, when the spirit moves me-..."

Find the book in your local book stores or order it from the various online stores you have access to. I am not an e-book fanatic, i have quite a number of books downloaded but i doubt i will ever read them. I know it must be quite hard given that the books are old as compared to what y'all folks like to read nowadays. Old books are golden treasures; the older the book, the better the quality of writing. These days everything is commercialised and authors/writers are writing to get more sales hence releasing about three books in a single year. It makes good business sense to capitalise on your success especially when you have a few good books out there but it ruins the quality of your writings. Look at Girsham, Stephen King, James Patterson, Seldon, their first books were marvels but as time went by, the quality of the stories deteriorated.

The Safety Issue.

Campus girl raped and killed. Body dumped in a sugar plantain. The headline read. It took me back to a time last year, back to a crazy night - like the many we all have or have had. It was her birthday party and like many parties, the drinks were flowing and the laughter was loud in the air. Five ladies and a cake but mostly boobs - they caught my eye over the night - she couldn't be more ecstatic, the birthday lady. As the hours went by, a decision had to be made about the next location since we were at a restaurant. A popular bar in the centre of kampala was decided upon though i'd rather, at that time, lie down in my warm bed but the boobs wouldn't let me be. To cut to the chase, i drank more than i should and mixed a few drinks, consequently my decisions were questioned as i sat down on the cold floor in the washroom as my body ejected the alcohol. Vulnerable, that is what we turn into once the alcohol sets in. We are told to consume and yes, we consume gallons of alcohol every single night enough to be called a 'beer nation'. 

For a woman, intoxication puts her at the risk of anything; from rape to murder. Women, with their perfect bodies, to some are only sexual objects - not far from dildos, used and discarded immediately after an orgasm comes through. Sex is power. It is life and death and like power, it can be abused. You might be shocked to learn the things that set off some men - things that get them going - one of them being fear. Fear is a fascinating emotion studied endlessly by scholars. Some psychopaths get sexual gratification from overpowering, causing suffering to their victims and instilling fear into their eyes. Once i read about an American psycho who would savagely  beat up his victims, bite their breasts, hands and feet and finally fuck them till they bled to death. Another, bound his victims to chairs and tied ropes around one of their breasts and inserted needles in their nipples. As gruesome as they might be, these things happen. 

When you are out meeting strangers in a bar, you can't think about such things because you are comfortable; comfortable with the way they dance, the way they smile or look at you. You feel a connection, a connection that blinds your innocent eyes and before long, you are diving into his arms and sleeping in his bed. I have seen the positive outcomes of meeting strangers in a bar, nightclub or concert. Couples share those stories every now and then so we cannot assume only bad comes out of the connection. How best do you know the person next to you? Do you know their deepest darkest fantasies? Sadly, we cannot see into each other. We can only be made to believe that we can due to what we see on the outside - the smiles and endless conversations where you strip all the secrets in your possession. In most instances, the stranger doesn't share anything about his past or present, but acts like a psychiatrist, listening and navigating the conversation. Since you are so caught up in the moment - the connection - you do not see all the signs. You call up your girlfriends and share your lucky findings with them. "You are so lucky, he is so handsome" "Dont let him go" they say over the phone. He has you entangled up in his webb that you cannot realise it till it is too late; till you are strapped onto his bed screaming out for help. 

Well, before you find me overly pessimistic, think about all the times you risked your life with a complete stranger. Some rapes are premeditated, they are not coincidental. It's not like you were moving West and came about a sick serial rapist who found you a probable victim. Serial rapists are known to stalk their victims over time. They know where you work, where you shop, where you hangout, your family, your church and anything else you might think about. They are closer to you than you know. A rapist could be your best friend quietly waiting for you to drop your guard - waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce on you. Murder is one thing, but we all know, there are things worse than murder. To be robbed of your life while you are still alive. To live each day with a cloud of fear floating above you. To carry a virus you didn't ask for. The President once said, "Some of you go around shopping for AIDS and you always find it" It was a cold statement like many of his statements but it is the cold truth if you look at it with a clear head. 

Ladies, when they say protect yourself, they are not only talking about condoms and contraceptives. They are talking about protecting yourself as a whole. Learning how to defend yourself, trusting many but keeping to yourself. The internet is making it hard to protect your identity, but i still know a couple of people who keep their private, personal lives away from the public - away from social media. A simple picture relays information - a lot of information about you without you knowing it. Information is good provided that it is in good hands, but how do you determine the good hands when picture information spreads faster than a cold on a hot day? Given that you cannot be sure about anything, you would rather not risk it. Drink, smoke and have fun but always have a trusted friend close by, a friend who will carry you home or hold up your hair as you throw up. The world isn't just black and white, it is full of many colours, just like people. You cannot trust someone just because they drive a nice car or crack the best jokes or have many followers on Twitter. Hell, you cannot trust me - the writer of this piece for i could be a psycho in waiting. ***

Age; The Factor Within

I detest lunch meetings mostly because all I want to do is eat but well, we can't avoid everything we hate. A lunch meeting in the capital, Kampala is an extremely ambitious move since Ugandans aren't ardent time-keepers. Why have a lunch meeting when you can have the meeting after lunch? The boss, Mr. Paul Scarvedell, picked a fine restaurant in the upscale suburbs of Kololo, the type with a large entry gallery with professional waitresses ready to treat you right as long as you were willing to pay the fortune the food they served cost... US$10 was the price of the cheapest item on the menu. The type of restaurant filled with the usual social clusters of people; the selfie-taking girls obviously less interested in the meals they ordered than getting the perfect picture taken for their social media pages, social X-rays, the expatriates simply looking for the best food and the lame office people like us. How is one expected to concentrate in such an environment?

