I first saw Bebe Cool when he was in town, like many peddlers of various trinkets and may be even flesh, to cash in on a gathering of Ugandans. It was at a third-rate watering shack. He jumped on stage and began belting something, which I learned later on was his latest hit song. From the faces and reactions, nobody cared. I can’t remember when he left the stage. So, another “superstar” fell flat on his butt—never making it in the big easy. Tabu Ley, a.k.a Rochereau, could not even sell more than ten tickets in the Kilimanjaro in its heydays. He had to go back and become a mere minister (a downwardslide by his creative standard) in his native dysfunctional country. Only Miriam Makeba could have made it had she not married the telegenic firebrand Black Panther Carmichael. The white liberal establishment abandoned her like a black child would do to a black doll.
Seriously, I wish Bebe Cool a quick recovery from the wounds inflicted by a police state, out of control. Especially when his dad is such a cool dude who, unfortunately will never be president of United States of Uganda even if he tries.
The poor policeman who shot Bebe Cool and his hangers-on reacted according to script created by the state, a.k.a. Museveni. Just imagine: If Bebe Cool & Co had balls laced with star-power and marched down-town demanding civilized politics, what would happen to them? Unlike Kanyaryeru heroes,you don’t get a medal for guessing. Blood would soak the streets. That, my friend, is the message that has seeped into the minds of anybody with any semblance of power—including access to sulfuric acid. Mind you, the unconscious doesn’t need overt instructions. It absorbs messages even when one is asleep and stores it somewhere. When the condition is ripe, you just carry on the instruction as dictated as the right thing to do. This time it said: shoot Bebe Cool and the robot did without winching or second thought.
Then we have Mr. Museveni, the ever resourceful opportunist, visiting the “superstar” in his hospital bed. This is a busy executive, who never sleeps, squeezing in the time and spending scarce resources for a picture opportunity when a phone call could have done—all to score points for the coming elections. Only Museveni, in spite of the stench, could pull it off and look shamelessly genuine. The man is reaching for straws as Mugisha Muntu and Besigye are making points up country. And, of course, don't discount the ambassador whose contribution, if any, will be sensitizing the hapless population.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment