SUMMARIZING DOCS.

Summarising and Editing DOÇs

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

The hug can wait, guys!

[Jim Spire Ssentongo @SpireJim]

Feel free to make use of this cartoon wherever you think it can help on Ebola, be it in print or soft copy

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Missing child?

[Bennedict @BennieSonamzi]

He is still missing, please repost until he is found.

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@Moonlight_myths @sarahshine007 @mhiztaGabzy1 That is why intelligent women do not show men to their daughters until they are sure they have men of their own. Even that young girl will become mature and be taken by your man. Listen and act! Men may accept you with your girl daughter but that is a future side chick.

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Sebanenya Shafiq, security guard, contact prof. V Baryamureebanfor a job. Email him!!!

[Prof. V Baryamureeba @baryamureeba]

I am interested in this guy if he needs employment. Let him contact me. Let him search for my email online and send me an email with copies of his academic papers.

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Just know the young pastor on the new Pastos' block! Check out Silent voice Uganda's video! #TikTok https://t.co/SwH8JD8ZEc This post is shared via TikTok Lite. Download TikTok Lite to enjoy more posts: https://t.co/iTHCeUbu69

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@josiahjdp Thank you for having ended the extremely good story. We hate suspense stories here!

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@only1bangerlee Stir some strong salt in little water and rub it in a small towel over it. You can Google to naturally heal the same.

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@athorabs85 @NamaraGloria0 You remain comfortably in your seat, but when you come with excess, offer some. Tue, the Bible insists on church building and blessings from God do happen. I used to react like you.

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Children are God's angels, too!

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

I Tried To Stop My Daughter From Helping The Fallen Biker And What She Said Broke Me

I tried to stop my daughter from helping the fallen biker and what she said broke me. I've been thinking about it every day for three weeks and I still can't get her voice out of my head.

Saturday. July 19th. Hottest day of the summer. I'm inside watching the game. My wife's in the kitchen. Our daughter Emma is out front drawing with chalk on the driveway.

Then a motorcycle comes down our road. Loud. The kind of loud that makes you look up. The bike slows. Wobbles. Then the rider just goes down. Hits the pavement hard and doesn't get up.

I'm at the window now. So is half the street. Doors opening. People on their porches. Phones already up and recording.

The man is lying in the road. Leather vest. Arms covered in tattoos. Beard. Bandana. He looked like every biker you've ever been told to stay away from.

Nobody went to check on him.

I watched for thirty seconds. Told myself someone else would handle it. Someone closer. Someone who knew what to do.

Then I saw Emma.

She'd put down her chalk. She was standing at the end of the driveway staring at the man in the road. Not scared. Not confused. Just focused.

She walked into the house. Right past me. Grabbed the red umbrella from the coat stand. Headed straight for the front door.

"Emma. Stop."

She didn't stop.

"Emma. I said stop right now."

I grabbed her shoulder. She looked up at me holding that umbrella with both hands.

"Let me go, Daddy."

"You are not going out there. That man could be dangerous."

"He could be dying."

"That's not our problem. I'll call 911—"

"What if it was you? What if you fell down and everybody just watched?"

She was crying now. Tears running down her face.

"You told me we help people, Daddy. You said that's what good people do. You SAID that."

And then she said the seven words that tore my world open.

"You're the one scaring me right now."

I let go of her arm. Not because I decided to. Because my hand just opened on its own.

She turned around, walked out the front door, and ran across the lawn to the man lying in the street.

I stood in the doorway and watched my six-year-old do what no adult on our street had the courage to do.

She knelt beside him. Opened the red umbrella. Held it over his face to block the sun.

Ninety-five degrees. The asphalt was cooking. He'd been lying on it for two minutes. His skin was already red.

The neighbors watched. Still filming. A little girl in a green dress holding an umbrella over a fallen biker. That would get likes.

Nobody put their phone down.

My wife pushed past me. Grabbed a water bottle. Ran outside. That snapped me out of it.

