Another Mr. Big joint: BOYFRIENDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS.

You prolly all know Cinderella Sanyu aka Cindy’s story by now. Formerly of the band BLU3, she got kicked out, embarked on a solo career- exposing herself in the nude along the way.

There was an article about her in Monday’s Monitor. For those who didn’t see it, it’s here. This blog post is mainly focused on this part of the article. 

 

“And will her mentor Steve Jean be part of the producers?
“Me and Steve do talk, he is my mentor don’t forget. He is also one of the best producers I know, but he still refuses to work on the album, it really puzzles me,” says the singer. But her boyfriend Mario figures he knows the reason. He says Steve Jean doesn’t want to work with Cindy, “because of me. I don’t mind if you print it, but he is jealous of us.” Mario, who also says his girlfriend is not a good cook, claims Steve is “so full of himself.”” 

What could have possessed Mario to burn bridges on his girlfriend’s behalf?

Steve Jean is jealous of them? Whoa!!! Take ya foot off the gas pedal and slow ya roll, Mario. I have to confess that I know jack about this Mario, but Steve Jean is a friend of mine, however, I am going to be very objective nonetheless. 

One thing is for sure; Steve Jean was very pissed by that article. 

It shouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Steve Jean refuses to work on Cindy’s album- She is the competition.

While she is working on her album, Steve Jean is also working on a new Blu3 for which he has also employed the production talents of Charlie King Todwong, Aydee of Ngoni, and a female British producer. So common sense dictates that he can’t work a Blu3 rival’s album at the same time he is working on a Blu3 album.

There is a misconception that Steve Jean gave up Blu3 manager duties to Aly Alibahi of Rouge Nightclub. The fact is that he only surrendered duties like booking hotel rooms and running around airports and shopping for costumes and props. He is still their creative decisionmaker. 

Why would Steve Jean be jealous of Mario and Cindy? 

For starters, even despite what transpired, Cindy was always Steve Jean’s Blu3 girl, a fact she alludes to in the above quote

Now, it should be noted that Mario, Cindy’s Italian boyfriend is a hairstylist. Outside Africa, hairstylists earn a shitload of money. (Sarah Palin’s stylist is the highest paid person on McCain’s campaign staff) That not withstanding, I am willing to bet my left nut that Mario doesn’t have more money than Steve Jean. So it can’t be that Steve is jealous because Mario has more money. 

They are in different professions, so it can’t be that Steve Jean is jealous of Mario’s success. 

The only thing these two parties have in common is music, with Mario being Cindy’s boyfriend cum manager, and Steve Jean producing the rival Blu3. At this point, while she has the talent and potential, Cindy is yet to eclipse Blu3, so it can’t also be that Steve Jean is jealous of Cindy’s success. 

Uganda’s infant music industry is dependent on a handful of hitmakers, of which Steve Jean is a godfather and as such carries a lot of clout. And he can have hitmakers like Aydee, a good friend of his, and Henry Kiwuwa, his kid brother, blacklist Cindy. 

Currently she is mainly working with producer Washington, a man who is responsible for lots of hits. However, for all his fabulousness, Washington hasn’t had lots of success with other artistes besides Bebe Cool, Necessary Noise and Firebase crew. So with 3 of the top hitmakers a no go for Cindy, she has limited options. 

Mario is not like say Jermaine Dupri, Janet Jackson’s boyfriend. JD can diss music producers knowing that he can go to the studio and craft hits for his girlfriend himself. In Mario’s case, all he can do is style Cindy’s hair. It’s ok for him to tell the whole world that his girlfriend is a shitty cook, but by talking reckless about her mentor, Mario doesn’t seem to have Cindy’s best interests at heart.

 

NOTE TO EDDSLA: Quote, “kati chanel, y don’t i err come thru if antipop ain’t coming?“. -Eddsla, Chanel is taken so please show some fucking respect and quit with that shit.

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One of us is a year older and a Blondie

Gwanga Gwanga mugye. I wanna take this moment to inform the blogger academy that it is

wait for it

Waiiiit

Wait

Drum Roll

Gwanga Mugye

issssss ANTIPOP’s Birthday today. So HAPPY BIRTHDAY Auntie Pop (Thanks B2B) Antichild (Well don’t thank me) Anti Pussy (I found that at Erique’s coined by the birthday monkey herself)

There goes that sweet smile.

