#howdaudiseesit

[howdaudiseesit]

A GENDERLESS WORLD

“I do not identify as a man, neither do I identify as a woman.” The frequency at which such statements are beginning to become common place is worrying. You should be worried. When the world ‘top minds’ are encouraging parents to raise their children without gender, you should be beyond worried, you should be mortified. An impending disaster awaits us, akin to the effects of global warming, but on society, the very fabric of humanity. Before there was language, cultural bias, and all manner of things wrong with our society, there was gender, a pure balance, a chai. An ecosystem for humanities survival that goes beyond just procreation. It breaths life into our psychological and emotional wellbeing. It is the heartbeat.

Our ‘learned friends,’ will say being defined by gender is backward and oppressive. I am tempted to agree with them, in part. Our selfish definition of gender where we want to be the strongest, fastest and brightest by stepping on the other gender is backward and oppressive, but that is a broken and twisted definition that should not be used as a measuring stick for the importance of something as beautiful and as spiritual as being created as man and woman.

Man was created to lead. Now generations of bad leadership have led us to view this word in a negative light. Leadership equals service. So in actual definition, man was created to serve. It’s is important however that our understanding of service is one of respect and not manipulation for this to work. Another definition that needs the same respect is helper. A wise man once told me the proper biblical definition of this term that was lost in translation was a kin to a hedge, of fire. Fiercely and ferociously engulfing,protecting what is inside. He compared it to the fires of making love. If you are doing it right, gentlemen, you will be engulfed, not just with insatiable passion and burning desire, but with physical might and strength until you surrender to service. (If you don’t get this, you are too young to be reading this, do go finish your homework).

Anyone who knows anything about servant leadership, and yes this is a side bar, will know that kind of leadership bears fruit, the kind that legacies are made of, the kind that lasts long after cars and houses are rotten and broken down.

Fruit will be planted, grow, and come to term. Nurtured, protected and sustained by both the hedge of the mother and the servant leadership of a father.

This basic, primal, ideal situation of making and raising a child is the perfect picture of the intention on gender and gender roles in all of life. Servant leadership and helper.

No, women should not be reduced to incubators for babies. Men too should not be reduced to sperm donors. No, I am not saying women cannot be leaders. We all lead, we can be everything, we just do it differently, and that is okay. Equality is not similarity.

I fear however, that by equality being confused for similarity, and baby gender getting thrown out with the bath water, we are setting ourselves up for a disaster of catastrophic proportions. A disaster that will end us long before the melting ice caps do.

[howdaudiseesit]

SELFIE-ISH

I will just get into it without some lengthy excuse for why I haven’t blogged in a long time. I don’t think you would care much for that anyway. Besides, it is not a very interesting story. In fact, there is no story at all, just lots and lots of laxity, couch surfing, television binging and somewhere in the middle of this doing a radio show that in my head is the most kick ass show in the world, with a real big wig, on a station I had dreamed of working at since I was about 10 years old. Speaking of, where are these coke chaps, there is a real #IAmAReason story right here, yes? Now that I have caught you up on my life since the last time I blogged, shall we?

One of these fine evenings, I got caught up in an internet black hole. I was looking for furniture ideas for my flat and somehow ended up for hours on end  watching cats playing piano, cats playing more piano, and cats playing some more piano. You know how it goes. Somewhere in the middle of my shame, realizing that I had spent about an hour watching videos of cats playing piano, I landed on, wait for it, another video of a cat playing piano. Yes, I know it’s sad, but don’t judge me, just because you vegetate differently from me. I promise however, that was the last cat video I watched, that day, because I chanced on a funny vine, where a guy, in order to break up fights with his girlfriend and have some momentary peace, just raised his phone to selfie position, and just like most of you, everything would stop, so all energy could be focused on the perfect duck face, if there is even such a thing.

This got me thinking, how selfie’s are just like money. Not in the sense that they will buy you anything but in the sense that they have found a way of amplifying our bad habits and insecurities and also that they might be the root of all evil, but I will have to get back to you on that last part.

