The Empire has misplaced its user manual

As a Ugandan, a former British colony, I feel obliged to ask a simple question: is everything alright over there?

Please, I am just checking in, out of concern not criticism. 

 

Britain, the country that once sailed halfway around the world to explain governance to everybody else, is now preparing for its seventh prime minister since Brexit. One, Two, Three Four, Five, Six. Seven. 

In school, we were taught that Britain was a place of stable institutions and prime ministers were taken seriously, not treated like seasonal flu. Meanwhile, here we are in former colonies, watching with the same expression for seeing your mother forget your name or mathematics teacher forget what two plus two equals. We are trying not to laugh. Trying.

It is clear that these days, Number 10 Downing Street resembles a hotel reception desk.

"Good morning. Welcome. Checking in?"

"Prime Minister."

"For how many nights?"

"We do not know. We will see how the markets feel."

The rest of us are just confused. Should governance aid be dispatched?

Should Tanzania and Kenya send election observers?

Should Ghana offer training workshops titled Maintaining political stability: Lessons learned since independence?

Should Uganda provide a short course called how to keep one leader long enough?

Should Botswana be taking notes for a consultancy proposal?

There was a time when British governments outlived, for example, local village dogs. This was the country that gave us lectures on stability, and whose weather could not be trusted but whose institutions supposedly could. Now prime ministers are coming and going so quickly that official portraits will become confusing.

Imagine being a child in Britain.

"Dad, who's that?"

"That's the prime minister."

"But I thought she was..."

"No, no, that was last term."

"What term?"

"Tuesday."

Eish it is interesting how empires always seem eternal when they are giving advice or reporting on politics. It is only later that you discover they are also held together with duct tape, tea, fish and chips, and people pretending to know what they are doing, which, to be fair, makes Britain just like its former colonies. Underneath all the pageantry, the crowns, the BBC voices, the accents, the history books, it turns out they are just another country trying to figure things out just like the rest of us.

Countries are like families. The ones that look the most organised from the outside are often arguing over the TV remote control inside. Britain has become that uncle who spent thirty years giving everyone financial advice and is now borrowing salt from the neighbours. But bambi this is not because the uncle is bad but just because life eventually humbles everybody from empires to superpowers to former superpowers. Everybody gets their turn.

And so, from Uganda (and where my feet are), with love and concern, we wish them all the best. If yet another prime minister comes into office before this piece is published, please forgive me. I wrote this under the previous administration.