I followed. Knelt down next to the man.

Up close, he didn't look dangerous. He looked sick. Face gray under the sunburn. Breathing shallow. Eyes half open but unfocused. His hand was clutching his left arm. Lips turning blue.

"Has anyone called 911?" I shouted at the neighbors.

Silence. They'd been filming for two minutes and nobody had called.

"Call 911! NOW!"

I looked closer. Military pin on his collar. He was maybe sixty. His breathing stopped.

Emma was still holding the umbrella. Steady. Calm.

"It's okay," she said to him. "My daddy's going to help you."

Even after what I'd done. She still believed I was good.

I started CPR. Chest compressions. My wife cleared his airway. We worked together while Emma held the umbrella.

The ambulance took eleven minutes. Longest eleven minutes of my life.

The paramedic said my CPR kept him alive. I said my daughter kept him alive. I just showed up late.

His name was Gary Sullivan. Sixty-one years old. Vietnam veteran. Retired mechanic. Married thirty-eight years. Three kids. Five grandchildren. Rode home from visiting his daughter when the heart attack hit.

He asked the hospital to find us. Said the family with the little girl and the red umbrella.

We visited on a Thursday. His wife Ruth hugged my wife so hard I thought she'd break her.

Emma was hiding behind my leg. Shy now. Just a regular six-year-old again.

Gary's eyes were wet when he saw her.

"Come here, sweetheart," he said.

She walked over. He took her hand.

"You held an umbrella over me."

"You were in the sun," Emma said. "The ground was really hot."

"When everything was going dark, I heard a little voice saying it was going to be okay. That was you?"

Emma nodded.

"That voice is what I held onto," Gary said. "I thought, if this little girl is brave enough to help me, I can be brave enough to hold on."

A month later, Gary rode his motorcycle to our house. I heard it coming and my first reaction was to tense up.

Then I caught myself. And I was ashamed all over again.

Emma ran outside before I could say anything. This big tattooed biker knelt down in our driveway and hugged my little girl while the same neighbors who'd filmed him dying watched from their porches.

We sat on the porch together while Emma played inside.

"I need to apologize to you," I said.

"For what?"

"I tried to stop her. When you were lying there. My daughter wanted to help you and I grabbed her arm and told her no."

Gary was quiet. "Why?"

I could have lied. But he deserved the truth.

"Because of what you looked like. The tattoos. The vest. The motorcycle. I saw all that and decided you were dangerous before I knew a single thing about you."

"You're not the first."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"No. It doesn't. But you're telling me now. And that matters."

"My six-year-old was braver than every adult on this street."

"Kids are like that," Gary said. "They haven't learned who to be afraid of yet. They just see people."

He wiped his eyes. "Can I tell you something? When I was lying on that asphalt, everything was going dark. But I saw that red umbrella. And I saw a little face. And she said 'it's okay, my daddy's going to help you.'"

He looked at me.

"Even after you tried to stop her. Even after you grabbed her arm. She still believed you'd do the right thing. She still believed in you."

"I don't know why."

"I do. Because you taught her to be good. And she learned it so well that she held you to it. That's not failure. That's the best kind of parenting there is. You raised someone better than yourself."

I had to look away. Stare at the street. Breathe.

"I'm going to be better," I said. "Because of her. Because of you."

"That's all any of us can do."

Emma and Gary's granddaughter Lily are best friends now. Playdates every weekend.

Gary came to Emma's school for show and tell last month. Leather vest. Tattoos. Everything. Emma introduced him as "my friend Gary who I saved with an umbrella."

One kid asked if he was mean.

"Do I look mean?" Gary asked.

"A little bit," the kid said.

"Well, I'm not. And you know how you can tell? Because your friend Emma decided I wasn't. And she's the smartest person I know."

I keep Lily's drawing on our refrigerator. Two stick figures. A red umbrella.

And I keep my daughter's words in my head. Every single day.

You're the one scaring me right now.

Seven words from a six-year-old that taught me more about being a man than forty-two years of living ever did.

