Kyaali, the queen is emotionally stressed that she might not even attend Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding in London. She’s personally touched with the way things are going in Libya. The only people who can define her pain are the Ebonies through their play titles.
She’s in an inextricable dilemma which is an obnoxious abomination and eventually she’s likely to experience enigmatic palpitations which might put her life in an excruciating conundrum and eventually lead to stupendous successions and tumultuous amalgamations which might turn out to be probabilistic shenanigans of ambidextrous insubordinates.
Yes, I’m just like you reading this. I don’t understand this kind of pain. I’m sure the queen mother would send her army to Libya if Toro kingdom had one. The only worry would be whether the Batooro foot soldiers would handle the battle hardened Arab rebels given their soft-spoken nature.
There are some jobs that are not meant for Batooro. You can’t have a Mutooro as a security guard. They are not violent people by nature. He will arrest the thief and let him go with a last warning. They can’t be street preachers.
You have to be very loud and clear for the passer-by to get the message, something a Mutooro can’t do. Shouting in public is a sign of disrespect in their culture. The street preachers in Fort Portal are Baganda.
Batooro are good marketers. Those who work or move through Wandegeya will agree with me that most of the fruit vendors are Batooro. They wear a humble face and sweet-talk you into buying butunda you don’t need.
They are very trustworthy especially when you have heavy luggage that needs to be transported in the bus park. They are willing to carry your mugugu on their carts at a friendly price.
They are very genuine people. I met a Mutooro friend boarding a bus in the park heading for his rural homeland. I asked him whether he would be returning after his visit and he told me he was done with the city.
“Kampala endemere. Ninkola bitaano nindya lusanju,” loosely translated, “I can’t handle Kampala. I earn five hundred shillings and spend seven hundred.”
The Batooro make the best administrative assistants whom people normally refer to as secretaries. They are very welcoming. They make you forget about the boss and instead schedule an appointment with them for a lunch date.
A Mutooro nurse is the best thing that can happen to a patient. You will always look forward to getting an injection from her. I know of a guy who feared injections with a passion but voluntarily put down his pants when a Mutooro administered the injection. He couldn’t resist her smooth talk and beauty. In fact, he begged to have the full doze at once.
I visited a restaurant in Fort Portal which had the worst food ever. Believe me, we ate the food because of the waitress. She began by giving us pet names, and then she complimented our beauty and wanted to know whether we would spend the night in town.
I have heard some people say that Batooro have a saying, “Omusaija tayangwa” which means “never refuse a man’s advances.”
I don’t know whether there is any truth in this saying but what I know for sure is that the queen mother can’t bear the suffering the Libyan leader is going through.
Kyaali Gad! Gad afiire!
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