You are Classy!
I know you. You are the high-class type of citizen that does this country proud. You were born in Kololo, bred in Bugolobi and now, you stay in Bunga, Kiwatule, Buziga and Muyenga.
You went to Kabbojja Junior, Kampala Parents, Nakasero, and Buganda Road for your elementary school. You accomplished your high school from the St. Lawrence(s), Kabojja, and Ntinda View, probably after dropping out of the Gayazas, Budos, Namilyangos, and Ntares of this world.
Your name is Kristi, Trishy or Namzie but not Christine, Patricia, or Namara: or better still, Mayas, Segzy, or Kats but not Mayanja, Seguya, or Katushabe. You look like Brad Pitt, smile like Halle Berry, talk like Ramayah, and walk like Iverson; at least, that is what you say. You diagnosed yourself with sinuses, an infection that ceased the day you left boarding school.
You are allergic to eggs but find omelet a delicacy, do not eat Irish potatoes but enjoy French fries, and cannot stand cow’s meat but would not mind a fine five-figure-priced beef-sausage-roll from steers.
I saw you walking in town today with a pair of white earphones snaking from your pockets up to your ears; a confirmation that whatever was in the pockets was not a miserable FM scanner but anything ranging from an N-series to a 10GB ipod, or was it?
You were walking today because three of your dad’s Mercedes are out of the country on service, the remaining four are out on business, while your mother’s BMWs are grounded and German spares are not the easiest to come across. That is precisely what you were trying to tell that stick of a girl over at Nandos but alas, she just could not believe you. She also finds it hard to believe that you are a son to the other major general however much you try to convince her. Well, she can go and hang; after all, you are classy, aren’t you?
When you told your pals the other night that you have had three dates with the girl whose photo appeared on the full woman magazine cover the other day, they jeered, laughed, and poured scorn at you for what they considered a well-phrased lie. You do not have to quell their protests. They do not know you. If they have failed to believe such a simple thing, what about when you tell them of the day, you dumped a minister’s daughter and that you dated three of the Miss KIU contestants. I believed you when you told me.
You often get irritated when you hear people talk about jam agenda and 5 grooves. Every body seems to talk quite passionately about the duo and yet you do not know beans about what they mean. When you innocently confide your ignorance to some of them, they explode with fury, claiming you are a brat. Well, you are not to blame: not when you have dstv, Eurosat, Arabsat and God knows what other ‘sats’ exist to take care of. You just do not have time to cipher into Ugandan programming while the above-mentioned are eagerly awaiting your attention.
You belong where things happen. That is why every Sunday, you move all the way to KPC or All Saints for the special social function that was dubbed a church service. Not that this function cannot be accessed elsewhere, it is just that you appreciate it more when it has got a little bit of class attached to it and you are not to blame for that.
You did not intend to miss the Bebe Cool launch the other time. You even had enough ‘jack’ in your wallet to take a dozen friends with you. But you hardly know the guy. Apart from a few posters along the road, and a few arguments about Uganda’s finest musician that cross your ear’s path, there is nothing more that you know about him…and that applies to all Ugandan musicians. You dream of the day Ludacris, xzibit, and Missy Elliot will hold a show in town so that these Ugandans can get a chance to meet real ‘musicians’.
You do your shopping, or its ‘window’ version, at garden city, shoprite, Sylvie’s boutique or Woolworth’s. You find it extremely appalling to lay your foot on the grounds of Nakasero, Nakawa and Owino markets. Not even Mukwano arcade is good enough. That is also the sole reason as to why you cannot distinguish between sweet potatoes, yams and cassava. You last saw the trio, in pictures, while doing science in Primary 6.
And I am seeing you right now; you are clean smart in your Gucci designed outfit, with your hair freshly out of Lady Charlotte salon all dangling like a lion’s mane. You have got those Timberland boots, those shoes with strings circling up your legs to the calf. You are not chewing gum today because your favorite batook flavor was not available and the rest are, as usual, not good enough.
You are simply classy!