Patience Akumu Sunshine
I was unwell. So I took a break from everything. On one of the darkest days, I ran into Spice Diana and Uncle Chumi’s song, Gwokute Gwobba. I was enthralled and put it on replay. It was the dramatic beat. It was the naughty collusion between Spice Diana and Uncle Chumi as they took money from men too engrossed into club fun to notice.
It was Uncle Chumi’s glittering suit, beautiful smile and effortless flow. It was Spice Diana’s naughty dance, gorgeous skin and unforgettable voice. It was unapologetic disruption combining with stereotypical beauty to serve us a beautiful anthem of defiance and survival. Gwokute Gwobba. The one you catch is the one you steal from.
Gwokute Gwobba is the mantra of the street smart in a country designed to alienate the poorest while the rich grow richer. The blatant defiance in this song (How dare a woman without nyash try to shake it? How dare a person who does not fit in my small gender box be so entertaining and loveable?) reminded me that we, Ugandans, are not food. Tetuli mere. You cannot just cook us and eat us while we look on.
The joke is that staying alive in Uganda is a skill in itself. Unlike our Kenyan siblings, for example, who will hit the street and scream hoarse for their rights, we choose to make a video of subtle defiance. A political statement laced with play and humor.
Uganda is like that submissive woman who kneels down and takes off her husband’s socks as soon as he gets home. She makes sure he has a hot plate of food after taking his basin of warm water to the bathroom. She changes the sheets and pulls out a clean enkumbi, the magic small towel that clears out the remnants of lovemaking, as she thanks him for loving her right and declares he is the king of all men.
But push her to the wall — forget to pay school fees or leave kameza money for six months — and you will see the fangs of her everyday feminism. Suddenly, she will always be too busy breastfeeding Junior when you come home after work. You will have to bend down and take off your own socks. The flask that kept your food warm will break and your tea will taste bland and unmemorable because all the mujaja in the garden dried out. You know, climate change. Praises of width and girth and declarations of entire Kingdoms in your name will turn into endless headaches…
Uncle Chumi and Spice Diana’s Gwokute Gwobba reminded me that to the world, Ugandans may look like they are cowering in the face of social and political injustice. Like they have accepted to live with a tainted human rights record and are happy to just sleep. But the reality is that Ugandans continue to thrive despite the adversities. They choose to dance and be disruptively happy rather than wield placards. Thank you Spice and Uncle Chumi. I hope you settle your feud and find time to celebrate this revolutionary piece of art you served us
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Award-winning journalist. Lawyer. Unapologetic feminist. Telling stories of food, of life...
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