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We have handed guns to them whose deprival of the finer things in life is a result of our access thereof, and asked them to protect us

July 18, 2019
Edna Ninsiima
Comments Off on We have handed guns to them whose deprival of the finer things in life is a result of our access thereof, and asked them to protect us

About a month ago, a friend and I took an Uber from Kisementi to Muyenga where we’d gone to visit another friend. 3 minutes away from our destination, the Uber driver hesitated at a junction. I asked him to continue ahead. He said he wasn’t sure. I told him that I was, and that our destination was right ahead. While we argued, a guard to one of the VIPs living in the area who was standing not far away stopped us. We told him that we were just passing by. He insisted that we do not proceed. We asked what the matter was. He hesitated, stattered in a manner of a clueless, absent minded student who has just been picked on by a teacher to answer a question. After which asked in reference to me telling Uber driver to go ahead: “who are you to order the driver?!” 

Is this guy really asking me not to tell OUR Uber driver where we’re going?!

I was getting irritated, rightfully so.

“What do you want?” My friend asked him.

I-I-I-don’t want anything! You’re ordering the driver!

Huh???

“In fact, for that reason, no car will pass here!” He barked.

My friend and I opted not to waste any more time. We asked the driver to end trip and trekked the rest of the short night journey. I attributed it mostly to the fragile male ego and toxic masculinity. How dare 2 young womxn riding in a car, challenge my BS? I thought, he had thought before launching into a stammering contest. But perhaps that was only half the story.

A few weeks later, a young womxn told me her traumatic encounter the previous night with one of the guards at the office building where I consult. Apparently, she and her friend had come back from an evening errand (as they usually did) to pick up their personal computers, before retiring home. The guard had denied them access this time; and when they appealed to his colleague to let them in, he cocked his gun, before pointing it at one of them. The boda-boda guys nearby started to panic and retreat. The young womxn stood still. She asked the guard if he thought he was going to shoot her and get away with it. To which he responded: 

“You’re just a womxn! There’s nothing you can do!” 

Thankfully none of these 2 events turned fatal. But they both tell us something. Besides the very obvious sexism in both instances, there was a need by both gun-wielding guards to assert power over people who they perceived to be of a higher social class than they’re. Therein is the disaster that could happen to any Ugandan, at any time. But the immediate potential victims, if I may, are you and I. The University-educated, white collar job slavers who spent the better part of last week unveiling our true emotions on the equally pressing issue that is ethic tensions which can be traced back as early as Uganda’s inception in 1900.

But here is another time-bomb. The guards and askaris with whom we interact on our way into office buildings, shopping malls and the rich neighbourhoods of Muyenga seem to have long suppressed their own feelings on their dehumanization and 2nd class citizen classification. They see you everyday, with your laptop bags and car keys, walking into what is generally considered a better place – the offices in the buildings and supermarkets and apartments that they are charged with standing outside to guard. They are aware that theirs is the bottom tier position in this hierarchy. They are also aware that you’re aware of it. They despise you for it. In the same way that you often despise the right-of-way VIPs with their road-closing, show-stopping attitudes while we all queue to retire home after a long day. In this situation, you quickly become the dreadful VIP. You have right-of-way, you’re a VIP, you’re not at fault. It just stings still, for the ordinary road user.

This here is an unspoken brewing tension. The difference between you and the VIP is that you have fewer resources at hand. You know, no extra guards, no lead car. Just you – and your social class privilege. And the moment there’s as much as even an anticipated power move from you – the moment that you do just about anything that could be literally what you’re supposed to do like: tell your Uber to drive ahead while the guard is still standing there trying to exert some power too, the guard is ready also – to pull a power move. Sometimes it’s the no-car-will-get-through-here. But other times, other gory times, it’s the cocking of a gun and releasing of the safety, resulting into gun shot wounds – even worse. And no. This cannot be limited to the victim’s ethnicity because we don’t wear that on our foreheads for strangers to identify. It’s a psychological defense mechanism. A way of coping with one finding themselves on the unfortunate side of the class divide. And if you ever wonder why in a taxi, you’ll be typing away on your phone, minding your business and the conductor will still go like, “gwe owa WhatsApp!…*insert a rude remark*, it is for the same reason. 

