The toughest part about being an African person on this planet is that everyone thinks they’re better than us. All of you think you’re better than us. And the silence – you’re like yeah, duh. Of course. That’s not true. Don’t get me wrong – some of you are, but not all of you, okay? And I will explain. I joined a group conversation recently. A girl noticed my accent. She’s like, “Excuse me. You have a bit of an accent; where are you from?” I said, oh, I was born and raised in Kampala, Uganda. She’s like, “Oh, amazing coincidence!” “I just came back from Uganda three weeks ago.” And I was like, oh, did you enjoy your visit to my lovely home country? She goes, “Oh no no, I wasn’t there visiting.” “I was there helping out.” I’m like, oh, did they call you or something? Like, what is… She’s like, “Oh no no, you don’t understand.” “I work at Lululemon at the mall and I took three weeks off and I went to Uganda to help out.” Ah! Now here’s the thing. I grew up in Uganda. I understand the expertise we need in so many different areas of life: medicine, engineering, nursing, maybe even urban planning, okay? This girl works at Lululemon at the mall. Who was looking for tight yoga pants expertise? Listen! If you work at the mall… I’ve lived here long enough to know that if you work at the mall and you’re over the age of 21, you have already failed in life. You have already failed in life. Why are you taking your lack of ambition and mediocrity to a place that already has its problems? No, no no no no no. You stay right here, stay in your basement apartment, and stay the hell away from my people.