Because of selfie’s we now know that the fellowship mama is not as humble as she lets on because let’s face it, the underlying tone in selfie’s is having or showing an excessively high opinion of one's appearance, abilities, or worth, which is the true definition of vanity. Yes, it really is. I googled it, and then copied and pasted. Selfie’s literally looked humility in face, peeking deep into the eyes of her sole and said,

“Do me favor maen! Do me a favor please. Gerrarahere… Gerrarahere maen!!!”

 Selfie’s have also made lying an acceptable art form. Ladies, #Iwokeuplikethis, really? Your hair wasn’t in place, your boobs weren’t propped up by that push up bra, and you probably woke up with skid marks from drooling a little in the night. Ati, I woke up like this, gerrarahere maen!!! The problems with cultures like this, is the longer they go on, the more people start to believe them. Very soon, men will expect you to wake up looking like that, I know, unrealistic right? Well, that’s what they said about porn, but lots of house wives expected to be the porn stars now and how many men are expected to be a certain size. How did we get here I wonder? Not unrealistic any more is it.

 Now that we are talking about sex, I might as well talk about the need to please. Because of the need for someone to double tap, like or RT and the inevitable loss in self-worth that comes with their absence of that manner of approval, people have gone in search for the perfect selfie. The perfect light to shade ratio, perfect smile, no random photo bomber in the background and without knowing it, because of the need of approval, 3 to 5 minutes are spent snapping away just to find the perfect shot, not factoring in the time it took to touch up your lips and eyebrows just for that. 3 to 5 minutes that could honestly have invested in you, but are spent looking for double taps and likes. I won’t even get into the constant checking to see how many nodes of approval you have gotten. How many minutes shall we get up to then? The need for this approval has gotten so bad that people have actually lost their lives looking for the perfect selfie, hanging off buildings and in moving trains all for social acceptability, and sadly not even the kind that counts. All this while wasting valuable tax payers money because legislators, like they have in some countries, have to spend time instituting laws on selfie’s.

For a species that is supposed to be at the top of the intellectual chain, selfie’s have turned us into a bunch of pubescent lumpens. They really are the epitome of the human race’s insatiable capacity to be idiots, and the duck face is the least of it. And that’s #howdaudiseesit, but first, let me take a selfie.

[howdaudiseesit]

THE CURIOUS CASE OF DAUDI

I am not very sure that this week’s blog should be what I think it should be about. Why? Because I have feelings, and people judge. However much we write on our walls or irrelevantly caption instagram selfies (Shout out to Sheila Gashumba and Zari) with things like “I don’t care what the world says about me, you haters just make me strong”, stuff people say still hurts almost as much as missing a nail and putting a hammer to your thumb (a somewhat farfetched analogy, but you know us bloggers, always trying to sound deep).

This week’s blog is about me. I just figured if you care enough to follow my blog every week I might just give you a peek under the hood, maybe you might be interested in getting to know a bit of the person behind #howdaudiseesit.

But before I get into it, I have a quick announcement. A friend of mine recently pointed out that I was at the right age for settling down and I had no business being single at this point. I know a couple of people who would agree with their school of thought, my wonderful father inclusive. So I have decided that since all the tried and tested methods like; get a T.V show, start to blog, go out to a bar and bob to ‘bogola ko’ like it’s some sort of ethereal experience, are not working, I might try the abanonya approach.

Hi, I am David, but you can call me Daudi. Apparently I have no business being single at this point so here is what I am looking for. A girl who thinks I write better than Ernest Bazanye, and doesn’t use the word ‘like’ like every 3 seconds. Also she has to be smart enough to realise no self-respecting man would put up a lonely hearts advertisement. If you still haven’t figured out what is going here, you could be the one; I really think you could #bemydate.

Now that I am well on my way to finding my soul mate, and stealthily threw in the fact that I have a TV show, on NTV Uganda, Sundays between 9am and 12:30pm, just in case you were asking, we might as well get back to peeking under the hood.

I am a dreamer. I can sit for hours on end lost in visions of what could be, the car, the house, the smoking hot wife that all my friends wish they had, et al. I don’t know if this is a very masculine thing, sitting around dreaming. I mean it’s not something that comes up in conversation with the boys;

Me: Hey guys. So I was sitting around the other day, and it’s like I floated into the future maen. I was helping my smoking hot wife with dinner, and all through the house were sounds of children playing. It was beautiful The rest of the guys: Awwwwww

That never happens. Their default response would be, dude, were you smoking something? And then we would quickly move on to talking about the lady with nice curves who just passed by.