Should you be looking for a definite solution here, you have come to the wrong blog. As I too have not a damn clue what could take all of this apprehension away. What I can say is that perhaps, you and I, equipped with this knowledge, can decide to approach those situations with a whole lot more deliberate empathy. And that can be, is going to be hard. Because as I will tell you, I still have unkind words for the guard in my friend’s neighborhood. I feel burdened by his unnecessary behavior towards my friend and I. He too, must have been burdened by his attitude – perhaps our own too, which he might have wrongly interpreted. But as I am learning, perhaps the price of possessing any privilege, is to be the bigger person.

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This is what might make us incapable of the leadership we hope for

January 30, 2019
Edna Ninsiima
Comments Off on This is what might make us incapable of the leadership we hope for

African-American artistic, social critic James Baldwin was once quoted in words that I have continually found eerily relevant. He says: “It is certain, in any case, that ignorance allied with power, is the most ferocious enemy justice can have.” These words ring in my head every time the conversation on whether or not young people are capable of leadership. For a long time now we have seen that the proponents of the argument that we’re not ready (also same ones who have power) are those that have not accorded young people a chance to prove themselves. If anything, they have been, in the truest manner as referenced in Baldwin words, a “ferocious enemy” of justice for especially any young person who has even attempted to prove their theory wrong.

I am curious with which indicators they have come to the conclusion that young people, the majority in this society, have not the ability to lead your lot. Especially considering that they have not even been really tried and erred with. But I have also thought that maybe this shift towards change by a new generation most of whom they saw in white, reusable shit clothes, is not apparent to them, understandably so. It takes a superior level of emotional intelligence, even courage, to see people who you once regarded vulnerable and at your mercy, as capable. It is perhaps why they are unable to acknowledge the unmistakable resilience, groundbreaking creativity and unwavering determination of many a millennial even in a system that’s built to fail them.

There’s no doubt that a change led by youth is possible. And that the groundwork for it to happen has already begun. Whether it is in education, or science; the arts or civil society. The media or in governance, young people have, often at a heavy price of self-sacrifice and hope against hope, brought a level of resilience that has lit the once dying embers of better days, aflame. Yet of course it would be unwise to completely dismiss the naysayers’ claims without examining even the slightest, negligible truths therein.

And this is what I am here to explore. I shall of course not self-appoint devil’s advocate, or believer of the elders’ rumblings about the millennial curse, lest I risk sounding like a state mouthpiece whose next cheque depends on propapaganda wrapped in a semblance of debate. I only want to humor them a little, not for their benefit. But for us to check all the boxes, cover all bases while we advance.

So in what case/s might we say that maybe the young generation is indeed where leadership goes to die? There may be a couple of those. But given the climate, my mind keeps leaping to a particular one. The fallacious loyalty that some resource owners have managed to ground some of us into. For example, I often watch in disappointment and sometimes amusement as some of our brilliant fire-spitting comrades suddenly go numb in cases of injustices that are clear as day. Sometimes these geniuses even go in full defense of tragic decisions that swing the prospective remnants of these tragic times, further off the stability pendulum into an already full sea of unfixed system faults. Why? I ask. The reasons I may never fully understand. I have managed to occasionally hear some though. They include a feeling of being indebted so deep it has no eyes for wrongs, a fear of losing unpaid but still socially fulfilling access to power and of course the classic, choice. But when critical thought takes a siesta because one must defend what they choose to defend, I am afraid. Afraid that our very able peers who are perhaps in positions to argue on all of our survival, choose instead to take a back seat when we most need that critical thinking. Even more importantly, I am afraid that perhaps our elders who have christened us a not ready, entitled, lazy generation without the ability to lead might then be right. After all there’s not a leadership that does not above else, speak truth to power. Likewise, it makes one  wonder if what we do not tell our current leaders, we might not want to hear ourselves when we occupy those spaces. And a leadership that has not the ability to listen was never ready to lead.

