Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Notes of a young Journalist (Two)
Sunday 5:30am clicked as I drop off Kampala Coach Bus offices at River Road. Memories of how notorious Nairobi thugs never bothered me. Courageously I moved across the road to negotiate with a taxi driver and picked the luggage to a suburb, Kasarani.

A turn off the sixth round-about, I asked the driver to go slow through erected storey residentials as I made a call to a friend.

Surely, I had all reasons to forget this hood because I am not a city born, but arguing about African cities the difference is minor – I have lived in the Uganda’s capital for more than five years in m. So I know Kampala more than Nairobi.

Anyway, he (Baix) popped a block away from where we had parked the car, “Oh! I was close,” I sighed. We hugged; it was six years since we met.

We reached the flat’s gate and dropped my luggage and cashed Kshs. 700 to the mean-looking driver who had played gospel music along the way, and kept telling me about Jesus who happened to be his savior and redeemer. I wish he knew how tired I was to remember anything substantial.

We lifted a meter wide black Japan made suitcase loaded with clothes, and later lifted a box full of books and a few shoes into Baix house.

Baix hadn’t changed. He was still slender and of light complexion. His charming talk too across the board had grown; politics to religion, academics to rugby, and women to prosperity.

After a shower I was served breakfast and dosed on the sitting room couch only to be woken up by the 9pm television news signature, but I didn’t last long my eyes open.

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Thursday, June 04, 2009
Notes of a young Journalist (One)
June last year I penned my last exams from the Mass Communication Department in Makerere University, Kampala, Uganda.

Student life with its stress was “over” though I never entertained academic fire – burning of notebooks and examination papers. I firmly understood they played well as references a foot outside college.

The hurry to get back to Kenya, my country kept slugging as days lit and dimmed off. You know Makerere with its intentionally slow bureaucracy that made clearing hard like a walk to hell and back to heaven.

Almost five years of computerization of that hill of knowledge never simplified anything, can you imagine they are proud to dish “electronic” identification cards that have a chip that is never used to even check for a financial statement, but heavily paid for. Don’t ask me the cost of one. Listen to this; I practically had to carry my old torn and wrinkled receipts from first year to third year to Bursar’s office for verification; then ran to the Faculty of Arts bursar’s office for a rubber stamp; and then walk to a mini financial office for a financial statement at the faculty, a vital piece of paper indicating all payments.

When I was in first year, my college ever mentioned “computerization will make service delivery pretty first” but now service delivery is pretty hefty. Was there any computerization and ease?

Hey! Away from “the only university in the region,” words of Prof. Peter Anyang Nyong’o.

I took a bus to Nairobi, Kenya. A place I last stepped in July 2005 for a month-long attachment at Kenya Broadcast Corporation, Business Desk. Sure, I had no proper memories of this big city apart from the pinching cold and the high speed of its inhabitants compared to Kampala.

This came after five months of hustling in Uganda’s capital – men my student life was what I did even after campus. Imagine eating Rolexes (Fried eggs sand-witched by two Chapatis) because the media firm I was working for peddled promises for salaries and I needed real challenge.

--To Be Continued--

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Friday, July 18, 2008
Makerere: Gourd of hip-hop











Makerere University is well known for its academic excellence in this continent, and often referred to as Harvard of Africa. But there is more apart from books, and I call it a “gourd of hip-hop.”

As one enters its main gate, students moving up and down most in jeans apparels catch the eye. Beside the road, the tax collectors in blue and yellow uniform rush to cars windows to get Ush. 500/= and issue receipts to motorists, excluding the ‘bodaboda’ cyclists.

A walk to the Margret Trowell School of Fine Art overwhelms eye pupils with its art pieces that dot the compound. They range from fabrics, clay work and statues. One to remember is a statue of a man on on-your-marks; he is ready to a race.

Round the university, relic and new structures make a pattern that says “old too, has purpose.”

Reaching the basketball court beside the swimming pool, though empty; the graffiti on the walls beckon to be read or photographed. One reads, Hip-hop is alive, and the other reads One on One show. Some sketches await a sunset that will force their completion.

Tuning my phone radio on, a new signal pops... “Ya are tuned to Ryde 107. Dj DMG rolling phat joint from tha Wesyde, Esyde, Black Continent and EA included...” I decided to trace for its location and ended up at Lincoln Flats, B1.

I was directed to dark complexion youth, who also has an afro, Ivan Wobusobozi, chief producer at 107 Campus FM. He takes me around the station, and He later emphasises that their frequency is flooded with urban music namely R&B and Hip-hop.

“We play R&B and Hip-hop,” He said. “Our audiences are ‘hipish’ and that is what they need and request for.”

On my exit from the radio station, I meet Renee da preach mc, a gospel hip-hop emcee in Uganda. Who goes ahead to tell me of his group’s album (Christ in da youth culture) and a solo project he is working on SAGE.

He says that since his early years in campus, hip-hop is what he has.

“Hip-hop I live, Hip-hop I know,” he said.

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