Another One Bite the Dust

It was a sensational front-page story—the death of an NRM general, a killer machine whose raison d'être was to kill or be killed—moreover at the hands of a “mere” woman, a concubine at that, a spare tire.

My condolences to those who depended on him for their livelihoods and those who genuinely loved him and were loved by him. We all understand their grieve because we all have been there. But to see the pretenders shedding crocodile tears and the charlatans offering snake-oil expertise make me want to puke.

The man’s life was his uniform. Once his boss played his characteristic game against those who exhibit traces of independent trait, the redundancy had already killed him. He nursed himself with booze and the arms of women. Unfortunately for him he took his demon to a Northern woman. Northern women are known for their great passion. They will give you pleasure in bed the likes you have never known. The flip side, however, is that you mess with them at your own peril. And so when the Lugbara woman feared for her life—mind you, this is against a professional killer—she let it all out. When the rational brain is suspended and we employ the survival limbic system, the caveman comes out and the consequences can be devastating or heroic.

There was no conspiracy. The man died as he lived: Those who live by the sword die by the sword—we reap what we sow. That is the natural law of karma. And it does not help in any way when, in victory, we dehumanize the other. In the end we are all evolutionary biological substances that will be claimed by maggots, or face the holocaust at a funeral home, or get devoured by some wild animals.