Now, I am aware that we have or should have the right to choose. Choose who to be and what to do; hell, choose the ideals on whose hill we shall die. But I challenge us then to think about ourselves as leaders who seek to transform our society and nation. Leaders who have positioned ourselves as young people with cutting edge intellect and the ability to think ahead of the times. If we are indeed those leaders, how then can we make choices that are devoid of the responsibility of repercussions of our choices? Change does not happen by repeating the methods of the past. Not even the stars of 1986 played by the then, incumbent’s rule book for their own revolution. What difference then do we hope to make if we snuggle up with the old, dusty pages of the past? How do we hope to lead our own revolutions that way?

Because spending nights and days in conversations where we summon amassed knowledge of all the English language’s bag of tricks and our acquired cosmopolitan references of the history of nations world over; doesn’t quite cut it. Quoting Sankara and picking apart Nkrumah’s theories does not suffice either. As a generation of the next leaders who have committed ourselves to creating substantial change, it is clear that we must take our own stand. And that is not to say that we must all agree. It is rather to stress that our stand must be one devoid of influences of failing systems and the sheer need to eat at tables whose inherent designs were never meant to accommodate us. That or we might as well say that those who make snide remarks when we express our desire to lead are onto something. We might as well listen to opinions about our capabilities from people who would rather effect senseless policies and later regret them; than listen to us in the first place.

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Serena Williams is every black womyn who ever dared to speak up

September 13, 2018
Edna Ninsiima
Comments Off on Serena Williams is every black womyn who ever dared to speak up

My friend Patra, owns a set of the board game, 30 seconds which she carries to our get together weekend barbecues for us to play after we ate. Now, for those who are not familiar with the game, 30 seconds is like charades. Players get into teams or groups. One player must pick and look at a card on which the name of a city, country, class of people, book title, movie title, etc is written. That player must then start to describe to their teammates what they just read without mentioning the actual word or a letter therein. Teammates are to guess, in a time frame of 30 seconds,(there’s an hourglass for timing) what their team member is attempting to explain. It is a simple, fun board game which as in the case with my friends, can even played under the influence of alcohol. Yet the competitiveness of both teams often raises tension and pressure that has us screaming ourselves hoarse, making accusations, calling others weak and even comparing intellectual capacities. Yup. It gets intense.

But I am going to talk tennis and sexism today. The match at the US Open last week between Serena Williams and Naomi Osaka ended painfully for many of us. Two exceptional black womyn – one in tears of justified anger and frustration from enduring a system that even at her bestest among the best still regards her, second citizen. The other, tears of confusion about the aggression from a tennis fans crowd after the biggest win of her career. The events that transpired, we already know and the conversation on whether Williams was in contempt when she called the umpire, “thief” has been had so I am not here for that. I am not a model tennis fan either and as such do not have full knowledge of exactly what warrants one the code violations that the player was slapped with.  What I can tell you – and what we all can already imagine is that any time anyone has to play a game competitively, even if it is 30 seconds where no trophies, money or Nike endorsement deals are awarded; the pressure is on. Emotions are high. Further and more importantly; that the demonisation of the Serena Williams in social media arguments, written articles, cartoons, fines and umpire threats resulting from her raising her voice in a moment of justified frustration – at least to her and other maybe couple of thousand tennis fans – is a typical manifestation of sexism.

