The Fellowship of the Porn


August 2017

As usual, August was yet another month for our beloved leaders to crack our ribs and fill our eyes with tears of laughter, tears of sorrow, and tears of disgust. Their comical talent is second to none that it has been suggested that the lot of them are the real “U-turn ” or “Comedy central”. Here are our newest entries into our encyclopaedia.

Baptism date / ‘bæptizm deit(BRE)/ babûtizm det’ (Uglish) noun an alternative date of birth.

Origin: This alternative date of birth was popularised by His Excellency the president in a bid to stay below the maximum age limit so as to stand for presidency. In effect, he nearly cut his age in half!

Example: “Don’t dare call me old! I might have been born in 1963 but by baptism I’m just a 25 year old!”

Synonyms: Date of birth

BOUPens (UGA) noun a unique set of pens that have been rumoured to have supernatural powers.

Origin: The pens caught the nation’s attention when reports aired that 125million shillings were spent on the purchase of pens. Many countrymen argued that one cannot simply splash such money on ordinary pens and hence there must be something special about them. The pens have been believed to be the ones God uses to write names in the book of life. It is also speculated that when Jesus scribbled on the ground during an imminent stoning, he used a BOUPen. Some have gone on to speculate that the independence agreement in 1962 was signed with a BOUPen.

Example: “Son, tell Angel Gabriel to pass me that BOUpen, Jim just accepted you into his heart. I need to write this with eternal ink.”

Synonyms: magical pen, pen in the hand of God

Porn Machine /po:n ‘machine/ (UGA) noun Contrary to what you may initially think, this is a machine for stopping pornography, not producing it.

Porn Committee /po:n khomi:ti/ (UGA) noun a bunch of dedicated Ugandan legislators hell bent on demolishing pornography, not producing it, as the name may misleadingly imply.

Origin: After pornography was identified as the root to all Uganda’s problems, including corruption and poverty (apparently people just can’t get enough porn hence driving themselves to bankruptcy and public coffers to purchase it), the no-nonsense Father Lokodo brought together a hero squad of sorts or “Fellowship of the Porn” to curb the vice. A porn machine was purchased which will detect pornography inside people’s phones and hence arrest culprits. This machine is said to detect even deleted files.

Example: “Do not browse that crappy website using my phone or the Fellowship of the Porn will come for me!”

Synonyms: Fellowship of the Porn, the porn avengers, the porn squad

To be blinded by the colour yellow. /Idm/ (UGA) To lose your perspective and honesty because of the influence of money.

Origin: This idiom was coined by a clever Ugandan who was tired of Miss Betty Kamya’s verbal diarrhoea. (See Sillypedia for July). He claimed that the once beloved lady was blinded by the colour yellow and he wished she would just go back to her party so that she would star talking sense again. It is also believed to be the same ailment that the priest who confirmed the President’s baptism date suffered.

Example: “Nansikombi used to love me but ever since that tycoon came around, she got blinded by the colour yellow”


Explain the extinction of the editor species and the subsequent ‘reign of error’

JULY 2017

Welcome to this month’s edition of Sillypedia , your satirical encyclopedia of alternative knowledge.

The English language is ever evolving and the many countries and peoples that use it as an official language each leave a lasting imprint. Here at Sillypedia, we track down all the ingenious contributions  from our Banana Republic.

July was intruiging and was not short of drama. Here are our newest entries into the encyclopedia.

Barbie /ba:bi/ noun (UGA) (not to be confused with the American Barbie™ doll) 1 a lady who builds up and spurs her spouse or those around her to do great things, to achieve more. 2 a strong woman who is able to inspire and lead other to  achieve great feats otherwise deemed impossible.

Origin: originated from the renown Barbie Itungo, wife to beloved local musician, Robert Kyagulanyi aka Bobi Wine. It is widely believed that she is the fire in his heart that causes him to better himself daily, eventually leading him into parliament.

Example:  “Nalumansi is such a barbie. If it wasn’t for her, Paul would be a nobody.” “Michelle Obama is Barrack’s barbie”

Synonyms: strong woman, virteuos woman, lady

Bobi /bo:bi/ noun (UGA) (not to be confused with the hairstyle “bobby”) a person, most usually an underdog, who surpasses great challenges in life to become an inspiration.

