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In the course of the World War II, theater of the absurd started to bloom: Albert Camus gave us the Myth of Sisyphus (1942), Eugene Ionesco, The Bald Soprano (1946), and later, Samuel Beckett published Waiting for Godot (1953). This came to be called the Absurd Movement.
It was a time when reason and logic were incapable of explaining the world we lived in, and even "meaningless conversations quickly deteriorate into babbling."
How can one explain – logically, coherently – that one man's anger that courts summoned him, now entire institutions – police, judiciary, UPDF, media, foreign affairs – are all working tirelessly to soothe is rage!
Terrible, shocking news! Hon. Hellen Nakimuli, Woman MP, Kalangala District just passed on after an unsuccessful surgery! May God strengthen all of us in this very tough time.
Warder Anguyo (No. 13544) Ugandan prison officer who allegedly shot and killed four people, including three of his supervisors and a child, at Kiboga Central Prison on February 23, 2026 has been arrested in DR. Congo ...
Who could have bagged the 10million ...
Spectrum Extra🎙️– Where facts meet accountability.
The week’s biggest stories under the spotlight with @anderlukson and guests @j_mucunguzi, Yvonne Mpambara, @MichaelAboneka & Tonny Tumukunde.
🗓️ Friday, January 9
🕖 7:00 – 9:00 PM
📻 Radio One 90 FM
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Kyogereko – Leero 🎙️
Twetegereze eby’enjawulo ku arigesta y’abalonzi n’obuuma bw’okulonda, ebyetaagisa okumanya nga tulindirira akalulu, ne Ms. Jennifer Kyobutungi (Regional Election Officer, in charge of Kampala).
🕗 8:00–9:00pm | 📻 Akaboozi 87.9 FM
Spectrum 🔴 – Tonight 🎙️
A critical discussion on children’s rights in the context of the election process, featuring @mondokyateka, SSP Carolyne Kushemererwa, and @damonwamara.
🕖 7:00–8:00 PM
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My wife started competing with me.
Not for attention.
Not for control.
For victimhood.
It started after a hard season.
I'd come home drained from work.
She'd been drained from the kids all day.
Both of us desperate to be seen.
I'd say: "Today was brutal. My boss—"
She'd cut in: "You think that's hard? Try being stuck here with a screaming toddler for nine hours."
I didn't realize we'd started keeping score.
Every hard day became a competition.
Every struggle became a bid for sympathy.
Every conversation became: "Yeah, but mine was worse."
Her exhaustion vs. my exhaustion.
Her sacrifice vs. my sacrifice.
We stopped comforting each other.
We started one-upping each other.
One night she was crying in the kitchen.
I walked in, saw her tears, and my first thought was:
"I had a harder day than her."
I didn't hold her.
I calculated whether her pain outranked mine.
That's when I realized:
We weren't fighting each other.
We were fighting for the same thing — to be the bigger victim.
And in the Victim Olympics, there's no gold medal.
Just two people keeping score while the marriage bleeds out.
I put down the scorecard that night.
I sat next to her and said:
"I'm sorry. I've been competing with you instead of carrying you."
She looked at me like I'd spoken a foreign language.
Then she cried harder — but different this time.
We didn't fix it overnight.
We'd built the habit for years.
But we made a rule:
When one of us is struggling, the other one listens. No comparisons. No "me too." Just presence.
Hardest thing I've ever done — letting her win without keeping score.
Your wife doesn't need you to understand how hard her day was.
She needs you to stop measuring it against yours.
And brother...
If every conversation feels like a competition?
Maybe it's because you turned your marriage into a scoreboard instead of a shelter.
Put down the scorecard.
You're not opponents.
You're teammates who forgot they're on the same side.