Dancing with Marketeers/ Oopa Apenyo Style.

Although I didn’t find the topic of the night exciting, I attended Marketeers night on the 3rd of this month. I figured that the keynote speaker would only have the floor for thirty minutes or so and if he was boring, then that would be the price to pay for the exquisite dinner and the self-esteem boost that always comes from spending time with people who do what you do. Heck, I wasn’t even paying the 100,000 for my ticket. All I had to do was send an email saying yes.

Jimmy Mugerwa, CEO of Tullow Oil spoke on the importance of marketing in the oil sector. This is certainly a necessary topic and I was hoping to glean some real wisdom from his words.

Mr. Mugerwa may be a firebrand in oil and energy circles, but the man is just not an engaging speaker. All I got out of the thirty minute speech was that Ugandans need to open their eyes and grasp the opportunities that come with so much oil being discovered in the country.

After his talk, my workmates and I visited the dessert table to bring life back into our bodies, through our mouths. Have you ever looked at sweets and cakes and fruit and had tears come to your eyes? Have you ever felt defeated by the splendor of it all?

We returned to our table when the emcee was making a call for table captains and all my workmates turned to look at me. I was confused. From their giggle filled explanations, I learnt that every table was supposed to front its best dancer and he or she had to go to the front and shake everything that their momma gave them.

Now if you are a regular reader of Stiletto Point, you know that dancing comes as naturally to me as breathing. I dance on my way to work, in the queue of a bank. I dance on the hills of Kololo when I am working out. Dancing makes me feel alive. It injects my blood with a jolly madness. I happily agreed to be table captain.

Seven other people from other tables walked to the front of the room with me and we exchanged amiable if nervous greetings. I was sizing them up all the while. When we were told to get on stage, three people dropped off. Dancing at the front of the room, they could do. Getting up on stage like some teenagers at a kadanke? That was too much for them.

In the beginning, I didn’t know what exactly we were dancing for. My first moves were Macarena, caterwauling hands and a little waist shaking here and there. When, however, a fellow dancer informed me that we were grooving for a trip for two to Mombasa, well that changed the game.

I felt stupid first of all. Dancing for something small is more fun than dancing for something as drastically fun as a trip to Mombasa. I felt like a circus bear riding a bicycle for treats from its master. But then I also liked the idea of winning. To calm my nerves and kill the indignation that had started to build up, I decided to dance like I would at a house party.

That’s probably why I am now immortalized on youTube in a Point Blank segment, no less, jigging like I just don’t care.

Kampire made 10,000 gifs. She’s the best.

Here, have another gif:

😀

Here is the entire video:

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Dancing makes my world go round.

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Children, meanness and great, great fun. #4days

For the last two days, Maad Advertising has been alive. Children have brought their squeals, questions, giggles and bad manners into our office and I have loved every minute of it.

I have always liked children, in a kind of way. When I was little, I liked to carry babies and pretend they were my doll kajungu. Kajungu was not what you’d call normal. He was a head; a big, white head full of brown curly hair. Although he was good enough company, he wasn’t as interesting as real babies who had both big heads with curly hair and bodies.

When I grew into a teenager, all of my interest was turned on myself. I examined my face and body, declared them a firm 6 (I described my smile as dusky) and proceeded to decorate my face with piercing upon piercing upon piercing. There was no space for children in my life (except for my siblings).

Yesterday when these kids came in, I was shy of them. I stared at my computer and ignored them, mostly. Then my creative director called me into studio and asked if I could help choreograph a Video jingle that they were to be part of. I agreed of course. Apenyo approves of any song that goes “The beat is too heavy, I’m shaking my belly”.

I went downstairs, stared, stammered some and then chose a tame looking one and asked him to teach me a move. The rest, for sure, was history.

I have danced, played, been called Auntie Mildred, Milly, and even mommy by many adorable children. I’ve had to rush in and break up fights, most notably, one between a loud, attention loving girl and man who all of a sudden shouted, “Don’t mess with me, you stupid girl. Don’t mess!”

If looks could bust balls, that idiot would be a eunuch right now. I told him to please leave if he couldn’t respect children and then soothed the girl. She was troublesome, sure, one of those who refused to listen, jumped on tables, and clung to adults-especially male ones. She is however a child and deserves to be treated with as much tenderness as the best of them.

There was a three-year old who made my ovaries somersault with his cuteness. This one became my dance partner at the end.

After we were done with rehearsals and I was back at my desk, one boy came over. I don’t know how we began to talk about mums, but he asked me if mine is around, in the world.

I said no.

He put on this very sad face and said, “Also me. I’ll never forget the day my mother died.”

That broke my heart. I felt a solidarity with this motherless boy, especially because I have siblings his age who must feel the loss exactly as he does.

I told him to be happy and to look at us and how much we were doing, even if our mothers were in heaven. I was in the middle of assuring him of his complete awesomeness when he burst out laughing and said, “I’m lying! My mother is not dead!”

My mumsy outfit of the day:

A bit short, but she’d be kawa with it.

I was pissed. I told him to leave my table, go back to the boardroom and draw on one of the papers that I’d distributed earlier to keep them occupied.

That feeling, that FUCK YOU, CHILD feeling has stayed with me. A part of me is still feeling sorry for his tiny, “motherless” self.

And now, even as I post status updates about how much I love kids and how teaching nursery school children (TOP CLASS) at some point in my twenties is on my bucket list, It’s clear in my mind how stupidly mean children can be and how when you’re an adult you always HAVE to take the high road.