Stella Nyanzi, a medical anthropologist at Makerere Institute of Social Research [MISR] has resolved to give police chief, Kale Kayihura, her sumbusa [slang for private parts] if he keeps guns out of the 2016 elections.
Nyanzi who once said she wanted to have sex with Museveni and burn her clitoris if he wins elections, says she uses sexual innuendos to bring out her political views.
Her writing is to be taken for its satirical perspective.
Nyanzi is also a sworn radical feminist and queer feminist scholar.
This time round, she has picked up Kayihura.
Here are her posts:
I have a tight pair of lacey red, yellow and black panties that flatter my big brown soft buttocks and show off my rosey bush of black adult Ugandan hairs.
If Kale Kayihura removes the non-smiling gun-wielding scaremongers from our democratic processes, he can have a bite of my fresh tightly-packed sumbusa for it is spicy hot!
If Kale Kayihura stops the verbal and psychological intimidation of Uganda’s voting masses, he can have a second bite of my stellar sumbusa.
If Kale Kayihura aborts the unholy violent mission of deploying Uganda’s noble forces to arrest, detain, teargas, hit, kick, shoot and kill Ugandans during the elections, he can keep my dirty lacey knickers as a souvenir, after gobbling up my sweet tightness flowing with the River Nile.
I have a kinky bra made of kitengi cloth printed with pretty figures of the proud heads of many crested cranes.
If Afande Kale impounds the containers full of ballots to stuff into boxes before the elections start, he can duly suckle one of my big black nipples.
If Afande Kale instructs his intelligence to vigilantly smoke out the rigging processes and procedures of the riggers of Uganda’s elections, I will gift him with a long suckle of the pleasures of my second big black nipple.
If Afande Kale redeems the police forces by launching an operation to arrest all masterminds and donkeys dirtening our elections, he can keep my dirty bra as a chepe of honour.
I see no honour in constantly exporting tonnes of ammunition for unleashing upon gunless civilians doing their duty to Uganda. I see no honour in licking the boots of a despotic regime. Salute!
Tired of NRM marriage
Ssenga, my marriage to the NRM disgusts me these days. I am returning the butiiti waistbeads you gave me on the night of our marriage.
Even these soft nkumbi cloth no longer have any value in my life. This husband no longer knows what his responsibilities are to me his wife.
I am so fed up of this gu-man that whenever he comes to bed with his drum-stick, the drum beat from my skin can only be the hollow mourning of a new widow.
Ssenga, my first love for my husband the NRM died a long time ago such that whenever he touches me with holy adult lust, I feel ugly, used and abused. Ah-ah, there is nothing for me in this marriage, Ssenga.
Making love with the NRM is so painful that we always first fight for my panties before he tears them off my thinning thighs. Over the years, I have been variously hurt so badly by my husband – the NRM that even the akachabali no longer brings the rivers of life to our marriage.
I am so fade up with my husband, the NRM that even the doggy-style you taught us no longer brings any electric charges running between my belly-button and thighs.
Ssenga, this month I am divorcing the NRM and voting for a new young lover. Kizza Besigye oyeeeeee!
Country is being “raped”
Being raped daily by a dominatrix lover who wooed you thirty years ago normalises this violence. Simply because the lover liberated you from brutal ex-husbands, washed the pus oozing from your wounded body, bought you nice dresses and gave you a Banco bed to sleep in peace, does not erase the violence and lack of consent with which he rapes you these days.
Your lover of thirty years ago became your sick rapist the day he paid our impotent elite a few glittering coins to tear presidential term limits out of the constitution.
Where are the remnants of those coins, you traitors? We are stuck with a despot who does not see that the elastic in his pants and underwear got tired many years ago.
The children are seeing his wrinkled manhood that violently pounds Mother Uganda, year after year after painful year.
You are being raped, Uganda. Vote yourself out of this exploitative marriage. The ballot can redeem us; will redeem us.
Although the rapist skillfully rigs, if all our ballot papers leave his slot clean, we shall salvage our remains from this lover of thirty years ago.