But anyways Happy Baside.

PS: I have been BEGGING Antipop to come visit me at the lovely Imperial Resort Beach Hotel for a girls thing. You know we talk about her lousy past, her losers, paint our nails, find another word to use on you guys away from loser. Maybe Idiot. Maybe Pompus Buffon. I have booked a hotel room for tonight (Ok I am not paying for it but its still my room) Anyway I ask her better half to give me just two days of their 365 days and nights. This is his response.

“TWO DAYS? WHAT ARE YOU CRAZY? THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND WE ARE TALKING ABOUT NO WAY….”

Now please someone help me and tell her I TRIED and ama have this cake by myself. The better person won here so riyale.

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BUCKET LIST: Things I must do before I kick the bucket.

I be here thinking imagine I died today what would I have missed away from that intarackto crap. Introducing Chanel’s Bucket List

• Join a church choir. I am tired of looking at those women all dressed and looking like angles. I wanna make the line up. Yeah, yeah, I am a muslim, but whatevs!!!

• Do the catwalk just once. TOP MODEL I am coming.

• I must and I repeat I must take dance class. I gotta krump, Pop n lock in style shake it like those video vixens.

• Try my hand at singing in front of judges. Can you say IDOLS?

• Make it to US of A and see what the fuss this Uncle Sam and his big dreams is. A McLaren F1
better be following me when I get off that plane otherwise. I’ll sue whoever coined that “Land of Big Dreams” adage

• Drive a mustang. I just heard that in that movie-well-Bucket List.

• Dethrone Superhead

• Dethrone Superhead

• Dethrone Superhead (I think they heard you the
first time)

• Race the guys to Mbarara (Omuto gyamanyi enkuba gyetonya)

• Become Mrs. Bigg. And he better have 50 friesians or else. Nalongo invested her last nickel, so I don’t come cheap. And spare me the “But Chanel you are not property on sale”, This is Africa fool. I was born into all things cultural and moms worked her ass off to get me where you found me, educated, well fed and a gold mine. Eat that.

• Have Dylan and Chanel Bigg and make him clean their shit while I have my beauty sleep. Riyalle! I do nine months, push the little brats and then break my back all night? Will they have my surname?

• Think up an advert and make sure ya’ll fall in love with it. Ugandan ads suck, well apart from that one that goes (Olikubukazende obusatu bwolokesa). Bukazende in this case being Obukadde. I know you didn’t laugh

• Ménage à trios. Hahaha I could kill for a snapshot of your expression right now. Carlo just kidding.

• Anyway seriously, take it to Serena balcony. Those security cameras better be off

• Cook up the guts to quit a job. Mum how
the hell did you do that? Damn!

• Swallow. Beer silly.  Get your pregnant imagination out of the gutter. That’s what they call it in his world, swallow. Here is how you phrase that Tumwi “Lets go catch a swallow”

• Visit the bush. I hear the thrill is for world cup. Those snakes better find another tree to hang on when I drag Mr down there. Oh yeah… that’s part of the adrenaline rush. Hehe.

• Put mums on a plane to wherever. I don’t care as long as it’s a plane out of here.

• I better have a pool in my backyard dude

• Wake up at whatever time I wish and go pay people. Ain’t that everyone’s wish?  well I can’t be left out.

• Make Godmother. Carlo I can also crack a good whip. Your kids will come back from mine all mannered and eat all their veggies and sleep on the dot. Not to mention read psalms 23 off the top of their heads.

P.S: Ya’ll stop eying eying me like that. I hear I didn’t wanna get a PhD, read 1000 books, and fall in love with Jazz. PhD for what? I am not emancipated enough as yet I don’t want to be more educated than him. I am still an illiterate African woman who listens to sengas.

I don’t understand nanya about Jazz and its people. When Tumwi writes about whatsthosedeadjazzfellows? its sounds like she is talking about a species of algae. Then again sometimes it all rhymes with Medulla Oblongata for me.

Books? I am reading five books at a gone: Not Without my Sister, My Personal History, What is the What, The State of Africa and Whats the other one?. Been doing so since the start of the year. So take your intellectual lecture to the next interested fala. Journalism is already stressing enough I need some fun.

