Imagine you have finished what you were doing in the wardrobe; you have chosen what to wear, stuffed the other clothes back in, and closed the door with some difficulty. As you are turning to walk away, it opens by itself and the clothes you had stuffed in spill out. Don’t you just hate it?
I wouldn’t want to be in Amama Mbabazi’s shoes this week as he traverses Fort Portal and Kabarole Districts for votes. Instead of being given the opportunity to detail his Manifesto and generally what he hopes to do for the region, he has to stand trial in the public court about the late Brig. Nobel Mayombo.
As I watched him laboring to explain himself on TV, it was easy to get the sense that the public is tending towards passing a sentence on him. Of course, it could not have been made easier with that yellow helicopter that landed in Boma Grounds before his was meant to meet his supporters. Talk about being hit in the solar plexus! I wonder what was in those black bags that were offloaded from the chopper into a black car.
I have been longing to hear what individual message the candidates have towards the women but I think I am waiting in vain. Remember that time when all the candidates in any election had something special for the mothers of this nation?
This reminds me of an interesting analogy. If Uganda is the home, then the presidential candidates are potential husbands. The women and the youths are co-wives of this husband. A few years back, the women were the favourite wife, but it seems their place was usurped. Nowadays, the youth are the favourite wife. And how they love to flaunt their newfound love!
Every candidate is promising heaven on earth to the youth. Lucky them.