Origin:  Local musician Bobi Wine who rose out of the ghetto and became a mouthpiece for slum dwellers before he shocked all and was elected a member of parliament.

Example: “John is bigger but Mugisha is a bobi, he knows how to knock in a few teeth. He will win the fight.”

Synonyms: strong, resilient

Editor /’edIteur/ (BRE)   /editah/ (UGA) noun an archaic and long forgotten creature in Ugandan print media that used to be pivotal in ensuring that mistakes were minimised, like misspellings and  in grammar.​
Edit /’edIt/ (BRE)  /edit’/(UGA)  verb an ancient and forgotten art or job description in Ugandan print media where a writing was thoroughly checked and revised to ensure quality print material.

Skeptism started to arise, after the “reign of error” week, in which publishing houses spat out typo after typo with determined succecion, including the First Lady on her social media! Investigation soon revealed that the Editor was an extinct species and all those on the payrolls were imposters.

Example: “Explain the causes of the extinction of the editor species and the subsequent ‘reign of error’.”

Kamyalisis /kAm’yia:lisis/ (UGA) noun a new strain of verbal diarrhoea (SEE ver.bal diar.rhoea) that shrinks brain cells and causes one to utter complete and utter nonsense one would never have uttered in their normal state of mind. Scientists (that is, political scientists ie those who study political science) have long discovered that this dangerous strain is spread by a bacteria called “presidential handshake” (also see

Origin: kamyalisis came to the public’s attention when minister for Kampala, Miss Beti Kamya vomitted vile and disgusting statements while on national TV that had everyone’s stomach turning and faces grimacing. She claimed that H.E Yoweri Kaguta Museveni was a godsend who should rule for ever. Aforementioned scientists quickly lurched on the case and discovered the cause.

Synonyms: idiocy, lumpen-ness,

Thank you for stopping by. Here at Sillypedia, we promise to keep u posted on all the new lingo as generously contributed by our ever willing politicians.


It’s time for the homegrown arts to come of age

Recently, in a taxi as I made my way to town, I got a light bulb moment (I can finally cross that off my bucket list!). No, I did not discover a new and improved design blueprint of Thomas Edison’s light bulb but I did discover something similarly intriguing. As the driver snaked down the tricky streets of Kampala as though he suddenly thought he was riding a boda-boda, something stuck out to me so glaringly, something I should have seen before but had never been aware of; the Apartheid-like design of our city! In my defense, I have always been poor at Geography in class. 

Simon Kaheru once published an article on his blog talking about this design in detail and how it had shaped the way Ugandans look at themselves. The colonialists shielded themselves in the high end areas of Kampala like Muyenga and Kololo, away from the natives who got pushed into slums like Kamwokya and then used the Asians as a buffer, a wall to keep the blacks in their lane of poverty and desperation. They even used British names for the streets to drive the point home that Native Ugandans were not welcome there. Think Apartheid. Though not as brutal as in South Africa but it was subliminal, and equally effective because you live with it all your life and then you pass it on to your children. This design was so successful that through the years, we have accepted that we are second rate. This mindset has been so much ingrained in us that we still build houses with boy’s quarters which were used by the colonialists to shelve our forefathers away for the night,we still brag about our fantastic grasp of foreign languages and ignore our pitiful command of our mother tongues, we have even still failed to support any of our Ugandan made products, except maybe the Uganda Cranes.

And So?

You may be wondering what I’m blubbering on about. What does Apertheid have to do with storytelling? Well, Simon’s article sparked a debate between me and some of my friends and we agreed that Ugandans had failed to define themselves apart from their colonial masters which is why the only yardstick we have is imitating them. Nobody has ever told us that dreams and romance blossom at Lake Bunyonyi resort in Kabale so we seek them in Paris. Few know about the Nyero rock paintings in Soroti so the only art heritage we know is the renaissance artists. 

Who knew that we had been had in our own city, yet we jubilate at having survived Apartheid. We do not know where we have been, so we cannot map where to go. We do not know what we have, so we cannot decide on what to throw out. So the question is how can we curb this deficiency? How can we redifine and find ourselves again? How can we break the physical and mental barriers that we have known and grown accustomed to for ages? 