Now my dreams are normally not that mushy (figure I could save some face) but they are majorly around that line of thought, family. I think family is the most important thing in life. Sadly some of us spend our lives chasing everything else and focusing very little on the only thing in life that is constant. We put more effort into our friendships than our relationship with our siblings or most times we spend a lot of time focusing on the families we shall create instead of the families we have now, the families with our parents. But I hate to assume, maybe it’s just me who focuses wrongly sometimes, but there you have it, my family, that is the most important thing in my life.

I also like to evolve, become a better version of me. That is something higher on the priority list for me than a formal education. I have a rant or two about formal education but this is neither the time, nor the place. So, because I like to evolve, I have developed a love for reading. Ok, maybe I exaggerate, it not so much love, more a means to an end really. I am not one of those who love the smell of ink on paper and love the feel of the paper as it rustles through my fingers when pages are turned, I just realise reading is important for evolution so I do it. Please feel free to share some interesting titles, if you may.

Now I may not agree with Bebe Cool’s view of patriotism but I do love my local music. Give me Radio and Weasel, Afrigo, Angella Kalule or Aziz Azion any day, over the Chris Brown, Miley Cyrus and all their wrecking ball friends. I however have no intellectual explanation for this, it is just a preference. Life is too short for everything to have to have some deeper meaning. Sometimes you just have to enjoy things for the pure joy of enjoyment.(If thats acceptable use of the english language)

Speaking of pure joy, I am one of those people who believe that money, status and/or education qualifications will never make you happy. But you probably already know that. Though I wonder why we still chase the same things as the key to happiness. I guess by someone’s definition most of us are suffering from insanity, we are doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. I think the source of any true joy is discovering what God created you for. I believe everyone has a part to play in this big puzzle called life, and I believe most of us go to our graves having missed the mark by so far. I don’t know whether it qualifies as a fear, but I am damn sure I don’t want to live life having found success by worldly standards and having missed the mark entirely.

But I think the most important thing about me is that I believe in the existence of God. I think that life is meaningless without him and everything I believe revolves around Him. He is still getting back to me about my love for Aziz Azion.

And that is #howdaudiseesit this week. I can’t wait for all your #bemydate applications because maybe, just maybe this whole blog might have just been a whole list of credentials. One of the important ones, of course, is the fact that I am self-respecting man. :)

[howdaudiseesit]

