For the first time since its inception in 2009, I will attend the grand finale of this year’s Miss Rwanda pageant.

Previously, my argument had been simple: Why go to a beauty contest, do a spot of optical nutrition, but then at the end of it all, walk away empty-handed?

That’s like window-shopping.

Other years, I had always wished to join the girls in boot camp instead –what in media jargon is known as "embedded journalism”. I wanted to embed myself with the contestants –which is much more rewarding than having to watch them sashay and strut their stuff on a distant stage. 

2016 is also a year when I shall have little business dealings with churches and faith-based organizations. 

Truth be told, and boldly so, I will only continue to frequent them whenever people are dead or getting married. 

And it was my dealings with a certain Pentecostal church in Kigali last year that brought me to this rant. While the church had offered me a kiraka based on their knowledge of my "super journalist” credentials, our working relationship was ill-fated from day one and, therefore, short-lived. 

Short lived because, as a journalist, I usually find taking questions from other people rather odd–an insult even. I am used to being the hunter, not the hunted.

So the next time you give me a kiraka, don’t dare ask me why my hair and my beard are the way they are. It is what it is.

Also, don’t ask me whether I smoke or drink, because I’m not in the habit of answering to obvious questions. 

And don’t ever ask which religion I subscribe to, because I don’t remember the last time The New Times asked me the same.

It is also in this year that I will begin to do all those things people have always told me to do, but that I had stubbornly and persistently refused to:

I will begin to wear socks more regularly, and also I will now comb my hair or even better, cut it off.

I will also stop wearing that pair of bleached, fitting jeans to the office and to interviews. Some people have told me it makes me look like Ugandan singer Eddy Kenzo, which is not a good thing for a journo. Also, my Facebook profile has remained the same for the last four years, and the time is surely now for change. 

I’m also thinking seriously about the prospect of joining Twitter. 

In this year, trust me to hunt down the singers who gave us some of the biggest local hits to cap the year gone by. 

The songs are Vero and Indoro. 

Speaking of Indoro, why is it that the song is so popular among drunkards –as popular as DJ Pius’ Kanda Amazi a while ago and, more recently, Ama G The Black’s Nyabarongo? 

Of course, being the music pro that I am, I am well aware of the reason boozy people find Indoro such an interesting song. 

How about you?