Thou Should Not Laugh At One’s Hustle.

If people really knew what a hustle can be. A real-life hustle on the streets; no job, no ‘connected relatives’, no cents for a meal but just you against the odds then they wouldn’t be laughing at this picture. Waking up to go out and hope lady luck shines on you that day. Living each day as it comes. Survival!

This photo was posted on Facebook where people found a lot of amusement in it & cracked all sorts of jokes about it. I don’t know whether it’s his fault to end up like this (hopefully not) but I think the people who laughed at this boy wherever they are, are living too lit a life, they don’t know what the hustle part of life really feels like. The dude doesn’t look like he was living a life on the beach, does he?

When you can’t even afford to find a building to get into to hide from the rain, can’t afford a car to board so that by the time it reaches your destination, it’s stopped raining nor do you have a relative or even a friend with an office where you can casually stroll in to shelter from the rain. You can’t just enter a Kampala restaurant & sit without ordering a soda because then, your transport money will be gone. Imagine walking home on mud-filled roads, cold bitten. That kind of situation where your last resort is to drop all your swag & prop yourself up a phone booth to shelter from the rain.

That is a real hustle life and people who found amusement in this picture, may God give them all they desire because I am not sure what they would do to their lives if tables turned.  

The hustle is real out here in case y’all ain’t opened your eyes wide enough to see it you privileged homo sapiens. Such situations are things we don’t laugh about it. Periodt.

Thinking. Missing. You.

So many times I think about you. I think about your lips & I want to kiss you. To hold you, when I think about those moments when I have you, when I had you. I wanna hug you. So tight, get fused to you. Angler fish. Your hands, I want to hold them. Your forehead to kiss it. Spank that #$% when you bend it.

I wish to, that I can rewind it over again. Don’t you? Want to step into it with me? How couldn’t you?

I miss you as you’re not here, let’s not even argue about it. I want to dance with you under the sky, the stars are our witness. Your love to me is a weakness. I can’t rest. I am restless. So young and restless. Got me in some sort of love trance. Stuck on replay. Iyaz.

I love you baby, this is the truth that you can’t erase.

Day 5 Of The Afrobloggers #WinterABC2021What Should be the Mood For Social Media?

Do not post your issues on social media”. It is childish to put your problems out there. Find a way to address them”. This is advocacy & activism week of the #winterABC2021 & we’re post to be standing up for something. Today I am standing up for those who personally & or physically have no one to talk to but social media & against those who always find amusement in shutting them down.
We have come across posts of this kind in our different Social Media. Where people are dictating on others about what to post yet I have never seen it recommended anywhere when I am opening accounts on any social media that “Thou shall only post content where thee are happy so that you can please they? Have you? If you have, please send me the screenshot, the link. I need to be woke.


Therefore, I have come to realize that we our very own selves are the ones that are fueling the depression that we keep trending around. We are the ones that keep asking where humanity is headed to yet we are the ones that keep fuelling it low key. Why are we forcing people to keep up with a lifestyle that they cannot afford? Borrowing clothes to look lit, forcing to hangout in places where they cannot afford to be. Girls sleeping for
tickets to events just to keep up appearances. Like as if there is a prize for having the flyest social media account on line.


How can someone come out seeking help and the best we can do is to tell them that it is childish to bring forth our ‘dark’ issues online. That they are best resolved off of the internet. I thought it’s called social media for a reason not please me media. How does that even work? Where are our hearts? Where is our humanity? The world is destroying itself slowly by slowly. People on suicide through depression and we’re telling people that when they post their issues they are childish? When people come out for help and we tell them that it is childish, so when are we going to help them? What is a mature person supposed to post? I need a memo. Are we even intending to help them? Are we even worthy of being friends? If you cannot help someone then shut the fuck up, scroll away and ignore. You may just as well unfriend them and keep the happy lot that are
entertaining you on your TLs.

Depression is a killer and when someone comes out depressed them you say it ain’t real.
People are out there depressed. People are out there suffering. People are out there fighting their demons and instead of bringing them closer, we are busy calling them childish? Maybe before someone friends you you should tell them to also keep it sunny.


Just because you can silently afford to handle your issues silently doesn’t mean anyone else can. Just because you have contacts that at one click away can help you out doesn’t
mean any one else does. We are not at the same point in life. We do not have the access to the same resources, cool friends and supportive families. Nope. We are different. And so by the time someone comes out for help then it is deep. Then it is real. People are
suffering. People are desperate. People are hurting. People are abused, bruised and stripped. Cheated. Betrayed. People are depressed.
We are destroying ourselves. We are destroying humanity. Discrediting it. So unless we listen and offer some help, we should just shut the fuck up and stop talking about depression any way. Are you the social media police officer in charge of happiness?
For this matter, if you are out there depressed and need someone to listen to you, you can hit me up in my DM. I may not be in position to help you financially or physically but I will listen and talk to you best way I can. I hear “You’re posting childish”. Fuck
you. Yes I am pissed so bad I am boiling. God.

The City We Walked.

There was a time when we used to walk the streets together. Hand in hand I held you like my purse. Side by side like a holster. Babe, oh, those times when we was together. Lovers. I used to cling to you like a sticker. The ones we walk past on the street lamps of Kampala, Uganda.

Now I see you on the city streets walking with another girl. On the pavements we treaded. I feel like calling out your name but I am afraid to disrupt your romantic stroll.

You & her, hand in hand, like how you used to hold mine now you hold hers while retracing our lanes like we used to, me & you. Now it’s you & her. And I remember the shops we used to go to. The restaurants we ate & dined from. Are you taking her there now? Seating her in the chair I used to? The corner I liked? The same table jokes? Fuck this small city & the familiar streets. Its habits and its traits.

I wanted to call out your name but at that moment, the traffic lights turned green as I saw my lover turning a corner with another woman.

Our Last Time.

I want to love you properly. Like it is my last time. Your last time. Anyways, it is our last time. Never to see us again, our last wish. Loving someone else, our worst wish. Never to make plans with you again, our lost wish. Never falling in love again with us, our feared wish…so I want to make this be our best time. Sadly, our last time.

I want to hold you proper. Talk to you proper. I want to laugh with you again. Hear that loud chuckle one last time. I loved how you used to look at me deeply. Your eyes piercing into my soul sharply. I felt them. They had love written all over them & I fearfully loved it.

I want to make love to you proper. Break you down and build you up again. With sweat, emotions, and ecstasy, girl, you loved that intimacy, because boy oh boy I sure did it better. I held your hand better on them walks. The walks up the hill. Or the romance on the boda. Weaving through traffic like them roads we owned. The dancing in the room. My Miss Uganda. I made your mind calmer and listened to your dreams clearer. The tears in your eyes I made them disappear faster and on my chest, you laid better. Sweet peace.

But now you are gone. Regrettable tears for the moves we didn’t make. Chess pieces. Like the wind you gonna blow away and fat chance, I’ll never see you again…unless if the world pulls a sneaky one on us…otherwise, this seems like it’s our last time. Wish I could spend it with you because I am sure you will love it. This one last time, the Kindle to the Kitty.