Serena is every other black womyn who dares to raise her voice in the face of injustice. Every womyn whose boldness crosses that line that the patriarchy has so clearly drawn; one side of which other human beings, womyn, are crammed together in bondage, with men on the other side of the line rationing the sound, strength and power of their voices. When on this side, you must take graciously every provocation. You must accept punitive action for things that your male colleagues have gotten away with. You must not show anger – a human emotion. You must instead stomach it and keep it moving because looking the other way is her safest bet – if not to avoid the name calling and “bully” labels, then to retain that energy for yourself. There is where the patriarchy seeks to keep us all. So for most of the other half of the world, that game was a tennis conflict in which the greatest athlete and darling of many who often smiles and nods or speaks graciously even in the face injustice; “lost it.” Or like others have said, was “being childish” and a “sore loser.” For assertive black womyn it was a trigger that dug to the surface thousands of ugly, dehumanising incidents that have occurred before and are guaranteed to keep occurring.

For radical feminists, those many incidents are the “militant,” “ugly,” “bitter,” “feminazi” and countless other labels coupled with weaponised homophobia as a means to silence. The other umpires threatening to not work any match Serena plays at are the benevolent misogynists who have in their heads, assumed the role of ally or ‘male feminist,’ threatening to “stop supporting your (womyn) causes” because the scary, mean, militant feminists have called them and their ndugus out on their sexist tendencies. For harassed public figures like legislator Sylvia Rwabwogo, it is men and womyn colleagues alike shunning you for reporting your harasser and bringing him to book because a womyn choosing to prioritise her safety and emotional stability has somehow embarrassed the rest of them. For the womyn who dare to take up the space on 4-man panel tables but refuse to return after being spoken over throughout the conversation, it is lazy TV producers’ go to examples of “that’s why we don’t invite womyn.” In womy’s survival, it is a classic damned if you do and damned if you don’t – so womyn dare to speak with a voice more than that which has been rationed for them – knowing well the dire consequences of that defiance of the status quo. After all, and as feminist scholar Audre Lorde perfectly delineated in her poem, A Litany of Survival,

“When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard
nor welcomed but when we are silent
we are still afraid. So it is better to speak
remembering we were never meant to survive.”

 

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We are all the things we despise uneducated people for – and then some

April 16, 2018
Edna Ninsiima
1,699 Comments

The point of enduring the school system as initially sold to us was to make us better human beings, dispel our barbarism and equip us with life skills. But even more interesting is how committed it was, still is to stratify us. In academia spaces you’ll hear words like: Honours. Degree. Masters. It’s very method of measuring excellence is classed. Distinction. Credit. Pass. First Class. Second Class Upper. In fact, there has always a negative comment about not being learned. From the car-ride-to-school conversations with our parents about how if we didn’t study hard we’d end up like those unintelligent people(insert the informal sector); to the average taxi passenger’s jab at a boda boda rider who the car just narrowly missed: “ekizibu teb’asoma!”  

To escape all those comparisons and of course “get jobs,” we struggle to attain this education – understandably so. Any remotely ambitious person wants to achieve better than the average one. Parents spend millions of shillings to put their children through missionary founded schools (we consider those to be the best in the country), young people apply for scholarships abroad (because that always makes one smarter – or does it?) and working corporates; 4 kids later and a deteriorating eyesight enroll into postgraduate programs whose study notes are on website portals they can barely navigate. They’re determined to compete with kids 15 years younger just so that they too can be able to compete favorably in the job market.

And who would blame them? In our society, a high class education is the pass code to not just favorable employment opportunities, but also social standing and even a chance at a sought after leadership position. Take for example, we have often insisted that certain Parliamentarians don’t deserve to be in the August House because of inadequate school papers. We hold expensive by-elections just to make sure those leaders are ousted. In the past, political opponents have even fabricated evidence against the other knowing well that that is not only grounds for dismissal as per the law, but also a narrative that brings their leadership abilities to question among voters. Except it is hard to argue that the Onesmus Twinamatsikos of this world have done a better job at legislation than their uneducated counterparts with common sense. It is especially a struggle to make a case for school educated leaders when 65+ year old members of cabinet who continue to pursue government sponsored (read: our taxes) education abroad which innovative youth could have better use for; return only know to wear ill-fitting jackets to state functions, take naps during budget readings and embezzle funds.