The orders came well garnished but never enough to fill one's tummy, after 15 minutes which wasn't bad considering the number of clients they were serving and the time of day, lunchtime. Back on the table, the boss was saying something I couldn't quite make out as I was distracted by a couple that was entering the restaurant, a couple evidently by the way he kept on touching her and the radiant, intimate, no, more than that, provocative smile. Was it directed at me? Extremely far-fetched given that I was at the back of restaurant and he was closer to her than I was. I was so caught up by her smile that I hadn't taken time to look at his face... an old face, the type of face with wrinkles you give a 70 year old man. I need to have my eyes fixed. They were walked to a table two tables close to mine and the closer they got, the more I could see the lines on his face, Jesus he was +70 years old!. How could the lady... my mysterious lady with a radiant provocative smile probably directed at me enjoy the company of this... this 70 year old man who happens to use a cane to support his yet-to-die self?

Mr Paul, saying something to me I caught halfway, "...We need to come up with a plan Roland, a quick plan to push the sales. Did you meet the head of sales? That sonuvabitch thinks we are still in the 90s, he is going to run down my company and I'm gonna let him do it because he happens to be a brother to one of the founding board members! We are not tapping into the market, look everywhere, people are buying smart-phones, what does that tell ya? They need power, convince them to step away from the traditional Umeme. Solar is the Future and we are offering it at the cheapest price. Sell your souls for all I care but make me more money! Are you listening to me Roland?"

"Yes sir, I'm working with the sales team to see that we double or better yet triple our sales” I replied

My mind drifted back to the lady... my lady. She wore a plain black silk dress with wide shoulders. Her legs were crossed and I couldn't help but run my eyes up the highlight curve of the top of her foot and the shimmering curve of her thighs under the black silk. She was sipping on white wine, and he... too old to drink, was drinking sparkling water. Cross-generation sex doesn't apply to this particular couple so I will call it multiple-generation sex. What could they be possibly talking about? She can't be more than 25 years old and yet they were having a conversation! He must have fought in the 80s war or the 60s war or any other war much earlier than that. Oh come-on little lady, what are you two talking about? I saw something on her face, something in her posture and how free she was with this... this old gentleman... happiness. She seemed pretty happy to be with him. Could it be? Is it possible for a 70 year old man to make a 20 year old lady happy? Was i missing something?

Paul couldn't stop swearing about one thing or the other and I was struggling to keep up, "...It is this fucking country Roland, business is fucking slow and everything is politically driven. If I want to construct a building in Kampala, the yellow guys have to fucking will it to happen. Can you imagine? We are going to change this country, we are going to burn down all the yellow idiots and take our sales over the fucking moon! I want billions flowing in! My wife is choking me out, I'm blowing millions on her stupid interior designing campaigns. Last week she purchased a new rug off Amazon, a US$920 rug, what am I supposed to do with the fucking rug when I'm broke, Roland? Women don't understand the dynamics of making money, they just spend and spend it probably out of boredom. She's trying to get me to purchase two dogs, dachshunds. Do you know how much it'll cost to bring those little idiots into the country and what for? After a few weeks, she won't want them anymore!! Aye Aye"

“Women can drive you crazy but you should keep her happy because you'll be at peace. Bring the Dogs in and smile as you deliver them” I said to him with all the pretence I could muster for he was/is the boss, the rich man complaining about US$920 - the type of money I didn't have.

Money, I thought, the little ghost keeps evading my presence, if I had enough like the 70 year old, I could take my lady... the lady and her provocative smile with cherry lip gloss. The perfect lady to replace my good-for-nothing wife... wife or more of a live-in girlfriend. I'm still waiting for her to leave my apartment but that wish seems evasive with every passing day as she organizes (what was already organizes) my apartment. He was touching her soft hands and whispering something to her as she laughed... hah hah hah... not too loud and not too shy, I was laughing with her in spirit. What could he have possibly whispered in her small ears, "Honey my water just broke" or "One of my old friends just died of old age"? I was dying to make out something of what he was saying to my lady. Jesus, the way she looked at him! Is it possible to fall in love with someone way older or younger than I? She was with him for more than the money, they had a connection, they understood each other and most importantly respected each other as per what I observed. I... I was jelly... Jealous, I wasn't getting any of that with my live-in lady who did nothing but bring in more and more of her things into my space. I should kick her out, her and all her pathetic blenders and glasses - my glasses were way better than hers. Yes, I should get rid of her, the social X-ray she is and save enough to acquire a fine piece like the old gentleman. Mr Paul called for the bill and soon the lunchtime meeting was over but I was a different person... I had a lady.

Back at office, I relayed the events of the meeting to my boys with the exception of what my boss had said because clearly I hadn't picked up any of that. Jimmy, the serious one had this to say, “If a 20 year old lady has the intellect of a 30 year old man, it is possible for the two to connect and actually have meaningful conversations or fall in love. Age is nothing but a number unless it is manifested in the way one acts, talks or thinks. There are men our age (35) who still act and have minds of 20 year olds. Those men won't be able to have a sensible conversation with an intelligent 20 year old lady. In the same light you won't be able to have a conversation with a 20 year old lady who acts like a 16 year old adolescent.” With that, Jimmy answered some of the questions in my head about the lady, my lady of the day... the lady with a provocative smile...