THE SALVATION MENTALITY

I made a lot of promises to myself getting into lent, the version of me at the other end of these 40 days was going to be something worth some form of spiritual applause. “Heaven and all its hosts are going to be doing backflips, head spins, moonwalks and all those things,” I said. “Jesus is going to be very proud of me.” Fast forward to the holy week and I have done 'nyet.'(I think the Russian version of 'no' makes it sound a lot more final) Honestly I think I am a little worse off that when I began. I feel like I have sinned a little more than I usually do and made Jesus a tad bit unhappy. These 40 days have been a classic case of , "the things I want to do I don’t do, and the things I don’t want to do I do." If Paul were alive, this would probably be a high five moment. Ok, maybe not, that’s a bit to jubilatory, which this isn’t. Simply put, lent was a disaster of somewhat colossal proportions for me, but I am actually surprisingly a lot more fulfilled than I have ever been. I got serious with this Jesus’ thing a couple of years ago. For me, it wasn’t one of those really numbing salvation stories where you hear a voice calling your name or get healed from an ailment that had eluded the best medicines, no. I was just having a rather nasty existence, an enjoyable existence, but nasty still, and I needed some fire insurance. For me Jesus was nothing more than a thermal suit. Fast forward to today, I pick up a reading habit, for all the wrong reasons, (the things women makes us do.) and one day while going through a little book called ‘Walking with God’ I realize that the salvation that I so desperately clung on to was almost useless, if not entirely. “Behold I stand at the door and knock, if anyone hears my voice and opens, I will come in and dine with him” – Revelations 3:20 This was probably one of the scriptures quoted when I was being ushered into “salvation.” And I know this now that there was the problem, for me at least, I was ushered into SALVATION. Salvation was front and center of my relationship with God and that somewhat wrongly informed my Christianity. I moved through life like a stunt man walking the wire trying to stay oblivious of the cheers, the screams and all other things going on around me, focusing only on reaching the end of the line. I had no concern and time for the things that break Gods heart, all my waking energy was spent cashing in on my fire insurance by living a life with as little sin as possible so as to make it onto the glory train. I lived for salvation. During my disaster of colossal proportions it dawned on me how much I had been a horrible host. I had become like one of those fellas who takes a really pretty girl out on a date and spend the entire evening updating my twitter and checking football scores paying no mind to what she said or cared for. All that really matters is that everyone concerned can see I am on a date with a really hot lady. A date more for the photo op and the good press than for the person seated across from me. Now maybe I am just a slow Christian and I was the last one to this ‘Relationship instead of Salvation’ party. Maybe I am the last Christian on earth to realize that salvation is a bi product of relationship. Maybe I am the last Christian to realize that to dine I got to put the damn phone down, turn the data off and listen to stories of things that hurt, and things that bring joy, but maybe not. Because if we actually paid attention to the person seating across from us, we would see the world differently. We would realize we are not a bunch of aliens trying to survive until the day we board the glory train but that we were supposed to be thriving in EVERYTHING. We would realize the prosperity that we seek is really not for our selfish desires of a range rover sport and a 10 bathroom mansion. We would realize that caring for the widows and the orphans, and building schools and hospitals is more important than a 20,000 seater auditorium. We would realize that the story of Easter is more than just an insurance policy against fire, it’s a romance, countless dinners, laughing, sharing, rebuking and transforming you and I into the perfect groom. But again, maybe I am the last to this party, and you already knew these things. For this week, that’s #howdaudiseesit. Happy Easter.

[howdaudiseesit]

DATING 2.0

I think my friend was heartbroken or he had just found love, I am not sure which one, but those are the only plausible explanations for someone listening to Joe Thomas’ no one else comes close on a Sunday morning. Stereotypical I know, the expectation that on Sunday people should listen to some hymns or whatever we consider divine music, but hey, I thought it, am just being real. So real that at the risk of being crucified by some Christians I will admit, I more than like no one else come close and for the entire Sunday I sung nothing else. But this isn’t really about my taste in music; it’s more about the thoughts that occupied my head as I hummed away.

‘I ought to be in a relationship,’ I thought. ‘It would be nice to have a good church girl to send meaningless emoticons during the day’.

Yes I was going through the phase. One that my inhibitions against the relationship thing in the church had smacked me out of. I am really for dating within the church so much that I have not pursued some amazing women by any standard simply because they didn’t have their church going on. That said, dating in church is an entirely different ball game, a more complex version, I call it Dating 2.0.

Relating in the church is like speed dating. People move too swiftly through the dating, to the courting, to the marriage phases, it’s like they are trying to beat the rapture. More often than not, regardless of how spiritual you are, this rush normally means that processes are missed, signs are ignored and ultimately people and sometimes families are crushed. In the words of a certain wise man, “If you are going round a bend that says 40km/hour at 80km/hour, the odds are high you are going to crush even if you are listening to a Christian station and have a scripture hanging from your hind view mirror.”

Sadly, sometimes this rush is fuelled by our driving instructors; our pastors, elders, mamas and papas. Two weeks into a relationship and they are asking when you are getting married. A question by the way, which can only be answered by either an actual wedding date if you are ambitious or ‘soon,’ with crossed fingers hoping the Man of God doesn’t probe. Most people I have talked to in this situation really don’t know. True, the desired end result is to marry the girl or guy, but they honestly don’t know, they are figuring it out. So how about some space to let dating couples discover one another, because let’s face it, Christian or not, dating is like a controlled experiment, sometimes you discover penicillin, sometimes you don’t.

