what it feels like to work in a Ugandan newspaper (standard:humor, 988 words)
Author: DAVID TUMUSIIME	Added: Sep 27 2003	Views/Reads: 3564/2446	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
i tried to be eminently practical, hold down a job and work 8-6pm. i did. for three months. at a newspaper. and this is what happened...

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Let me give you a little newspaper jargon. Paper outlay must be made,
by-lines brought in pronto, photographs found and scanned, captions 
written, space for the odd extra advertisement found, the editorial 
where is the editorial, the zip who has the zip, one of the columns is 
missing- THAT columnist is dead, My God! We don't have a lead story! 

Crisis after crisis. Stuff not for the faint hearted. Testosterone
stuff. To hell with looks, all over the office dreadlocks from 
scratching the head in fury are in style. Prickliness is at height. Red 
glazed eyes everywhere stare back not recognizing. 

All this before the first coffee cup is served. After the coffee,
tempers itch to be scratched to explode. Colleagues stare at each other 
across the small desks they are working on like poker antagonists. A 
frowning face at a computer maybe challenged, “Are you making faces at 
me? Are you kusooza me?” 

Kampala sleeps early. After 9:30 the streets are virtually deserted.
Ghost town silence reigns. And a cool cool evening breeze that reaches 
to the bone washing away the artificial heat and light of the office. 

Indifference cannot long remain your state once out of the office. The
breeze, the silence, the freedom of the deserted streets and pavements 
forces you to breathe in, exhale more satisfactorily, look around with 
happier eyes. 

Kampala sleeps so early. But this is a good thing for you-on this night.
In the silence of the streets, in the cool whispered nothings of the 
breeze, in the mute lonely office and restaurant lights that tell a 
story without words, the odd person you meet hurrying home like you; 
suddenly you realize how so beautiful Kampala city is. A song comes to 
your lips and if you are too shy to sing out, beats in your heart as 
you musically stride to it. You are going home! 


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