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Where’s The Distinction?

April 4, 2018
Edna Ninsiima
502 Comments

The passing of African power house, activist Winnie Madikizela – Mandela attracted “breaking!” online headlines from news houses across the world. Once again, the virality of social media allowing us all to catch the news of this terrible loss in real time. Eliminating the need for access to the sometimes tiring press releases, telegrams or even tasking confirmation phone calls to sources. I bet not even the person who said that “bad news travels fast” anticipated how much more fast it could happen. Or generally how fortunate a certain generation would be to access information by just logging into a personal account on the world-wide web.

So is it possible that this same quick access to information has encouraged so little exercise of the brain muscles, rendering us probably the most complacent, plagiarist generation yet? Or is the information overload a burden on our ability to consume?  It seems like a small issue; even not-that-serious. Yet it continues to grow into this malignant tumor which might be inoperable at the time of full diagnosis. From the rather hilarious, “tweet thieves,” to copy and paste blog posts; embarrassingly shallow responses to bag the online popularity vote; and profiles on people we have not bothered to contact. Even xeroxed copy from websites onto presidential accounts!

But most appalling, and perhaps the biggest sign that we are skating downhill at breakneck speed is that a number of people in news houses have adopted the reproduce-and-go method. “Winnie Mandela, Nelson Mandela’s ex-wife passes on at 81.” I read many such a headline in a mixture of confusion, anger and exasperation. Not so much shock, because this womyn’s legacy has always been downplayed, downtrodden and marred with dirt right from the apartheid system, feeding into post-apartheid narratives. Not to mention, this is not the first, neither the last incident in which a womyn’s worth is attached to her current or past romantic relations with a man. So you might even think I’d be accustomed to it and not that angry. But is it so far-fetched to expect a better announcement of the passing of a revolutionary giant on whose shoulders the entire South Africa and many stood and still stands? An ungovernable leader who did not once surrender to her oppressors. A womyn who at the cost of her own spirit saw to it that the world did not forget about another so often glorified leader who had been literally thrown mid sea. This scratch-the-surface information is documented and accessible in books, documentaries, academic papers and even Hollywood films.

How then does the jackpot headline become, “Nelson Mandela’s ex-wife has died?” Especially when same ex-wife received an honorary degree from our highest institution of learning just two months ago. Where do we place a distinction between a media report and the average social media user with bundles and a pedestrian thought on the latest? Sure, we might argue that in this era of click-bait where news sites are competing with gossip sites for readers, a Mandela mention might have some more people interested in opening the link. Yet still, her name is already hyphened with Mandela’s. Besides, to even imply that readers might not be interested enough in Winnie, let’s add that a Nelson somewhere, might be insulting to one’s audience. Unless of course like Lydia Namubiru muses here, media personnel might be mostly uninformed on what and who else Winnie Mandela was apart from the ex-wife. After all, even some of our often coveted, model news houses in the West chose similar headlines. If the drill was to copy whatever they are saying, then who can blame us, right?

The KAS organised Social Media Conference often brings to debate the “Social media vs. Traditional media” question. To which many respectable comrades respond by highlighting the half-baked nature of news content on the former. Now maybe a good time for the latter to deliberately guard against of falling into that narrative. If not to be the information leaders that we have come to often painfully expect, then to at the very least, avoid being categorised with the unwise. That, or we can all grit our teeth and wait on the latest being brought to us, live from a timeline near you.

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In The Heart of Kibale Forest

October 16, 2017
Edna Ninsiima
822 Comments

“The guards will escort you to your cottage in case of elephants and chimpanzees.”

Sorry, what? Elephants?

“Yes. Animals keep away when there’s light but now; you never know.”

Ambrose, a graduate of Wildlife conservation, speaks as he gathers our plates from the dinner whose remnants are bones and scattered sprinkles of hot sauce. He does not see my blank stare. It is 10 pm in the forest, the lights just went out and there’s barely a cell network reception bar on my phone. Edward’s phone has blacked out. The last thing I want to meet on my way to the cottage is the largest land mammal. If I do,I hope that the guard or Edward (doubt it though), deals with it. So as we walk to “Colobus” cottage, I remain Malcolm In The Middle. I am also holding the flashlight of course because I also want to be the first to see the elephant, should it emerge from the forest. Then, it gives me a fleeing head start.