The approaches to finding these solutions are as numerous as the children God promised Abraham but the one medium I’m passionate about is storytelling; the arts! Our forefathers used it for ages to instill value and pride in themselves and their offspring, to instill discpline, joy, hope, valour! Remember your grandfather’s stories by the fireplace? Beautiful, right?

 In those days when loadshedding was a plague, my dad took those opportunities to tell us stories by torchlight. He was gifted. I always used to marvel at how well traveled he was to meet Ogres and kings of old! From those stories I learnt respect, heritage, common sense, imagination and why it’s not wise to eat dog meat! (Story for another day). This influence he had on us growing up is the same influence storytellers have over the nation. It’s the untapped potential they possess. Storytellers (by storytellers I mean anyone using any form of artistic expression to tell a story) have defined cultures since time immemorial, the likes of Michelangelo, Picasso,  Charles Dickens, Jane Austin, J.K.Rowling, Mozart, Chinua Achebe, and many more. Artists, poets, writers, musicians all had a role to play, all have a role to play in sculpting modern culture. It’s time for the storytellers in Uganda to stand up and be counted, to be relevant, it’s time for the arts to come of age, to start a revolution of a strong and defined Ugandan people. This is not an ode to writers or artists, rather it’s a call to all Ugandans to take responsibility for their story and it’s wellbeing.

 “Support the homegrown arts.” This well worn saying has never been truer. It’s like the one your mother used to sing so much in your childhood, “Eat your greens!”, overused but still vital. And if you thought literature was a waste of your precious time and money, it’s time for you to think again. “The West” has used it as an empowering tool since time immemorial, to open their minds and break limitations. Literature is a strong vehicle that drives home ideas and virtue with amazing horsepower. It helps a writer compose and organise his/her thoughts and sparks debate, and a thinking debating society is a growing one. An audacious person once said, “if you want to hide something from an African, put it in a book.” And we decided to prove him right. 

The homegrown creatives too would have to be more in tune with their people, jump off the many copycat bandwagons they subscribe to and define their true art.

The Power In Our Hands.

The managing director of TheStoryPeople™, an NGO using storytelling to inspire , Mr. Aaron Kayondo, once told me how storytelling had changed people’s lives in Karamoja. A speaker was speaking to the Karimajongs about something important but they were not understanding and they were bored to tears! So TheStoryPeople™ decided to play it out in a skit and when they were done, the villagers were so excited and happy and most importantly, they had learnt all the speaker had intended to teach them! That is the power of storytelling! Storytellers change mindsets, they reaserch and unearth hidden truths which they feed people in enjoyable ways, they preserve important information for generations to come and we all know knowledge is power. They surpass physical boundaries and push the limits of what is acceptable. They spark debate. They spark thought. Look at what Prof. Stella Nyanzi did, now we all understand “interpretation” a bit differently.
I recently attended “Words of Wake”, a one man poetry show by the obscenely talented Gordons “Wake” Mugoda. He talked about local beauty, the power of words and the intricate art of rolex making! I was captivated by how proud he was to show off his heritage of Bagwere and did some of his pieces in Rugwere. Most of all, however, I was captivated by the trance-like influence he had on the audience, the power he wielded just because of the way he played with words. I’m sure that everyone that nite was proud to be country mates, if not tribe mates, with “Wake”.

I also was very proud of the Queen of Katwe movie because it was a Ugandan story. Inspirational even, and I thought criticism of it was a little bit, just a little bit, misplaced; the important thing is not where we are but where we can go. I believe the Queen of Katwe was a challenge to the storytellers, as much as any ordinary Ugandan, to believe dreams can come true, to believe that their is much awe and wonder here at home as much as in Hollywood. Stories impact mindsets more than you think. In church, they are called testimonies, and they are one of the major reasons people stay strong in faith. Imagine a child in Katwe ditching his petrol smoking gang to go learn chess because he has heard of Phiona Mutesi. I think the angels would celebrate one over the dark side.

