Sunday December 24 2017

Kadaga, it’s Xmas but a wig doesn’t make a lion


By Jacobs Odongo Seaman

Dear Rebecca Kadaga,
I sympathise with you because I don’t tread the bandwagon. Those social media users behaving like they are earning 13th cheque and shopping vouchers for the degree of insults they throw at you, they are just idlers who can’t tell the difference between a wig and a weave.

They don’t know the gut it takes to deliver a handwritten letter to a leopard, who has undergone stomach bypass surgery to facilitate his demands for more chicken thighs and eshabwe.

For many years, you have painstakingly sacrificed your indefatigable ethics and dedication to work as Speaker of Parliament by finding a reason to be away whenever there was a controversial debate. These radicals think that you are a coward, who only ran away and left the moustachioed Oulanyah to deal with the fetid winds let loose his way.

These radicals have no idea that your job is not as smooth as that of Gladys Tokorwe, the Speaker of the Botswana National Assembly, for instance. Where Ian Khama dances to celebrate Uncle Bob’s fall, the Leo is scheming how to let you know that a baby lizard playing with the young ones of a crocodile does not itself grow into a crocodile.

The radicals even expected you to roar like a lion just because you wear two wigs in Parliament. A wig doesn’t make a lion, but you bit the bait, eh? You tested the depth of the lake with both feet.

Why did you allow your fame to grow beyond Kamuli, for instance? Kamuli should only be known for jiggers and the lost glory of Namasagali College. But look what you did. You turned Kamuli into the place for Kadaga.

You couldn’t pick a leaf from VP Ssekandi. The other day, you even had visiting African MPs converge at some hotel in Kamuli, whose ownership the brittle radicals handed over to your name. You also started visiting shrines with camera crew in tow. Of course, these things might seem idle and left in passing like we all ignore a baby’s fart. But that is where the wishes and baby castle dreams end. Why? Because a leopard doesn’t ignore the smell of blood.

People saying you were presidential material and suggest you are next in line to replace God’s own, that was like sprinkling you with fresh blood and asking you to go and debrief the leopard. You fell for it, didn’t you?

There were these times when even opposition MPs praised you and thought you were the panacea of integrity. They rallied behind you in many ways. That, too, smelt of fresh blood to the leopard. Needless to point out, the leopard doesn’t blame those who bring it the prey. All it wants is a meal.

Oulanyah stuck to his bowtie and comical grins, you should have stuck to a wig. But your dilemma was that wigs, too, can be deceptive, especially when you have to wear two—one from a dead Brazilian or Peruvian or Filipino and the other from colonial masters. You begin to feel the camaraderie and think you are a lion. False pride. Deadly pride. You are just prey to the leopard, like the rest of us.

Suddenly, the bowtie man was removed from the Wakaliwood shooting scene called Parliament of Uganda. Your convenient trips during controversial debates disappeared and you had to be there to endure it all. You can’t write to a leopard asking it to explain its spots and expect to get away with having to breach rules of procedure like allowing a report to be debated hours into its tabling.

Your dilemma reminds me of Musene’s (he is also from Kamuli) an aunt, who said to omwenge (banana brew) drinkers under a ffene tree: “I am proud to be a virgin and will remain a virgin till I die because I want to be a good example to my children.” That was sweet ignorance. Being too clever by a half by running away from hot Bills is costly.

“Let one fool speak at a time.” That is what Odonga Otto said on the Floor, right? The silent stage director might just as well edit ‘speak’ to another word, like chair (debate).
PS: Please send our MPs for recess, we have a lot of accountability to do with them over Xmas.