Life comes at you fast

I looked like this when telling it
It wasn't me
It wasn’t me

Nobody’s perfect. Guess what, even Beyonce is not perfect. Rihanna is not perfect either. Idris Elba…not perfect. So this does not come as a surprise…I am not perfect. Not that I have ever claimed to be or look like it but life comes at you fast sometimes. I have had my fair share of awkward pauses, long stares and map drawing by foot. It is all in the cycle of life. Today for the #30DayBlogChallenge we are to share our awkward or most embarrassing stories. I feel like I have embarrassed myself severally but why stop now. I will take a few scenarios and try go in a chronological order from young me to almost recent moments.

When I was seven I ran towards a woman I thought was my mother and hugged her tight. I looked up to find it is not her and she was very shocked. I could not see her face properly as I was running towards her because the sun was behind her (it was during sunset)

I hanged upside down on a barbed wire fence by my dress. (I knew there was a reason I hated dresses.) It was during a game of brikicho and I was running to go ‘tipo’ then my dress was caught on the barbed wire and I was left dangling there for a few minutes before we figured we could just rip the dress. I still have a scar on my knee that runs slightly up my thigh.

I looked like this when telling it
I looked like this when telling it

I was a dumb kid with an affinity for gossip. If you told me a story, it would not occur to me to fact check it. Your feelings did not count in my book. There was this story going around that this overweight woman in an estate near my school was a cannibal. She would kidnap children from school and sit on them until they died and them make stew. I helped spread this rumour and would even point at her gate. We saw her once and we ran like our lived depended on it. I also do not understand, please don’t ask how this rumour made sense.

There are a lot of gems in my boarding school but even I can’t get myself to write about that so we’ll skip to high school.

There was this time we went to a funkie in a boys’ school and I found myself someone to walk around with. The moment I mentioned that I had seen Spartacus, in as much as I watched a total of 5 minutes, he started hinting at things. Watching Spartacus was something to brag about because of its explicit nature. The more he nagged while casually pointing to the dormitory area, the further away from him I wanted to be. I asked him to let me go back to the bus, I don’t remember what for. After reaching there I told the other girls if someone came asking for a Jane, tell them we have no Jane her. As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, he came by, asked for a Jane, he was told we don’t have a Jane. Not only here in the bus but also in that compound, no one from our school had the name Jane. I stopped walking around from that day and would just enjoy the serenity in our school bus after our performances for the next 2 years.

During my music festival days, I was always guaranteed a spot on the Baganda dance but we came up with a luhya dance that I was also selected for. Everything was okay until we reached the district level and some girls decided that because the pieces they were performing were done and they could not go on the day the luhya dance was scheduled, that they would need to kick out some people. I was kicked out. I was furious, but thought that it wouldn’t make any difference if I pretended to be going. So that morning, I woke up and wore a luhya dance uniform and went into the bus. A bunch of us were sneaking in so the other girls decided it would be best to confuse the teachers so they won’t know how many of us were in the bus. At the end of the day, we were found out because the teacher thought he came with 26 girls. 24 who were in the luhya dance and 2 substitutes but they could see more than 5 girls walking around the compound as the Luhya dance was being performed. We were found out and had to wash the dining hall for a whole week.

I had a love hate relationship with my hair where it loved me more than I did it. I mean, it is a bunch of dead cells, what’s more to talk about. This one day, I took a scissors and decided to cut my bangs myself. It was horrendous but I loved it a lot. I looked like I was 30 years old. It wasn’t pretty but it happened.

These are just some of what I can remember. I have decided to keep some for myself because privacy and also self esteem issues. GOOD! What next? Share some of your stories if you have any and I’ll be sure to top it with a more embarrassing story.




What say you?