36 km on a smooth faced road out of Fort Portal town towards Kamwengye will lead you to Kanyanchu, a Kibale National Park Settlement. A left turn at the zebra crossing opens to an earth, leaf scattered path with Kibale forest canopy overhead. You have arrived at Primate Lodge. As soon as you step out of the car,the air will hit your nostrils and go straight through to your windpipe to the lungs. Except it won’t choke you into a cough or trigger an allergy. Instead, it will be that respiratory-cleanse feeling you have as a Vicks Kingo lozenge dissolves in your mouth.

The eco-friendly forest home is a sea of green, with en suite cottages whose architecture agrees with nature – from wooden window panes and bathroom sinks, to solar powered heaters and stone walls. A rabble of butterflies joyfully interrupts your step every 2 meters. On an early morning, you’ll spot a chimpanzee or a white colobus monkey as this is the primates’ home too. Luckily, an unspoken coexistence agreement has been come to.

Chef Vincent is on a mission to fatten you; and do it on time. Before you retire to bed after every dinner, he’ll take your breakfast order and the time at which you want it to be ready. After breakfast, he takes your lunch order and right after lunch while you read in the lounge, he takes the dinner orders. The compound has a brightly painted fireplace in the middle of a wide semi-circle of concrete slab for sitting. If you’re lucky, it won’t rain in the evening and you’ll enjoy its purpose. Lucky, because Kibale is a rainforest and Primate Lodge is right in its midst. Chances that it will not rain in the evenings especially are slim.

The breakfast is elaborate as it gets

But when you’re tucked in bed inside your cottage after a warm bath, the sound of raindrops on your window will make up for the missed fireplace experience. There might be a movement in the forest shrubs outside that will evoke both nerves and excitement. To get up and check whether I locked the door or to pull the covers over my head – you’ll wonder. Whatever decision you make, prepare to awaken to the sound of birds chirping when dawn finally comes.

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CHANCE NALUBEGA – Music that transcends generations #Bayimba2017

September 27, 2017
Edna Ninsiima
631 Comments

When Chance showed up on that stage with a large sequin-embellished head wrap, I knew it was about to be, in contemporary speak, lit; but not even that beautiful crown had me ready for the performance of my entire year. So you’re wondering whether we’re on first name basis now- the answer is YES. There need not be any more connecting to confirm that. Not after I squeezed my knees between that National Theater auditorium legroom and got down to Abateesi.

On a cold Saturday evening, the 3rd day of this year’s Bayimba International Festival of the Arts, my friends and I took our seats waiting for the woman whose music rocked the Uganda airwaves in our childhoods.  At about 9:10 pm, she walked onto the stage. She wore a pair of black trousers and a sequined skirt with slits over them to match her glorious head gear. Her red top was cut out on the shoulders in rectangles. Her biggest accessory, the deep dimples sank into her face cheeks before she motioned the band to begin.

Abakyakala mukyakale, kubang’obulabu bwakiseera! She crooned, her vocals still intact from how I remembered them more from 99. There were no “Kampala, are you ready?-s” or “How are you feeling tonight?-s.” When Chance Nalubega got on stage, she stroke while the iron was hot. The crowd that was already anticipating her performance connected with her; and there was no turning back. “Ab’enyweera mbawagira” and we all raised our barley filled disposable cups.

Before she performed the next song, she spoke a word similar to one of those languages which our friends in the make shift-turned mansions churches spoke. Then taught the crowd a response which they shouted back in unison. Her dances could give Queen Sheba a run for her money. A few leg moves here, waist moves there and touchy feely ones that excited Isaac Kudzu enough to get on stage and dance too.