Hence therefore;
 This was not an article offering answers. It was an article inspiring questions. Who are we? What’s our potential? Bla bla bla, so feel free to comment anything within you that has been set alight by the article. In a nutshell, all I’m saying is, let’s utilize the potential of storytelling as a viable avenue to inspire and rebuild broken hopes, to rebrand ourselves, package and export our potential, to refill our moral cavities and cure our knowledge deficiencies. Support the homegrown creatives, don’t just frown upon their attempts. Be one yourself. Join a poetry movement. Attend art exhibits. Buy a piece. Pride in our arts and heritage begins with you. And pride in our arts begets a sense of pride in the people it represents and who knows the limits of a proud people? If you feel the homegrown arts are below par, then show them how it’s done. Offer solutions.

There are a gazillion stories to tell, and I do not mean only the stories of the 1950’s and the liberation war. There are stories of the modern Ugandan, the Ugandan who can use a smartphone and refers to Google like a dictionary. It’s time to discover what it means to be Ugandan in the 21st century. Do not undermine that story of yours, your country needs you. Let’s discover together. Let’s define our nation. Let’s explore and discover!


LOST GIRLS, a poetry chapbook by Akello Charlotte.

I have mixed feelings about written poetry. Barring the ability or inability of the reader knowing how to read poetry, a poorly crafted poem can be nothing more than a drab sputter of words on a page with the poet drowning in overused cliches. However, crafted well, written poetry can transport you and touch those places locked away within your heart of hearts and deepest corners of your mind that you will be looking around you just to make sure nobody can see your nakedness which the poet has laid bare on a page, a stairwell going down into an abyss that just keeps going; exciting and frightening. Charlotte Akello harnesses this skill admirably  in this her very first chapbook, Lost Girls.

Lost Girls is Charlotte exploring topics close to her heart like Family, Home, heritage, war and womanhood, exploring the aspects that define her. The collection is laced with a sombre tone and delivered in such true honesty, akin to works pulled from the writer’s deepest and darkest corners, that it makes me feel guilty for knowing some of her deepest feelings. Picture stumbling upon her personal diary.

She keeps her poems as stripped down as she can allow, reducing the useless chatter. Somewhat similar to the way she strips her soul bare while writing the poems and as she searches for meaning and identity.

In the first poem, “Home – a crevice”, intriguing is her mixture of displeasure and contentment with which she describes home. She shows a need within her to break out and soar but yet, in the third line, shows a contentment of the comfort she feels when home, using words like “warm”.

One of my favorite works in the collection is “Songs” in  which she borrows music as a metaphor to reveal the futility of our aspirations, how we wait for a coming generation that will instead use our gravestones as anchors for their houses. God knows I love metaphors!

Charlotte’s choice of words is also quite enviable. It showed that she put some effort into finding suitable words for a suitable phrase, for a suitable image. I constantly found myself thinking,“I wish I had coined that!”

The collection wasn’t short of humour either. In her piece, “Crossing Ugandan Roads”, she describes the dilema that may beset a pedestrian trying to wade through the raving mad hysterical drivers and riders of Uganda. Though quite lighthearted, the poems point on a serious matter of road user indiscipline. With the context of the chapbook, I might hazard a guess and say this perticular piece reflects the confusion in her mind as she tried to answer the questions of the lost girl within her, coming in contact with indiscipline people in her walk of life and the occasional “angels rare this side”.

All in all, Lost Girls is a beautiful collection of heartfelt honest poems seeking to find meaning and direction. Any lover of poetry must get his/her hands on this chapbook. I will leave you with Charlotte Akello’s opening words in the chapbook:

“I want to tie home around my neck and walk away.”

To get the LOST GIRLS chapbook contact;

Charlotte Akello


Facebook; Charlotte Ake Lottie


Little Bro…brushes aside my sacarsm with such skill and grace that I almost feel embarrassed.


Episode Three

He Who Laughs Last

It’s a lazy afternoon at BLB 05, Glory Drive. The sun is warmly gliding through the clear sky and the birds are quietly perched in the trees, seeking refuge from the sweltering heat. Little Bro is in the living room doing home work and I’m in my room sheepishly swiping on my new Huawei smartphone. This Huawei is such an achievement because it’s an upgrade on those “chinese” phones with cringe-worthy names like “Xin Hua” or “SamSong”, those ones which have ringtones akin to the scream of an enraged bat! With a silly smile on my face, I’m humming that popular Kadongo Kamu hit, “Gyenvudde tebibadde birungi…”

Soon, Little Bro scurries in. He has a burning question.

