I have decided to become a Ugandan politician. I am tired of hating from the sidelines. I am joining the theatre, to play, to arouse, to perform, to mesmerise. I have an airtight plan, for example, I am reaching out to Zoe College (whatever that university is) for my doctorate. And do not start jazzing me mbu one cannot use their honorary titles before their name.
I expect to be addressed as Dr Ortega a few months from now. The real constraint in my plan is that of the woman by your side. I need her to be as powerful as she could be. Perhaps, I should have my own set of triplets. The other constraint is the potbelly. But this is easy to deal with. One can always put on a belly.
But I am told, it is such a deal breaker in Uganda. No one ever trusts a politician without a potbelly, chubby cheeks, round glistening eyes. I have a formidable team of fuutu soldiers. Already, I have sent out an olive branch to all my exes. I have told them (in true corporate speak), it was never personal. It was just business. My convincing slogan; “Mujje tukole”.
To bolster my team of fuutu soldiers, I have added my communal team for propaganda. My barber, for example, should be selling serious stories and myths. Such as “that Ortega, there is something mystical about him, every time I use my ka-pencil on him, I see the future of Uganda.”
I have convinced the maize vendor, the mobile money chick, the chicken roaster, all these chaps to start creating these myths around my name. Because riyaale? Why are people doing master’s degrees in engineering in Uganda? Like what the heavens is there to master here? Just follow me; ‘mujje tukole’. I am going to be multilingual, even create a Swahili version of the slogan. An equivalent like ‘tufanye’.
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