Sex-up your political ‘voca’ ahead of 2026
What you need to know:
We have compiled a glossary of political words that are sure to save your backside when it becomes a magnet for violence
A friend of mine was in a Nairobi slum when violence convulsed Kenya following the controversial presidential election of December 27, 2007. Two months of bloodshed left over 1,000 dead and up to 500,000 internally displaced persons. Those who were unmolested had battened down the hatches by taking as many defensive measures as was possible. In this sapirit, my friend grabbed his cat and hurled himself with it under the nearest bed. Man and cat were hunkered down, shaking in their proverbial boots, when mobilised opposition supporters showed up to abbreviate their lives to the singular digit of a couple dead. Although that sounds like he and his cat were a couple, they would only be coupled in death as a statistic.
Anyway, the rampaging anti-Kibakians assumed my buddy had voted for Mwai Kibaki, his cat being an accessory after the fact. But before they could fatally swing their machetes in his direction, my friend shouted: “I’m Ugandan!” This gave pause to the machete-wielding thugs. They looked at my buddy, mouths agape. Then, without a single word, they left his home as quickly as they had arrived. My buddy and his cat heaved a sigh of relief and a quarter, their last breaths deferred. All because they didn’t make the cut, excuse the pun, as Kibaki supporters.
Looking back on that incident, I realise that my buddy managed to stay alive like The Bee Gees because he knew what to say and when to say it. In other words, he had the words. As we prepare for next year’s general elections, we’ll need the words too. That is why we have compiled a short glossary of political words that are sure to save your backside when it becomes a magnet for the kind of violence which kicks up a storm. So, here goes nothing:
A. Bulaade (adjective): This one has to be preceded by the words “It’s going to be…” for it to make sense. It is said so that what is left unsaid is implied with chilling unspokeness. It is a health warning that should be approved by the Ministry of Health, telling you that the road you’re on is, ominously, a cul-de-sac.
B. Oyee (verbal noun): This one is so Oyee-sterday. So leave it for Katumba, not Wamala.
C. Transport refund (a travesty, really): This one has to be used only with the NRM, other parties will give you stories. Some parties, like FDC, will advise you to POA (pause) when you ask for it. But don’t pause, let them POA. This is politics, not the Stingy Men Association of Uganda (SMAU).
D. Drone (adjective): This is your expressway to The Basement.
E. The Basement (not death row, it’s death low in Runyankore): Mzee’s UPM-white shirts are not fooling anybody. NRM is on a rampage. Politics is partly the art of multiplying the letter “I”, namely by identifying, isolating and incapacitating one’s enemies. This is how The Basement comes in. Actually, I’m told, when you are in it you’re met by blinding portraits of Mzee’s capped son, not with Uganda Cranes, gazing into the distance. According to a mildewed travelogue inside The Basement, “That gaze you see is often described as fixed and distant, conveying a sense of power, authority, and a vision of the future. PLU, Oyee!”
I know, that is so Oyee-sterday. Anyway, The Basement is a certified barbershop run by a certifiable staff specialising in disappearing fierce black beards of red’s deepest dye. It reminds me of a barber shop in Nakulabuye called “Half Price Barbershop”. If you ask for a discount there, they’ll ask you to keep your hair on.
They give no quarter to discounts. Well, actually they do. And yet they don’t. Just like a dithering Mao excelled at demanding “no discount on democracy”, before getting a refund on dictatorship by joining what he still calls a dictatorship. Yellow became the new green, embodying both colours like a green treefrog. That is why the NRM is frogified against defeat, frogified being a synonym for fortified. At any rate, this is a Gololoan joking subject. Except to those who experienced arbitrary close shaves while in, mournful drums please, The Basement.