And why do we have so little room for the times relationships don’t end at the end of aisle. Somehow breaking up with someone in church is a sin deserving of some form of disciplinary council. Truth is, however much we love someone, we have to be discerning enough to realize when they are not for us or not good for us, and be mature enough to walk away. I don’t think that makes me any less spiritual now does it?

The reality is, the church is still a hospital for sinners and sometimes God hasn’t made us marriage ready yet. And that right there is the importance of time and trusting the process. We do it for everything else. Take something as momentary as loss. We know that to deal with it in a healthy manner we have to go through the 5 phases; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Why then do we want to skip steps when it comes to finding a life partner?

And if we are blessed enough to make it through the stages and discover our penicillin, it’s important to remember that Christians are not some form of evolved human beings who don’t subscribe to the needs and desires of other mortals. To put this in some form of context before I am misquoted, God is God, not my girlfriend, fiancé or wife. God created pockets in our lives, for family, for friends, for penicillin. (I think this analogy might just catch on). One thing cannot fill another’s pocket. Yes, sometimes God has to step in because whoever is supposed to be in that pocket has decided to drop the ball, but Heshouldn’t have. In a nutshell, sometimes I need a girlfriend and not a prayer warrior, a pastor or demon slayer. Don’t forget to be penicillin.

And that is the last time I use the word penicillin hoping that when I meet that good church girl to send meaningless emoticons to that I will trust the process, the church will be patient and understanding and I won’t be mistaken for some kind of superhuman. And that’s #howdaudiseesit.

[howdaudiseesit]

YOU ARE GROWING OLD IF....

It’s not all I thought it would be, growing up I mean. As a child, you fantasize about this kind of independence and you can’t wait for the thrill of making your own money and spending it how you want, when you want, without any control or limitations from the parent. You quickly realise that you are swapping one parent for another, a less forgiving one called life. But whining about my new parent isn’t about what this blog is about, no. This blog is about pigs. (And then in the deafening silence of the oppressive Kampala office atmosphere, one reader just couldn’t take it anymore and a tantrum ensued. He screamed; “Oh no! He is just going to waste my time writing incoherent unconnected gibberish like last week? “) Hahahaha. No this blog isn’t about pigs. But in my inner eye I actually saw someone throw that tantrum, full on with soundtracks and slow motion effects. I do, however, have an interesting story about pigs and a funeral, but maybe I will tell that next time. This week I just want to talk about growing up, more so for you who are living in denial and have chosen to ignore the scary numbers that make up your age, here are some other nails in that coffin. When you start to wonder why the ‘film star’ is making an obviously wrong move that is going to end very badly and you actually go on to voice your objections out loud, you are growing old. I watched a movie with a friend the other day, I quickly discovered why her friends don’t like going with her to the cinema anymore. But who am I too judge, it takes a lot of resolve not to shout at my idiot box. When you have an absolutely sober night out ( read 2 drinks) get home just after 1am and are paying for the ‘sins ‘of the night way past 2pm the next day, you are growing old. Once upon a time, you would have a night on the town, get home at 6am, sleep an hour, and be in class by 8am and be absolutely fine. But now……… Speaking of a night on the town, when you can only stand about 20 minutes of Konshen’s and now classify that music as ‘bang bang,’ you are growing old. You instead find yourself preferring to ‘break bread’ to Lucky Dube instead and suffering uncontrollable fits of joy when mister deejay plays ‘Sibaluma’ by Afrigo. Of course this normally comes with the use of the phrase ‘in our days.’ If you feel the need to explain something to someone younger than you using the phrase ‘our days,’ they clearly are in an entirely different generation and the math is obvious. Then there is the moment when you find yourself going to google to check what a certain short hand acronym means and go ahead to complain about ‘kids of these days’ and their incoherent text messages. Ummm, ya! You are growing old. And then somehow it stops being about the prettiest girl in the room. You actually begin to notice the girl behind the pretty girl. When your values in partners goes beyond hips and biceps, you are growing old. When carrying babies switches from a chore and somehow starts to bring you some form of joy, you are growing old. I could go on, but I guess that sort of drives it home. And if you were born before 88’ and are not experiencing any of the following signs and symptoms, you have a serious case of the ‘Benjamin Buttons.’ Anyhow, I assert again, growing up isn’t all I thought it would be. I definitely didn’t think I would be turning into my parents, but the signs and symptoms are all there and I best accept it. True it isn’t as rosy as our dreams may have painted but it’s beautiful in its own right. This blog was inspired by the fictitious life of my imaginary friend who is trying desperately and shamefully if I might add, to hold on to her youth. She desires to live her life in the wonder of who she was, instead of embracing the glory of who she could be, and one day she will wake to the realization she was chasing a past she could never catch and forever lost the future she would have had. So my friend, buckle up, embrace your ‘growing old’ phase and at the very least, have a good laugh the next time you feel the urge to shout at the ‘film star.’ Till next week, that’s #howdaudiseesit.