Now how do I tag Antipop, Petesmumz, B2B, Cheri, Ivan, Baz, Dee, Carlo, 31337, Sunshine (wade waduka), Mrs Basix, SoloK, Eddsla, DeTbs, and of course that loser Danny Crane. Mr Biggs Bucket follows

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Another Mr. Big joint: DO YOU ALSO HAVE DIFFERENT SETS OF FRIENDS?

Does this happen to any of you, having a couple of friends who don’t know each other?

Well I have three girl friends who don’t know each other and they happen to all be preggers. 

 

Which somehow makes me wonder if they got preggers by committee. It’s like they all met one evening at a bar, pulled out their biological clocks and synched them and said, “Tonight is the night, now let’s go do this.” 

 

Anyhow, to me, this means that I have three baby shower gift registries to take care of. Ouch!! That’s quite a bit of money. Unless I decide to be cheap and buy them cheap gifts each. 

 

So I was talking to Chanel about this and she told me that she heard about two sisters who had baby girls on the same day. I just cracked up on hearing that. Call me silly and perverted but one thing popped up in my head- Threesome. I couldn’t help thinking that those sisters were involved in a threesome hence conceiving at the same time. 

 

Anyways, like my checkbook is not taking a hit by buying 3 baby shower gifts, I have 3 other friends who also don’t know each other, who are about to get married. Meaning three wedding contributions. 

 

I was telling my Kenyan friend Dennis about all these unavoidable expenses I have to make and he said to me, “ You and me used to hustle and worry about money and bills together, till I married a rich woman. On the flipside, you are still free to do anything you want without worrying how it will affect the other person.”

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Who am I?

I wrote this on Sunday at 1a.m

I have just walked into my house from Tororo been attending a Kwanjula. I opened my blog and saw the comments on my previous post. For the first time for the three days I am crying. Crying so bad in my pillow for those people. I never did get to do that on site. Didn’t even think about it. It never crossed my heart that these people had actually died in the most horrid way. All I was thinking of at the time was to get the story. When I got back to work and tried to show my bosses the photos they shooed me off that I shouldn’t bother them, spoil their day is it? They couldn’t look at the photos. But I was going through each and every one of them like I was looking at my family album.

All of your comments have got me wondering what have I turned into. Why can’t I have feelings anymore like you guys? Why can’t I see photos like these and feel like hell? Why do I see these things with my own eyes and just act like it’s the most normal thing? Yet when I read your comments you guys were doing what a normal person should be doing, what I should be doing. What I should have done that tuesday afternoon at that construction site.

I had a debate with myself whether I should post those photos and then someone told me to share. She wanted to see. I just wanted to show those who could get to my blog what actually happens at accidents like these. Accidents that could have been avoided if the Jamwa’s sitting in their airconditioned offices made sure their engineers had everything checked and rechecked. What the media shows you is half the impact most of these accidents cause. Media houses have an in-house policy of not printing dead bodies in their newspapers. Because if they had put some of the photos of Bwebajja collapse or the Naalya school this would not have come as a surprise to many of you. Probably like it isnt to me anymore.

I have photos of three men shot in the head during the Mabira Forest demonstration. I also have photos of that Indian who was stoned to death during the same demostration. If you see those and how people were stoning him, I will bet you a million dollars you would bury the last ounce of racism you have in you. You should have seen that Indian trying to run away begging for mercy, but the mob caught up with him. His crime? Another Indian had knocked a Ugandan down so he was paying for his ‘brother’s’ mistakes. I still didn’t cry then neither could I make a mistake of stopping an angry mob carrying stones, clubs, metalic poles and rage. Four dead people and a dozen injured Chanel was back at office dishing out the 411 without as much a tear for the dead.

But I guess I could only pretend for a while or whatever it is that happens when I am covering such things.
When the kids dormitory at Budo Junior was burnt I was on site that Tuesday morning. There was an aura of death hovering in the surrounding. But there was no time to think horrid smell when it was of some babies. Neither did I find time to let it sink in and cry. I was thinking work. I walked into the dormitory with police. Saw a little girls frame on one of the beds. A hand on another bed. A black body on another. A leg somewhere in the corner. All the while my pen was doing the talking. I can never forget that man every time he said “This is also a piece, this is a bone. That is a leg. Dont miss that head” Those words keep ringing in my head to this day. I will spare you the pain wont publish those photos if you want them drop me an email they will be in your inbox.