“Ian, what is rusting?”

He catches a glimpse of the new phone.

“Oooh! Cool phone. Let me see! Let me see! Is it Apple? Does it have games? Where did you get it?”

Not particularly pleased with the untimely interruption, I reply sarcastically,
“I picked it by the roadside.”

Little Bro is unfazed. He brushes aside my sacarsm with such skill and grace that I almost feel embarrassed.
“Oh Lucky you!” he says. “You know, I had a smartphone once. It was…”

“What??” I interrupt. “Where did you get a smartphone?”

I asked, shocked, because it’s quite unheard of that at his age, Little Bro would be allowed to carry a phone, much less a smartphone.

However, he has a huge smile on his face which lets me know that I’m being had. But it’s too late, I’ve already fallen into his trap. 

“I picked it by the roadside.” he replies comfortably, picks up his home work and saunters out. I can almost swear I hear him laugh the universal evil laugh but maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks.

As the birds bask in the afternoon heat, at BLB 05, Glory Drive, House-with-the-black-gate, it dawns on me that Little Bro is a force to reckon with.



Episode Two


It’s Sunday, Glory Drive, house-with-the-black-gate. Little Bro is brimming with excitement; we are going for a Watoto Church Service. He loves Watoto Church so much and always makes sure I never forget to take him. “I love it because on the inside, it looks like a movie!” he told me once. 

Walking out on Glory Drive, we meet a gentleman with whom we exchange greetings. When he is gone, Little Bro asks who he is.

“It’s an Uncle.” I reply. An uncle not because he is our dad’s or mom’s brother but because that’s what we call any man who is close with our family, even neighbors and school wardens.

We soon continue on our voyage and meet another family friend with whom we exchange greetings. When he leaves, Little Bro asks who he is.

“He is an uncle!” I reply. 

Soon we are in a taxi, enjoying the trees and buildings whooshing by and the promise of a great worship experience. The driver is calm and he is not needlessly snaking through traffic jammed vehicles as though he suddenly thinks he is riding a bike. Being a Sunday, the road is deserted.

“Awo ku Total!” I blurt to the conductor once we reach the Total Nakulabye stage. No sooner have we stepped out of the matatu than we bump into another family friend.

“Hey guys! It’s amazing to see you!” Family friend exclaims.“How are you? This must be Malcom!”
He grabs Little Bro’s cheeks in handfulls as Little Bro smiles and grimaces in unison.

When the man leaves, Little Bro asks vehemently,“Who is that?!”

I realise the absurdity of the answer I’m about to render, but render it I must.

“It’s an uncle”

“Eh!” Little Bro exclaims. He can take it nolonger. “Uncle here, uncle there, uncle everywhere! It’s as if all of Uganda is our uncles!”
I grunt loudly in laughter and attract the attention of the nearby salon women.

“Well, your dad was a man of the people” I say and we continue to Watoto Church to meet our other uncles,aunties and siblings.



Episode One


It’s a stormy afternoon.Dark and drab. Rain is pelting iron roofs as though trying to unearth the secrets hidden within the walls beneath. Trees are swaying and groaning to the forceful tunes of the strong winds. Leaves are floating with reckless abandon, having left their fates in the hands of Nature.People are running aimlessly but with a singular aim; to find cover..both from the rainy assault and the gut wrenching bolts of lightening and thunder that have turned the sky into a mega discotheque.

At Glory Drive, house-with-the-black-gate, we are safely indoors but are nevertheless taking precaution. Windows closed, telly off, all electrical appliances turned off to prevent attracting a lightening strike. Little Bro is deep in his blanket, he says it wards off electric current from the lightening.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt trembles the house down to its foundation and sends shivers down every spine within. All lightbulbs and sockets  short circuit, the house is plunged in darkness..lightning has struck the house!!!

Little Bro rushes down to the living room with fear in his eyes. He looks around and we are all busy trying to figure out how much damage has been done. We r checking bulbs and sockets but have not checked the one thing Little Bro really cares about

“Guys!” He cries in anguish.“is the TV okay?”

This outburst fishes out much needed laughter from all of us. Tension dissipates further when the TV is confirmed to be okay.

