However credible it sounds, a lie is still a lie

Author Maya Angelou often reminded her friends to believe people when they show who they truly are. We have a tendency to want our partners to possess certain qualities even when it is clear they were not gifted that way.  This, I believe is called projecting in psychology. You meet a man and you immediately want him to be everything you have always dreamt about.

You tell yourself he is intelligent, charismatic and generous, although the most intelligent thing he does is repeat a headline he read in a newspaper. Unfortunately, the reality is he will never be the person you want him to be no matter what you do. At worst, if you continue pushing him in the direction you dream for him, he will begin to feel harassed and resent you.

We all have qualities we believe our partners had, even if they truly do not possess such qualities. I imagine this is what happened to singer David Lutalo as captured in his popular song Mubbi Bubbi. In this tale of woe, the singer recounts how he met this girl wandering around the neighbourhood, took her home and let her run his life. First of all, does Lutalo understand the danger he put himself into? Has he learnt nothing from Nollywood films? 

This woman could have been a demon sent out to look for souls and he foolishly delivered his to her on a silver platter. She could have been a murderer who hurriedly escaped from those seeking revenge against her, which would explain why all her worldly possessions fit in a kaveera. Thinking of all the scenarios this could have gone wrong, one is almost relieved that all she did was pack up the household items and leave.

 Nevertheless, we are human and our nature dictates and we simply follow. We all have that weakness; a trap we walk ourselves into and are only lucky to survive. My personal weakness is the French language. Tell me any lies in French and I will follow you to the Sahara Desert on foot. 

My first encounter with the French language was through our blind history teacher who always insisted we start every lesson with bonjour papa, Comme-cava, cava bi en papa. At that point we did not even know what this meant.

Then came the devilishly handsome Rwandese refuge teacher whom the girls gave the nickname ‘ponga’ on account of his swag.  We would hang onto every little word he chose to drop out of his mouth once in a while.

My flirtation with French became a lifelong obsession when I watched Riviera, a soap that aired on UTV back in the 90s.  With youthful ambition, I decided I had to learn French as the first course in my plan of migrating to the French Riviera and live a life of ease and glamour.

I promptly joined Alliance Françoise then at the National Theatre and ‘mastered’ the French language although my dream of leaving on the French Riviera has not yet come to pass. But you never know.

In fact, I realised my obsession with all things French was still alive when recently, in a commuter taxi on my way to Bunamwaya, I found myself seated next to a Congolese national. Unlike many of the passengers I have shared a seat with, this one was polite. He was also well groomed and his outfit made our style icon Peter Sematimba, seem unkempt. His coal black hair and orange skin could have been what Lucky Dube was referring to when he composed Different Colours One People, although in this case it was just different colours one person. I felt completely mortified when I caught a reflection of myself on his forehead because next to him, I looked dowdy and messy. I promptly vowed to start taking better care of myself.

In my effort to befriend him, I tried to start a conversation in Luganda but he just gave me this blank look.  Not one to give up easily, I tried English and he managed to come up with a few words to explain that he only speaks French. I shamelessly jumped at the opportunity to brush up on my lessons, starting with Je suis, ill habite, lll travaille and delved into Esc e que ce travail. And that was the entirety of my French diction as I tried to think of more nouns, pronouns and adjectives; both masculine and feminine.

I do not need to mention that the conversation quickly dried up just when Jean or Ja as he pronounces his name was beginning to warm up to me. But Ja was not a fool, he spotted a chance to sell his wares and took it.

He pulled out a small briefcase crammed with rings and necklaces, which he insisted are all 100 percent gold. Well, I know that gold grows on trees in DRC but I also know that a solid gold ring should cost more than Shs10,000.

Seeing that I had let many opportunities pass me by, including learning French and migrating to the French Riviera, I decided to change that by buying myself a 10-carat gold necklace at only Shs5,000. To my surprise, by the time I got home, my 10-carat gold necklace was completely stainless steel.

As I sat there looking at the necklace foolishly willing it to become gold again, I heard Maya Angelou’s voice, “believe people when they show you who they are.”