Now of course the teb’asoma comment is easier made about boda boda riders. They exhibit all the behaviour we consider uncouth, they are part of the informal sector and do not speak the coloniser’s language as well as we do, if at all. Don’t behave like a boda guy! We exclaim. Surely someone who attained this classroom education would not be very reckless and unreasonable on the road to the point of riding straight into the direction of a moving car. But how then do we explain similar behaviour when it’s by government owned 4 wheel drives and the Mercedes Benz cars with classy, suited Old Boys of Kings College Budo behind the wheel? When these cars mount pavements and  close up the space between them and the next car in standstill traffic so that a pedestrian won’t go through; what do you make of that?

When you open your social media apps and find an appallingly vapid post or reply from a user who has is an Ivy League alumnus, do you wonder if these are the people your parents warned you would become? But surely they studied harder than you did and got good grades. Through which cracks then, did the myopia reach them? A few young men from the ghetto today are creating conscious and educative music with barely any funding, exposure or connections. How is it then that their educated counterparts – who park their cars, take elevators to air-conditioned boardrooms and order on Jumia food come up with level 1 harmful stereotype content for promotion.

Maybe we are not the better lot after all. Maybe we are all those things that we look down upon illiterate people for. Because when I walk downtown and a taxi tout attempts to grab me; are they any different from a CEO whose disgusting forefinger traces my palm during a handshake? Perhaps the ability to think critically, apply empathy, learn, be socially conscious and have basic human decency is the education we should have prioritised from the onset. Because from where I stand, the ability to argue to what extent Napoleon was right or wrong at Waterloo; or enrolling for the PhD program doesn’t seem to have tackled our primitivism one bit. While we were so busy participating in the contest for the highest academic credentials, the innate monster within us grew untamed.

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For The Man Who Swears They Have No Privilege

June 8, 2017
Edna Ninsiima
607 Comments

Once, I sat down for evening drinks with a group of people on a night that I quickly realized I should not have gone out to drink as soon as within the first ten minutes of sitting down. I had followed peer pressure (Millennials, sigh. We all do sometimes) and just happened to have been paid from a digital gig and I thought I deserved a drink. But since I was already there I decided that I would stay and at least finish my beer. In a moment of boredom with voices buzzing around me, I heard my somebody mention my name. My attention drawn, I turned around and asked why they had said my name. It appears two people were having a conversation and opportunity in this country and therefore mentioned my name as an example of names which are likely to be accorded ethical privilege. I quickly agreed.

Suddenly intrigued by the people who were having this conversation or out of sheer curiosity, I asked one of them, a man, if they acknowledged their male privilege like I had a few seconds ago acknowledged my ethnical privilege. The response I got should not have shocked me, considering my experience speaking to men about their privilege, this one too in particular; but it still caught me by surprise. It was a classic male denial: “But what privilege do I have? Nobody has ever given me anything.

Everything I have and where I have gotten to, I’ve had to work for.” I wondered how a person can comprehend institutionalized discrimination in one move and vehemently deny its similar, even form in another. It was ridiculous to say the least.
Yet when I thought about that response today, it was not as unbelievable as it was that night. Not because it was true, but because once I placed myself in that situation 7 years ago, I realize that I could easily have given the same response to a challenge of my privilege. That I had in fact, given it sometime. I had to write a short essay describing my journey to realizing my privilege and I remembered how much it used to irk me in high school when students and people on the street during the 2004 elections spoke about Banyankole all gaining wealth from the ruling party.

I knew that my parents had worked really hard to attain the not-so-many assets they had. I often got that drive-to-school lecture about studying hard because they were sacrificing lots of luxuries so I could attend good schools. So more than anything, I was angry that anybody would even insinuate that everything I had my parents had was given on silver platter.
Over the years, because of the people I surrounded myself with, the books and articles I read and in the wake of budding activism; I became increasingly aware of where those people were coming from. But it was one unexpected event on a trip to a neighboring country by bus that put my privilege into undeniable perspective for me.