The scary one wasn't the biker on the ground. The scary one was the father who almost taught his daughter to look away.

I'm not that father anymore.

Because Emma wouldn't let me be.

(Share this story to show the world the real image of bikers)

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Once you receive a bigger title in office, the smaller titles or positions are now in the past. For example, if you become a CDF, do not call yourself SPA and so on. Stick to the highest position. The other titles are for those below you in rank, title or position. Thank me!

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

My head has also been asking the same? Is he the president' spokesperson as well? Who commands the army now?

[Wounded Ugandan 🇺🇬 @woundedUgandan]

Questions you should ask yourselves:

-Which law permits “cdf” to endorse a speaker!?

-Is PLU a registered political party, to make endorsements in the political arena of Uganda?

Once you find the answers, you’ll notice that refugee @KagutaMuseveni is doing everything he can to officially handover to his rape product, son of Hope Rwaheru, the drunk @mkainerugaba

#Uganda_Zukuka

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Free all political prisoners, please!

[Tabz @NinyeTabz]

Now that you’re all looking at my timeline for updates, let me use this chance to ask you kindly to retweet this shoe until it reaches the person in whose foot it fits!

FREE ALL POLITICAL PRISONERS!

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@SpireJim Kazinda, nssf saga; imprisonment

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@anthomaa Umbrella

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

Your say?

[Mr. Mayor𓃵™ @isaacmukiibiSnr]

These words from the President will always be remembered

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@TweetsbyHenry Muhoozi recently said that having so many calls from mzee does not amount to...

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

@SoloKing02 Does the cdf cut parliamentary budgets? As in what capacity?

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

...very smart upstairs!

[Phiona Kyeru @kyeruphiona]

A woman walked into a prestigious bank and approached the teller. "I’d like to withdraw $5, please," she said quietly.
​The teller didn’t even look up. He was busy, important, and clearly had no time for "small" transactions.
​"Ma'am, for withdrawals under $10, you have to use the ATM outside. We don’t handle small change at the counter. You're holding up the line."
​The woman remained calm. "The machine outside isn't working for me. I just need $5 to buy my groceries."
​The teller sighed—that loud, performative sigh used to let someone know they are a nuisance. "Rules are rules. Unless you're withdrawing a significant amount, I can't help you. Please move aside for the next person."
​She didn't move. She didn't shout. She just asked a simple question: "What is the maximum amount I can withdraw right now?"
​Irritated, the teller tapped a few keys to check her balance. His face went pale. He stopped tapping. He cleared his throat and suddenly sat up very straight.
​"Well... Ma'am... you have a balance of $500,000. You can withdraw it all, but I’d need the manager to authorize a cash movement of that size."
​"Do it," she said.
​The next twenty minutes were a circus. The manager came out, suddenly offering her a chair and a glass of water. The teller was sweating, his hands trembling as he counted out stacks of hundreds. He had spent the morning treating her like a ghost, only to realize he was looking at the bank's most liquid asset.
​When the mountain of cash was finally piled on the counter, the woman didn't reach for a suitcase. She reached for the very top stack, peeled off a single $5 bill, and tucked it into her purse.
​She pushed the remaining $499,995 back toward the stunned teller.
​"Now," she said, her voice steady and soft. "I’d like to deposit the rest back into my account. And next time, remember: it’s my money, not your 'small change.

[SUMMARIZING DOCS. @joykuse]

A car is not a bicycle! Say it twice and it will cause you laughter for ever.

[ebrah · PHP @AutoTrendzUg]

Never lend your car. Not to your friend. Not to your relative. Not for an hour. Not for a “quick errand.” I had to learn this the hard way and it cost me over a million shillings and a friendship.

Last month, A friend asked to borrow my car for three days. He had a function in the village. I said yes, the way you say yes to people you trust, without really thinking it through.

On the day he was meant to return it, my phone rang. “Bro, your car is smoking. I am stranded. Hurry and come check it out . I have a meeting to catch.”