But anywho that day I went back to office did the story and went home had a good night sleep. Had a normal Wednesday then had a zombie Thursday. I broke, lost it, got fed up, stressed, depressed, didn’t care any bit for anyone even myself. I was tired. I would wake up and walk to no where. I would cry over nothing. I would bitch to her then later to him. They suggested all possible things including prayer but they didn’t work. My bosses didn’t understand and they just wanted results not zombies.

I found a reason to cry even when my hair wasn’t doing what I wanted it to do. She suggested that I join blogging and I did, if you recall some of my first posts were so bitter. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was sick and tired of  people not understanding. I was sick and tired of bugging her with the same thing “I don’t know whats wrong with me”

I read blogs all day everyday at work and did nothing meaningful. But the blogs at least kept me company during the day. So I read and read went back to all your old posts. And had terrible dreams keeping me company at night.

Then somewhere I met Mr Bigg and Lord help my big mouth I opened up to him the minute he said he could listen. Dejavu huh? He took my shit when we was just chat buddies. I ranted to him every day. Ranted about the same thing told the same story with exact the same words. He listened. Everyday he was there to take it. I bet I sounded like a broken record every other time but he never tired of hearing it. I don’t know when, but I woke up one morning and realised that a week had past and I was not a zombie anymore. All I know is that Mr Bigg played a very big part in it. Now surely a girl would be a fool to throw away the last page of this happy ever after chapter. I may be a zombie but I am no fool. Fuck it that ninja is gr8t.

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Another Mr. Big joint: DID U KNOW MIRIAM MAKEBA IS GANGSTA?

A couple of weeks ago I was having a conversation with Chanel, I don’t exactly remember how we got to it, but along the way, she suggested that I start blogging here, and since I am so whipped by her fabulousness, I agreed without thinking twice. I figured I would throw in a word of wisdom every once in a while at my convenience. I was wrong. Because ever since then, all I hear from her is “you blog”, “you are supposed to blog today”, “I don’t see ya new blog post”.

Chanel, honeybun, I love you to death and I would walk barefooted on red-hot coal just to reach you, but I am gonna have to insist that I will only blog when I am inspired to. I can’t blog too often. I don’t have it in me. If I were such a prolific blogger, I would have a personal blog. But I am not, and that’s the reason I crash blog here.

 

Ok, that is out of the way.

 

The talk of town is the recent Warid Jazz festival, but very few know the events that preceded said festival. Here, presenting the phone call that set the festival ball rolling.

 

It’s a call between the Warid Marketing Lady (WML) and Miriam Makeba (MM).

 

MM: Miriam Makeba here, how can I help you?

 

WML: I am the head of Marketing Warid Telecom Uganda.

 

MM: Ok, uhmmmmm. Where did you get my number?

 

WML: I got it from your homie Erik Van Veen of MTN Uganda.

 

MM: Those MTN bastards. They gave all their money to UB40 and didn’t break me off some. Where is their patriotism?

 

WML: One wonders. Anyhow, the reason I am calling is, I was wondering if we threw you a shitload of money, would you be interested in performing at a Jazz festival we are organizing?

 

MM: I am sorry for what I am about to say, I don’t mean to be rude, but you motherfuckers don’t know jazz from South African kadongo kamu. But guess what? Fuck it. I am in. I will take a shitload of money any day. I don’t care if it’s a jazz, hip-hop, or bongo flava festival. Just show me the money and I will show up.

 

WML: I am so glad you have accepted to come for the festival. Uhmm. I am sure I heard you say mother…uhmmmm. that word, but I am not sure if you said fuck it or fact.

 

MM: Hehehe-larious! I know you are wondering, “Did I just hear Miriam Makeba cussing?” Well, I guess you have heard about that movie Sarafina. During the making of that movie, I became good friends with my costar, Whoopi Goldberg, and bitch cusses like a sailor, so, it wore off on me.

 

WML: Wow. Who knew? Once again I am so glad you are coming for our festival.

 

MM: The way I see it is, in this world, you have to live for only two things- getting laid and getting paid. It would be so nice if you could do both at the same time. The problem is you can’t have it both ways. You can’t get laid and get paid at the same time unless you are a whore. Since I am too old to get laid, all that is left for me is to get paid. Right?