“Is TV the only thing you care about?” I question Little Bro.

“No, but I can assure u without it, life would be worse than this stormy afternoon!”

Till the next joke…


ARTWORK by Andrew Roland Kamagara


PV Soccer was a is a favourite pastime which cemented into folklore

  • Sillypedia


Pavilion Soccer, or PV Soccer, as it was popularly known, is a legendary passtime cemented in the folklore of Kibuli S.S. It was a variation of futsal which evolved from PV Ball. It was made up of three-a-side teams which would compete for bragging rights.


Pavilion Soccer was a very popular pastime which evolved from another popular pastime, Pavilion Ball, or PV Ball. PV Ball was a variation of basketball where two-a-side teams competed to drop a small paper ball through the “hoop”. This passtime was christened “pavilion” because it was played in the pavilion. The beams of the roof acted as the hoops. Stars of this game included the lanky Christian Kivuna, the calm and lean Matsiko Jade Norman among others.

However, groundbreaking and entertaining as PV Ball was, it was slow and lacked the spark of magic that some daredevils desired. Hence the birth of PV Soccer.


Some members of the legendary Form Two class of 2006 desired a more high thrill game than PV Ball. So, while the ballers strutted their stuff at the smaller “Highbury“, the dare devils took over the much larger “Old Trafford” pavilion and commenced the game that would sweep over all of lower O’level.

Armed with the tough Azur water bottle as the official ball, dare devils like Akol Bonny, Kirya Ben, Kinobe Rooney, Abdul Salam Shadad and Aka Ian pulled off tricks and flicks that would remain imprinted in the minds of on lookers and scored goals that sent the fans roaring. Games were played every free period before lunchtime and after classes till supper time. The water bottle, Azur, became a precious item due to the birth of the game.


This was arguably the greatest team to ever walk the PV Soccer universe. With Enyimu Elijah manning the defense, Joel Basoga supplying and Aka Ian finishing, they went on to win countless consecutive championships until they disbanded. Consequently, the team of Kirya and Akol then became the spectacle to watch.


Kirya Ivan Ben

This fleet footed Chelsea diehard was a spectacle to watch. He was always the pioneer of new tricks and could do things with the Azur that were imposible for others. His favourite teaming was with Akol Bonny and Kisangabya Arafat and together they redefined the game.

Abdu Salam Shadad

Shadad was a pint sized flank maestro,who christened himself “Thierry“. The Arsenal diehard was quick footed and quick witted. He was a true nightmare for his markers and his nickname was well deserved. His rivalry with Aka Ian put some more sizzle to the already sizzling game.

Akol Bonny

The motor mouthed midfielder was equally quick with the Azur. He usually preferred the supplying role where he connected superbly with the suave Kirya. He also had a shot like Wayne Rooney, his icon.
Kinobe Ronnie

Tall and Lanky, Ronnie usually preferred to be between the sticks where he was indomitable. He made himself a reputation like that of Dennis Onyango. The Liverpool diehard was also good friends with Aka Ian, another Liverpool diehard.
Aka Ian

He was another “little magician” who usually preferred the finishing role. His finishing and skill on the Azur was so good that he was nicknamed both “Zizou” and “Messi“. Usually soft spoken, he was always a monster infront of goal.Fans always didn’t deem it a PV Soccer game if Aka didn’t play.

Unfortunately, PV Soccer was such an underground game that no accolades were ever officially awarded and no records ever kept, but the true spectacle lies in the hearts of the players and those who watched them play.


Since PV Soccer was such an underground game, it was an eyesore to the Authority. Many chases and hunts were carried out by the Administration and a number of culprits aprehended. One time, Aka was christened by the Authority as the “captain” of the underground game and hence thoroughly flogged for it. A snitch has been suspected to have leaked names to the Authority.


A number of factors can be sighted for the waning of the spectacular game but generally, the people who had started it gradually lost the interest in it leaning on excuses like,“kati tukuze”. The thorough manhunt by the Authority is also suspected to have scared off some potential players and fans. Also the commencement of the Form Three Premier League, which stole away key players like Kirya Ben, Kisangabya Arafat, and Abdu Salam Shadad contributed to the ultimate downfall.However, the trend was picked up by the incoming Form Two class though records dont show


“I always thought [PV Soccer] would go on forever. When I was on that granite, I was in my element. I even bought new shoes for the game. But even the best dancer leaves the floor” Aka Ian

“It was a great game. It shaped some of our sporting philosophies and it was always great to play with friends. It was great while it lasted” Kirya Ivan Ben.