[howdaudiseesit]

IN CASE YOU THOUGHT I WAS KIDDING...

In the first year of architecture school, a class mate put up an empty sheet of A0 paper for a presentation. When his turn came to deliver, we sat back and waited for the fireworks to fly. Imagine our surprise when lecturers commended him for his ‘out of the box’ depiction of the concept of emptiness. We all knew he hadn’t done the assignment, but they didn’t, and he managed to sell his bluff. I thought of doing something like that for this week’s blog post, to somewhat elevate my level of ‘deepness’ but you all are a bunch of smart peeps, you would see right through the crap I am peddling. Maybe I should blame it on writer’s block, lending some form of authenticity to my blog, but who am I kidding, I wrote ‘plain’ instead of ‘plane’ in a tweet the other day, a real writer wouldn’t do that now, would they? So, welcome to another stream of this random fella’s view of this not random place we call the world.

Speaking of this not very random place we call the world; someone recently showed me a rather random picture of the world taken from far out of space, Jupiter I think, called ‘the pale blue dot.’ Ordinarily I would care less for this ‘work of art.,’ honestly it seemed like one of those abstract works of art where you can’t decide whether the person is a genius, or just lazy, classic case of the blank A0 paper. Anyhow, on reading the Wikipedia explanation that followed, it was a view of this ‘pale blue dot’ we call earth in context with the universe. The contrast of how the world looks so great from within and so insignificant on the larger scale was mind boggling. (And this comes from a guy who doesn’t use words like ‘boggling’ except for worthy occasions such as this one.) That initially incomprehensible work of art got me thinking about a greater power, the creator, God and His mind boggling greatness. (I wished to use a word greater than boggling, but I am a UPE student, with UPE vocabulary limitations).

Ok you know what, I should have mentioned this at the beginning. This particular blog is going to have a whole load of commentary with too many emotions to portray and a too limited vocabulary.

So where was I? Yes. ‘The pale blue dot.’ So as I was marvelling at God’s greatness, a thought, as remotely connected as the content of this blog is to each other, crossed my mind. Yet again, my mind was boggled. (There goes that word again, UPE) Why does it seem like Atheists’ only problem seems to be with the God of the Christians? I have never heard an atheist dispute the deity of Hindus, or heard of one who walked up to Abu Nazir and tell him Allah does not exist. So I wonder, if you are an atheist, do you believe there is no God, or is it just the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob?

Other than Atheism, I wonder about a lot of other things. What if Illuminati is a bunch of geeks from the last century wearing away in an old people’s home also wondering what the fuss about their little science club is? And thanks to Key & Peele, I wonder what it would be like if people’s names were farts, instead of words, introductions would be rather interesting, don’t you think? (I will give you a moment to think about that.) Normally this would be a good point to say goodbye, but before I do, there is a story that involves me, a waitress and a cocktail.

So one hot afternoon, a friend and I are chilling at this café we go to regularly. A waitress walks up to our table to take our orders;

Waitress: Hullo, Can I take your order? Me: I will have an English breakfast. Friend: I will have a cocktail.

The waitress strutted off as though she was doing an audition for America’s Next Top Model. As she walked away, my friend and I talked about how it was strange that we were getting prompt service this time around, more so with such enthusiasm, something that was strange to this particular café. Just as we were getting impressed by this positive turn in customer service we were interrupted.

Waitress: Excuse me sir, do you want cocktail tea, or cocktail juice?