 

WML: Right.

 

MM: Ok, that wasn’t a question. You didn’t have to answer.

 

WML: Well, I am sorry madam.

 

MM: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, I have Queen Latifah on the other line, I need to go so let’s cut the bullshit. Where’s my money?

 

WML: I will have our legal department draft a contract and soon as you sign and fax it back, we will wire your money to your account.

MM: Sweeeeeeet!!! One more thing, I want a first class ticket and don’t bring a little girl with a bouquet of flowers to the airport to receive me. I am not down for that shit. It jacks up my street cred. And if you happen to see Van Veen, tell Lil homie I am still mad about that UB40 money. They should have given me some. I am gonna go now. Later alligator.

 

 

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RAMBLINGS

First things first bloggers especially the ladies watch out for rapists muggers thieves and con artists. I didn’t think it was so bad until I saw this lady who was chopped across the face.

And now its common practice to rob you of your life’s possessions in broad day light. In two days my two neighbors have been robbed. Everyday I get home with my heart beating. I feel like I am living in Lagos, Nairobi or Jburg. You can buy all the strongest locks in the world they will still break into your house. Apparently all I can do is pray for divine intervention that they dont pick on my house. Other than that I play by the crook’s rules

Anyho why are Ugandans so insufficient? You pay for one month internet service they keep reminding you everyday to recharge your account. Then in the middle of the month they cut off your connection and you go through the hustle calling their customer care and you get a guy saying.

“Ze network madamu is kiliya. geti yowa kasingi and go to the customer care in Kireka. You geti wati’am seyingi?”

2:Baz why are journalists so cheap sometimes? Please don’t say nothing about he who pays the piper. And I know your not their keeper. But then again you are. Anywho I was listening to CBS FM the other day and in their news headlines they had a story going Buganda Gets Slashing Machine. Yes she said Slashing Machine not lawnmower.

Boy this machine must do magic what with the prominence it’s being accorded on national radio. Probably it comes with a restaurant and massage parlor that while you are mowing the lawn it feels like you are in Hawaii.

But the lady with a Hot 100 FM accent said it’s a modern technology slashing machine and the Buganda Minister of Tourism Margaret Kiyingi was over the moon for Buganda getting such a state of the art donation from (Surely I cannot advertise for this joker).

So please tell me what has this Lawnmower got to do with the rotting economy of our country? Will it mend bridges between Mengo and Central Government? I just don’t get why anyone can donate of all things a lawnmower. How about kids in Lusaka lwamese who need an education? Apparently school there costs as little as Shs 10.000 but they stay at home nursing jiggers?

Couldn’t they write the dude a thank you note or have the kabaka shake his hand. Do we have to sound gullible?

3: I was told this is an important question in a man’s world. WHICH SIDE DO YOU WEAR? So Savage, B2B, SoloK, Ivason, and of course Eddsla which side do you wear?

English quote of the day, “A lie can make it halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to put its boots on” Martin King.

Luganda quote of the day: “Akivamu yakiyita ekyato”

This saying reminds me of this post.

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AND ANOTHER ONE- Another Mr. Big joint.

Hey what’s up happy people? It’s me, Mr. Big, again. Last time we left off with me introducing myself and I noticed a bit of hateration going on in the comments section.

Don’t hate. Please relate.

 

Anyhow, when I signed up blog here, I guess the lovely Chanel and I imagined that the two of us together were gonna be a blogging force of nature and would pretty much blog every damn day. Well turns out it isn’t as easy as it seems. We had underestimated this blogging tour de force.

 

Anyhow, between the last time I blogged and now, I spend sometime at the house of my buddy Iqram’s expatriate girl friend’s house in Rubaga. The good German excelled at irritating me. See she has this manic desire to keep her sinks dry. Each time you use her sinks, you have to wipe them dry with a paper towel. Fuck me if I am wrong, but aren’t sinks meant to be wet? If they wanted them to be kept dry all the time, they wouldn’t have called them sinks. They would have called them closets or something else that’s supposed to never come into contact with water. Anyhow, I have come to this conclusion that that is one house I am never going back to. Well, that’s just me. I am way too irritable. Guilty!

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