In a queue at the border customs office in the night cold, I stood listening to the loud voice of the officer behind the glass window as he literally barked at the next person to produce their documents, sent the other back because they were still searching their pockets for an identification card and yelled at one girl who wrongly placed their finger prints for scanning. Twice, I checked my form, passport and mentally prepared myself for a scolding for something I would certainly do wrong. Except to my pleasant surprise, as soon as I passed my passport under the window and the agent turned to the back where my name was, he smiled at me and said a greeting in my local language. I responded. He then almost immediately passed back my passport and wished me a nice stay.

As I walked away, it hit me. My ethnical privilege had just been manifested right before my eyes. This man did not know who I was, he simply read my name and decided he was going to speak to me kindly; something he had failed to do for the six people that were before in the queue. All those years I was angry at other students for insinuating that my life was somehow better because of my ethnicity, not once had I stopped to look deliberately into my life with the intent to find where that talk was coming from. Yet, it was evident now that something like this had happened many times in my life and I had failed to notice. Tonight, I realize that many a male subject are me 7 years ago. That while I have for certain reasons got to the point of acknowledging my privilege, they still struggle, are still on the journey to hopefully some day see and acknowledge it.

If you’re that man, I write this for you. That you may purpose yourself to check your privilege by observing your life intently, so that next time somebody speaks on it, you don’t sound shocked. It sure is no walk in the park; you must purpose yourself to read, observe, learn, unlearn and above all think critically- a task that many a man seems to abhor. So maybe society has not handed you capital for your startup or a free education. So you have less money in your bank account than the girl with ten blessers on her way to the Arab Emirates for leisure and somehow for that reason you feel that you have no privilege at all. It does not matter because nevertheless, you have been accorded a set of benefits that you have not earned by mere virtue of the fact that you identify as male.

The same way a white street beggar remains racially privileged above your city tycoon by virtue of the color of his skin. The next time you sit in a bar with your girl pal, notice who the waiter or waitress greets. Should you walk through downtown on a given day, look around and see how many girls’ arms are grabbed by idlers and street traders alike while you walk by freely. Or maybe take an evening stroll past your bodaboda stage in the evening, stand nearby and watch for any girl who walks by and how she is verbally harassed, something none of the boda men ever did to you. That my friend, in addition to other countless scenarios, is your male privilege.

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How fashion is unpacking toxic masculinity

May 19, 2017
Edna Ninsiima
406 Comments

Greetings fashion forward brothers! Rompers for men or “romphims” *rolling eyes* have arrived so that you may partake. To be honest I am excited for the trend; one because any fashion trend is an art to behold (yes, men’s leg day is now a thing), two and perhaps more importantly; because day by day, one fashion trend at a time, we unmask patriarchy’s harmful socially constructed roles for the male gender. How you ask? First it was the skinny jeans. Before it was widely “okay,” several men sat down for drinks and contemptuously regarded their confident and fashion forward counterparts who had embraced the trend. They came up with all sorts of excuses; “my balls can’t fit in those things,” “they’re too tight,” etc. And of course came the homophobes. “If you’re a man who wears skinny jeans, you’re gay,” they went on and on.

Rapper and fashion designer Kanye West in skinny jeans

Some driven by their conditioned hate for the sexuality and others deep down green with envy that some of their own were brave enough to free themselves from that conditioning; something they were too afraid to do. So for several months they wore their large, disgustingly ill-fitting bell bottoms while the confident men shined in form-fitted skinny jeans. Fast forward to today, many of them, yes many, I can name about 4 men (you might know some too) have become wary of that particular burden of toxic masculinity and freed themselves. They strut the streets, bars and work corridors on dress down Fridays rocking skinny jeans. Years before the skinny jeans, it was the dreadlocks and piercings which many hated so much and later embraced, but I digress.