To this day, I still wonder what would be in a cocktail of tea.

And on that note, it’s time for me to tame my wandering mind and actually let you use the office internet for what you are paid to do. Until next week, that’s #howseesit.

[howdaudiseesit]

ON THIS BILL AND THAT BILL

Let’s me first get this out of the way; Writing a blog post every week is a lot harder than I expected. Now that I have penned that completely mediocre opening, what topic am I giving my 2 cents on this time around? Wait! Do they say ‘penned’ for blogs? Goes to show how I am still wrapping my head around this. Anyhow, a friend of mine asked for my thoughts on the anti-phonography bill which has commonly been referred to as the miniskirt bill. Well here goes; I never knew miniskirts were such a fundamental component to the survival of the female species. I am yet to understand the fuss really. So what if you can’t show some leg? I haven’t heard any reports on how the quality of life of Women in the Middle East is reduced because they choose to cover their knees, but maybe one of my female readers can help explain. Maybe the legs of Ugandan female have a plant component that they need photosynthesis to survive? Or does this stem from the commercially propagated view of the sexy woman. Because as much as you blow the smoke of fundamental rights, when the cards are laid on the table, it really isn’t about that. So, what’s the real issue here? I also think Father Lokodo’s educational qualifications need to be double checked. From the skewed rumblings I have heard exit that mans mouth, I bring into question his ability to comprehend any text. God bless his flock. If you read the anti-pornography bill, the real issue being tackled is indecent exposure and not the mini skirt per say. So the real question should be when it becomes indecent exposure. That’s has a myriad of possibilities depending on the era you grew up in. However, by definition, it is deliberate exposure in public or in view of the general public by a person of a portion or portions of HIS or HER body, in circumstances where the exposure is contrary to local moral or other standards of appropriate behaviour. Here is a really simple way to look at it. It’s called under wear because it’s supposed to be under. If we can see any of it when you sit, bend and go through the motions of your day, it is indecent. And when I think about it further, since the definition includes “his body,” men who sad their pants should also be arrested. It’s only just. Also, if you have to continually pull it down, you are probably showing more than you know is standard and thus indecent exposure. And yes, my examples are about dress chord, but maybe that’s because if I have to tell you that “kimansulo” and pornography is unlawful, you need more help than these 500 or so words can do you. And since we are on the topic of bills anyway, I might as well weigh in on the antigay bill. I love gay people. There was a time, given the right wind velocity and a sniper rifle, I would have probably taken out a couple. But I was young and clue less then. I realised gay people are really good people with a really stupid ideology on sex. That said, I think the bill is needed. Yes, it could do with adjustments but that’s not for me to debate. That is why I vote. However, to everyone preaching fundamental rights and freedoms, here are some thoughts; By virtue of the fact that there was a need to start to refer to heterosexuals as straight, that somewhat goes to show that being gay is being bent. Do the math. You can’t have your cake and eat it. Being gay is either illegal or acceptable. Acceptability means that we agree that same sex relations are natural and thus they deserve to be represented in parliament, can be wedded in church and can adopt children. The more worrying one is the ability to adopt, because there is no better recruitment strategy than that. I know I don’t want a country where children are taught that Adam and Steve is acceptable because it isn't. Also, LGBT rights are just the rope that you see. I can assure you, there is a cow attached at the end of that rope. Soon marijuana smokers will come out as an at risk minority and demand some human rights protection and for drugs to be sold freely. Or some mad scientist will connect criminal acts with a certain genetic sequence and consequently they will demand some right for some special kind of prosecution. How I see it, the antigay law in all its inadequacies is a matter of precedent and not necessarily moral correction. Gay people will continue to be gay, and that honestly is between them and God, all I can do is tell them that that isn’t where God intended it to go. However, this is a stand for what will and will not pass in our community, and for that I am very proud. I am proud to be Ugandan in this time when we decided to stand up for morality and what is right. Yes, I care about roads, healthcare and corruption and the host of problems plaguing this nation. But as I push for those things to be rectified, I will take this victory. It is easier to fix a road, and build a hospital than to fix a generation that has wasted from moral degeneration. Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater. And that is #howdaudiseesit.