I got to him and he immediately jumped on a boda before I even had a chance to figure out what was wrong. No apology. No explanation. No “I will help you sort it out.” Just the back of his head heading to his meeting while my car sat next to me smoking like a chimney whenever I put it in Drive.

I drove it slowly to my mechanic and water was found in the fuel tank. He had fueled from somewhere in the village at a cheap station whose underground tanks were poorly maintained. My car fuel filter was finished. The injectors and the whole fuel system needed cleaning.

The bill was over a million shillings. This guy never followed up. Not the next week. Not the next month. Not ever.

It was at that garage, standing next to my now faulty car, counting the cost of a favour I had offered freely, that I remembered something my former boss and a friend told me years before. Back when I had no car of my own and had asked to borrow his. He said, “Ekimu ku bikuumye emotoka yange emyaka gyoona butagigaba.” Translation - One of the things that has kept my car in good shape is never lending it out.

He said it with the calm of a man who had already paid the tuition for the lesson and saw no reason to pay it again. People tend not to handle borrowed things the way they handle their own. In this case, they will drive the car like it's stolen, hitting every pothole on the road. They will fuel at the cheapest places they would never trust with their own car. Then they return it as a car that's slightly different from the one they took and expect you to be grateful it came back at all.

A car is not a bicycle. It is a complex system that runs on the small choices made every day by the person behind the wheel. The moment those choices are not yours, you are paying for somebody else’s habits.

I do not lend cars anymore. If somebody genuinely needs transport, I book them an Uber on my bill. It's way cheaper than a million shillings repair. Infinitely cheaper than the friendship that quietly ends when the bill arrives and the borrower disappears.

My former boss was right. The car you keep is the car you never give out.

What is your story about lending a car?

[ebrah · PHP @AutoTrendzUg]

Never lend your car. Not to your friend. Not to your relative. Not for an hour. Not for a “quick errand.” I had to learn this the hard way and it cost me over a million shillings and a friendship.

Last month, A friend asked to borrow my car for three days. He had a function in the village. I said yes, the way you say yes to people you trust, without really thinking it through.

On the day he was meant to return it, my phone rang. “Bro, your car is smoking. I am stranded. Hurry and come check it out . I have a meeting to catch.”

I got to him and he immediately jumped on a boda before I even had a chance to figure out what was wrong. No apology. No explanation. No “I will help you sort it out.” Just the back of his head heading to his meeting while my car sat next to me smoking like a chimney whenever I put it in Drive.

I drove it slowly to my mechanic and water was found in the fuel tank. He had fueled from somewhere in the village at a cheap station whose underground tanks were poorly maintained. My car fuel filter was finished. The injectors and the whole fuel system needed cleaning.

The bill was over a million shillings. This guy never followed up. Not the next week. Not the next month. Not ever.

It was at that garage, standing next to my now faulty car, counting the cost of a favour I had offered freely, that I remembered something my former boss and a friend told me years before. Back when I had no car of my own and had asked to borrow his. He said, “Ekimu ku bikuumye emotoka yange emyaka gyoona butagigaba.” Translation - One of the things that has kept my car in good shape is never lending it out.

He said it with the calm of a man who had already paid the tuition for the lesson and saw no reason to pay it again. People tend not to handle borrowed things the way they handle their own. In this case, they will drive the car like it's stolen, hitting every pothole on the road. They will fuel at the cheapest places they would never trust with their own car. Then they return it as a car that's slightly different from the one they took and expect you to be grateful it came back at all.

A car is not a bicycle. It is a complex system that runs on the small choices made every day by the person behind the wheel. The moment those choices are not yours, you are paying for somebody else’s habits.

I do not lend cars anymore. If somebody genuinely needs transport, I book them an Uber on my bill. It's way cheaper than a million shillings repair. Infinitely cheaper than the friendship that quietly ends when the bill arrives and the borrower disappears.

My former boss was right. The car you keep is the car you never give out.

What is your story about lending a car?