Why are more non-Rwandans increasingly busying their bodies over affairs supposed to be of national interest primarily to Rwandans?
Why are more non-Rwandans increasingly busying their bodies over affairs supposed to be of national interest primarily to Rwandans?
Why are they going on opining, deliberating, commentating and harping and ranting and philosophizing and prophesying like their very souls are dependent on it?
Do they not know the meaning of the word, Turamushaka? In fact, it must be made a rule that before any foreigner unleashes their stinking onslaught of verbal diarrhea about what does not concern them, they must fist prove their knowledge and understanding of turamushaka.
In case they should need any help going about this, let them not hesitate to contact song bird Knowless Butera. She has a song called Baramushaka, and as you can see, Turamushaka and Baramushaka are close cousins.
Baramushaka and turamushaka and Knowless Butera aside, why is it called social media and not anti social media?
Why are we being forced to call a "social networking site” that encourages people to wish their mothers a "happy mother’s day” on a platform their mothers have never heard about, and probably never will?
How many of those mother’s day and birthday wishes on Facebook actually translate into a two-minute phone call to the said mothers?
Still with facebook and the ‘social media’ craze, why should we have to wait until Thursday before we can post old photos under that annoying hash tag, #TBT#?
And let’s understand this as well: Why do we always have to say understand, not over stand, since "under” generally denotes less, or not sufficient?
So the next time you want me to grasp a point you are explaining, make me to over stand instead. Yes, to over stand makes more sense than to understand.
Yet still we proceed with the questions that are more than answers: What kind of rubbish is that, whereby the best ibirayi from Kinigi are still referred to as "Irish potatoes?”
In fact, RDB should stop acting coy and force all eating houses in the country to strike out the item "Irish potatoes” from their sad menus.
This is Rwanda, and we could do with a more befitting name for the potatoes: Ibiraayi. Or Kinigi delights.
Finally, if love’s so nice, then tell me why I’m sad? In fact, tell me why some people in love that I know shed constant tears? Does their love involve constantly peeling onions?