The only true philosophers are the prisoners. They know what power really is
NO MORE: Naalya Estate is a representation of everything that has gone wrong with the country. Run-down houses, lack of elegance, and just another collection of things that claims to be an estate. Those of us who lived in Buru Buru estates (in our dreams) can tell you that Naalya estate is just smoking air.
The weeks are short, the days are long. You blink only to wake up to a new week. But the days, they are really long. But we start somewhere. First of all, Naalya Estate people, I just don’t understand you. What is it you are protecting about your ka-estate? The potholes? The boredom? The nostalgia for the good old days, when there was a semblance of an estate. Oba the spas, the massage parlours and the mushrooming low-budget International schools?
You see good people, I woke up to a surprise, Naalya Estate had shut itself off the rest of the world. Closed all the roads that lead out of it. Mbu, the motorists headed to Namugongo and Kyaliwajjala have been enjoying these areas as a way of cutting traffic jam. Well, some of the motorists have been over-speeding, but that’s another case. The good old estate decided to dump piles of murram at every exit route. It claims the roads are under construction. Now, one needs a ka safe corridor to access the estate.
But I should tell you, there’s really no need. There was never a need. Naalya Estate is a representation of everything that has gone wrong with the country. Run-down houses, lack of elegance, and just another collection of things that claims to be an estate. Those of us who lived in Buru Buru estates (in our dreams) can tell you that Naalya estate is just smoking air. We won’t miss it. It will miss us. You see, they could just have charged a toll fee, and used the collections to repair the roads. Innovate around moments, don’t hide heads in sand.
Anyway, speaking of safe corridors. I got a chance to relive some of my Nursery days. I always tell people I went to Makerere in nursery school. Yes, to Sunshine Kindergarten Makerere. If you attended nursery school at Sunshine, that’s all you needed in life. It was meant to produce kids ready to live a great life in Paris. But then Kampala happened people. I was trained for Paris; I am here fitting within Kampala frequencies.
I relieved my journey around this area, from there, I passed through Kisekka market. Times have changed. The clever boys are still present, but life has transformed them. The famous anti-riot trucks were stationed on the streets. I then ended up on some plaza along Entebbe road. And then it hit me that capitalism is real. Because nothing is free in Kampala. You want to cough; you pay for that.
The friend at this plaza told me I needed like Shs300 to release water. Just water. Wueh! But well, the lavatories were well-maintained. The lady in charge was happy. I was so rich; I even funded my friend’s water release. Imagine. Capitalism is sweet when you can respond in its language. I guess this is why the corrupt just can’t stop. They can see all the possibilities that open up the more they accumulate. All the people that laugh at your jokes, all the people that bring you business ideas, all the people that worship at one’s feet.
From this Entebbe Plaza, I slid to the famous Nabukeera plaza. In Kampala, every plaza or mall, has a specific focus. For example, Pentagon in downtown is for ladies’ shoes. Nabukeera plaza is mainly for clothing. Then you go to Chains of Liberty and you will find men’s shoes. But the arcades were empty, unlike those past days. Imagine people were scouting to have me as a client. It’s so serious the kibba ba customer wave. You know there’s kibba basajja in Kampala, but Kibba ba customer is also on. Long story short, I got my awesome restocking. For a man that balances his wardrobe with both worlds up and downtown, I was happy. Downtown hadn’t disappointed. But well, again, capitalism has brought us fast fashion. Nothing lasts. Every 3 months, you should be back to the game.
Then the news came, that our #March2Parliament people were getting bail. Then it really hit me as Foucault noted that prison is when power gets manifested in full reality. Like with prison, power is not hiding, it’s in your face. It’s amplified, you feel all its volts. The only true philosophers are the prisoners. They know what power really is.
And speaking of power, how do you describe it in the structure of the Ugandan maid? Or the waitress? Like when the waitress comes to serve you, you already expect her to be subservient, to speak in a toned-down mode, to take all your fake requests and pronunciations of meals. Isn’t this power? Same with a girl that can’t take her lover home simply because he’s from the ‘wrong’ tribe. Aren’t the parents exercising power? What am I saying people? That the struggle is on many diffused fronts. And oppression is hidden. We’ve all at some point played the role of oppressor. Like is it not oppression when most of you have not listened to Apass’ album?
Anyway, in this week’s reading, mbu if you are so strong mentally, go read Spivak’s ‘can the subaltern speak?’ Most of you will come back to ask for a safe corridor. Wama Natif, me I need one. As long as it leads to some sugar candy mountain where capitalism is trampled upon.
Twitter: ortegatalks