Whenever we were sure she was done and were satisfied that our money’s worth was spent, Chance chimed: kati awo ng’ambongera! Meaning, she was about to give us more. She then plunged her vocals of the next tune into the depths of our hearts. I looked to my right and Liz, Benji, Samwiri and Ed were all on their feet- so were their neighbors…and their neighbors’ neighbors. By the time she had gone through her hits; Abenugu, Yiga Okwagala and I Will Love You, it didn’t matter whether Chameleon was going to perform or not. Chance had closed the Saturday show.

Forget Chance The Rapper, Chance Nalubega is an unstoppable legend who after a decade still held her own in a room full of millennials, with some who missed seats horded between the doors.

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What Might Cultivate the Reading Culture We Want #UgBlogWeek

August 15, 2017
Edna Ninsiima
1,758 Comments

A month ago I sat through writing workshop sessions day after day listening to brilliant story lines and execution of aspiring writers like myself. I nodded at the elaborate choice of words and marveled at the satire. Every so often I wondered how much work it might take for someone to develop such characters and conflict that drove the plot. I felt that each of those stories was a story that deserved to be heard and read beyond those four walls. Most importantly I thought two things: I should have met these storytellers and their stories earlier. Also that this literature would spur the interest of anyone who chanced upon it.

A couple of days ago, Ugandan author Mulumba Ivan Matthias launched, not one, but two books: a novel and a poetry collection each with a tale that will be too familiar to any Ugandan. A poem on street kids here, a character getting onto a boda-boda and another storming into the Vice Chancellor’s compound wearing a red gown. The thought about interest in literature with regards to our reading culture resurfaced.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that had we grown up reading Mulumba’s “The Honking” or Jennifer Makumbi’s “Kintu,” our reading culture would have been significantly different. You can hardly fault a Ugandan 90’s child who had only the Sweet Valley Highs and ‘Hansels and Gretels’ available to them for not picking an interest in reading. After all, we largely respond to situations that we have encountered. So if a child who lives in an environment where Fanta and Nile Special are the drinks on an average menu has books with characters who drink kool-aid in the cafeteria, what are the chances that reading will be their cup of tea?

When you think about this. Then you understand how huge the responsibility that lies upon is- to tell our stories we say. Except even with the will, we need not one but many ways. In a country where the arts are barely given national funding, where there’s not one creative writing school options, the stakes are higher.  It means that we have to push twice as hard if we’re going to produce content that people will like to read before the Daily Telegraph makes a “stunning!'” comment about it. To deliberately seek connections with not only aspiring writers, but also filmmakers, actors, rappers and musicians, photographers and together set out to put in the work, sweat, do it all over again until many of us have a product that is truly Ugandan. With the communities we build among us, we should continuously challenge our quality of writing and critique with the intent of making us better.
That way, we don’t wait for each of us to have their story printed or approved for publishing. We need not wait to put together 500 pages of a book. Yet still, we hold ourselves at a standard that publications require. Except this time, on our terms and with available means.

We can start by utilizing the internet. We are privileged to have come to maturity during the times of free content sharing social sites like WordPress, YouTube, Snapchat and SoundCloud and Facebook – a platform on which the average user spends not less an hour a day. Even when internet data costs are still high for an average Ugandan, it should be a cost we’re willing to incur if we realize that we’re on a mission. Besides, internet costs notwithstanding, the amount of time we spend on WhatsApp for example; sharing, chatting, responding, forwarding chain messages if channeled to storytelling would birth a load of useful and viral content. Envision a scenario where every Whatsapp group member is required to write down a later type a story roundup of 7 days each week.

Considering there should be many other writers like those with whom I attended the workshop, we all wouldn’t have to wait to physically get together for our stories to be read or heard. We would read each other’s stories in WhatsApp through forwards, Facebook through shares, on WordPress and YouTube through links. Then as every social trend in our motherland goes, other not-so-enthusiastic potential storytellers would be challenged to try it out.

If we do the work in reading, learning, deliberate critical thought, producing and sharing that good web content which does not go away until deleted by author, we can rest easy and believe that should the future generation go looking for the Ugandan story, they’ll have a lot of interesting, relatable literature to choose from and consequently, have a reading culture better than we ever had.

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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.

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