“It was an eyesore! The boys had to grow up and concentrate on their academics” Authority.


Here is some critique of our activities this year by one of the audience members at the 2nd poetry session on 31st October, Mr. Brian Ushers Senyonjo. The following excerpt is in his own words.

I candidly arrived earlier than most of the poetry attendees had. I found Mr‬ Jude Thaddeus and Mr. Omara Isaac already steadfast with their organizing task as the head honchos of Uganda Writers’ Foundation. They had by 10:00am put the Fr.Rev.Picavet hall in order, lockers for the audience were already put in order both horizontally and vertically.When i had just arrived i saw ‪‎Thaddeus‬ moving around like beetles on their drudgery work of building themselves a house, Thaddeus was making incessant calls and welcoming all revelers of the mega poetry session. The first high school arrived and even religious clerics had arrived;a moment that made Mr.Thadeus to start off the session as now time was not an ally of the session. The emceeing feat was done by two lads,Thaddeus in tandem with Etute‬The poetry session was kick-started by an opening prayer and just after it, McThaddeus‬ called the first poet to give us the first poetry piece from the poetry clutch that had hailed from Kampala. Katusiime Sandra started by giving us her piece. Being familiar with Sandra before the session, i was so interested in seeing her perform.I had never seen her do her live poetry feats.She was really good. What i noticed about her, was the way she kept changing her speaking tone colloquially, a skill that impressed me and a gesture that her inclination for poetry is undisputed. 

Katusiime Sandra Otumu

Next on stage was poet TheRoyal Akatwijuka Ian‬, as he is popularly known . His poetry had high affinity for African beauty. He was composed, pulling off his poetic words with actions and gestures to bring out a clear picture of his interpretation of African beauty and his great love for it. His lovely diction left the audience swept off to the ground. Akatwijuka,wherever you are, i loved your selection of sweet lovely words to describe African beauty. ‪#‎Kudos‬

The Royal up on stage.

Alex,the poet with an African stature and physiognomy, was African even in appearance.He was clad in an African kitenge(both shirt and trouser)Alex’s great inclination for poetry was evident in his nomenclature introduction on the high-raised podium of the Fr.Picavet Hall of the Mighty Jinja S.S.His piece, “Outlet” turned out conspicuous and an anthem of the session. It was so opposed to the daily life of human life. He was trying to espouse contrasting statements on nature like a line when he said, “Let the fertile pages of a book seduce the castrated pens” Alex with his head-G placed on his head, had to produce the “Outlet” poem on the criterion of following the systematic/chronological order of aligning it on weekly days. He was smart and so philosophical.His poem evoked the MC, Thaddeus to tell poet Alex re-echo it as it was so philosophical.By now poetry had taken the hall by a storm.We later received Jordan‬, a member of the Azania poetry group that had come from Uganda Christian University, Mukono.Jordan-Azania gave us a conspicuous Midas touch of poetry that the previous poets hadn’t pulled off.It was now evident that each poet had a brand to identify him/her by as Jordan’s poetry stunt was so full of Hip hop suave..His poem “I am” was pulled off phonetically as he tried to draw all those finding hurdles in life through receiving scorn and ridicule from people, to seek solace in this particular poem . JazmineAhmed‬ from Azania also solely was invited to stage.She was so brown as her skin complexion connoted. Her poem was about dissing a co-wife whom they were competing with a husband. She was really about throwing tantrums to her love-competitor. then farouq rounded it all up really uniquely. His poem was more about pulling off that preaching methodology of poetry. His accent was akin to that of the current U.S president Barrack Obama.He was having breakages in his poetic lines a thing his fellow poets hadn’t previously done. I loved Farouq for his oratory way of delivering his poetic pieces.#Kudos to Poet Farouq. I loved it that all the poets were captured and so the Ugandans will get their work on video CD.I would like to forward my sincere gratitude to Uganda Writers’ Foundation for the journey it is making all Uganda writers to tread. Happy New Year!