As you might know, dear reader, I am connected to the late Kato Lubwama through two different lines: the first is through my late Mrs, Princess Ramlah Ssimbwa Nkinzi, whom I have written about several times, about how despite being mostly apolitical, she was ever enchanted by Lubwama’s candour and childlike assessment of the world.

Some of the most enduring memories I have of my Mrs choking on laughter were when she narrated stories. She had heard about Lubwama’s early life as a hustler (say hawking kerosene candles in downtown Kampala, which she believed had built Lubwama’s tough mettle, and nurtured his humour— hawkers of these things tend to be funny, she would say).

Or the things she had heard Lubwama say himself on his campaign trail (such as promising to give each of the market women in his constituency Shs 20,000 from his parliament salary to boost their businesses.

“Nga lwaki nedda, nabo babeewo”). Told in Luganda, with a voice of both pity and affection, Ramlah would be slapping her stomach as she mimicked Lubwama’s voice. We both got endeared to Lubwama and looked forward to his victory: he was raw, uncensored and, above all, funny.

KALISOLIISO

The second connection I have with brother Lubwama is a story of my coming of age. This was the time when CBS FM’s morning sports segment, “Kalisoliiso” was the talk of entire villages and towns. (Someone will one day have to write this story, and chronicle the ways in which Kalisoliiso became culture: It revolutionized radio programming—and show-host hirings—having inspired an entire generation of radio humour, while at the same time mobilising social consciousness around several issues).

Marketed as a sports show, Kalisoliiso would become mostly renowned for the unmistakable energy of its presenters—who do this show on their feet—and the sharp humour with which the sports headlines are delivered and commented upon.

A show within a show, Kalisoliiso, for a long time was hosted by two outstanding comics, Abbey Mukiibi Nkaaga and now deceased Paul Kato Lubwama. It would open like a movie, with a swishing entry, a specially tailored song remixed from the reigning hit, and some percussion— all in a space of just a few minutes.

It was a full buffet, skilfully seasoned, and powerfully served; the sports headlines are often interrupted, intermixed and commented by one-line jokes. There are birthdays greetings, a celebration of new parenthood—with a song for parents of twins.

There are cheeky but powerful family self-help slogans (motto yamaka) and sometimes, outright community campaigns, say on immunisation, campaigns against HIV/Aids. All of this is delivered with wit and humour. Then, Abbey Mukiibi would close the segment with the sublime headline joke, building as a story, and then blowing the roof off with a witty punchline.

They would sign out immediately, but in style, like a Formula One sports car taking off! Ffe twejeewo...! This concluding joke would be the talk of the entire day as we anxiously waited for tomorrow. Growing up in the villages of Mukono, tilling the land during the holidays was the early morning routine.

But a radio would be planted either ahead or behind to listen to mostly, CBS FM. But as soon as the Kalisoliiso segment began, we would all be forced into a pause. If one was stubborn enough to continue with their ploughing, at least, they stopped at that moment when Abbey Mukiibi was about to deliver the headline joke.

These two voices behind this less than 20 minutes segment—Kato Lubwama and Abbey Mukiibi—got etched in our lives as the voices of humour and happiness.

POLITICS AS THEATRE

In 2015, Lubwama decided to take on the bigger stage of artistic expression: politics. It is possible that this started as a joke on the Kalisoliiso set—politics had already become a joke anyway. Thus, Lubwama was only compelled by his artistic craft to go and express this sentiment more directly, more honestly.

Beating three more established politicians including my friends, Sirajje Kifampa Nsambu and Faridah Mpiima Mayanja for the Lubaga South seat in parliament, it was proof that Lubwama was an accurate observer of society. His humour rhymed well with the politics of the time.

In pure artistic spirit — of living life honestly and humorously — Lubwama kept true to form and content: He would be braggadocios sometimes, crude, but often brutally honest. Lubwama embodied the critique of all forms of high-end fakery in Kampala— mostly of religious entrepreneurs and politicians—and embodied the spirit of a good life, which is the aspiration of many.

Like all of us, he was oftentimes vulnerable, but braved through his low moments with grace, candour, and above all, humour. It is my sobering contention that—in its purest form—art makes us honest, real, genuine and more humane. As a playwright and essayist, Prof Austin Bukenya has told us, the artiste/folklorist has to have a good sense of “accurate observation (of society), vivid imagination and ingenious expression.”

Lubwama vividly completed this triangle—and sometimes hit us like theorists (recall that viral video clip where he talks about the things that make people rich)!

Indeed, while art might not make us saints (although this inclination is more natural to accomplished artiste), even as villains, art makes a villainous artiste more appreciable through their straightforwardness. Like that Joker in American cinema.

Indeed, as an artiste and public persona, Hon. Kato Lubwama lived a beautiful, straight life. To paraphrase a Shakespearean sonnet, Lubwama will live twice, including in this verse.