Tweet from 2015

The romper: for years, the attached two piece blouse and shorts onesie was reserved for children and women to wear. In fact, a quick Google search of the romper history and you’ll learn that it first surfaced in the early 90s as a comfortable clothing for babies until the mid 90s when women began to wear it. By 2006, several designers were making and displaying them on the runways- for women. This week the internet is awash with the romper trend for men. A piece that has been renamed “romphim,” either by designers for supposed distinction, or by a few individuals whose dependence on the chains of masculinity as the alpha and omega of their very existence doesn’t permit them to be comfortable with the nomenclature considering the clothing has been widely worn by women.

One of the many versions of the romper for men

This cultural sensation has some men embracing it; while some have described it in contempt as the “feminization” of young men, a statement which says a ton about how society views femininity as a whole. Many others are just having a field day with internet jokes and memes for the sake of it. Now make no mistake, the romphim shall be worn, in khaki, cotton, silk, even Ankara. Still, jokes shall be made, drunk-in-masculinity men will deny themselves a fashion moment and like the case with skinny jeans, homophobes will attempt to shame men who wear it- many of whom even regularly wear overalls and/or often enjoy watching a game of rugby where highly masculine men wear shorts the size of my crochet bikini bottom. As to whether many will finally free themselves of fragile masculinity and explore the fashion trend, time will tell. For now, change is happening, and it is influenced by our fashion in a the place where we all love to be- the internet.

 

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I Want A Good Husband

March 25, 2017
Edna Ninsiima
461 Comments

I want a good husband
A strong African man
A prayerful one too
Because one who finds a husband
Finds a good thing indeed.

I want a good husband
Handsome enough for me
But again not too handsome
Very handsome men are a problem
They can get uncontrollable.

I want a good husband
A submissive man
A hardworking career man
Who also takes care of our home like a man should
Cooks me a good meal when we both return from work.

He must know how to cook of course
A good traditional husband knows that
The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.
If he can’t cook, he’s not good for you
You’ll starve to death.

I want a good, mature husband
One who will persevere and hold on
He must not run back to his parents when I wrong him
He must be strong and stay
This is his home now.

He must not stress me, no
I don’t want a nagging husband
Otherwise he might force me to go to other men
I want a man who will build and support me
And take care of our kids, of course.

My husband must not go out and return home late
That’s disrespectful, makes me look bad
People might start to wonder who the wife in the home is
My girls might even revoke my woman card.

I want a good husband
An organized, clean, educated man
Intelligent and confident, but respects tradition
One who is humble enough to know his place
As MY husband.

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Don’t Teach Me How To Keep A Man

September 5, 2016
Edna Ninsiima
768 Comments

Don’t teach me how to keep a man
You encourage a certain infamous label against him
I on the other hand don’t
So I will only take lessons on how to keep my dog.

Don’t teach me how to keep a man
Because should I meet a man who I want to stay
My love and trust alone I expect to be enough
For him to treasure enough to stay.

Don’t teach me how to keep a man
Because I have no intention of holding him hostage
Should a grown man want to leave
I shall readily let him go anyway.

Don’t teach me how to keep a man
Because it is the least of my priorities right now
Teach me instead how to defend myself
Against the daily cat-calling on the streets
Or the sexually innuendos constantly thrown at me.

Don’t teach me how to keep a man
Please teach me the importance of knowing my value
Warn me against staying in an abusive relationship
Or blaming myself for it.

Don’t teach me how to keep a man
Teach us both to love unconditionally
Tell us BOTH to put in a lot of work
In OUR relationship.

No. Don’t teach me how to keep a man
Teach me how to keep my dream alive
Allow me to learn to keep me first
Maybe then I will keep another better.

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About me

Edna Ninsiima

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Avid Reader| Writer In My Own Right| Feminist| Communicator| Adventurer| Satirist; Views expressed are mine.

Latest Posts

Guerillas vs. Millenials, and one conversation we haven’t had

December 6, 2019

We have handed guns to them whose deprival of the finer things in life is a result of our access thereof, and asked them to protect us

July 18, 2019

Tribute to my 12 year old self

May 31, 2019

This is what might make us incapable of the leadership we hope for

January 30, 2019

On A Road Trip West of Uganda

March 6, 2019

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Copyright, 2016