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Showing posts from 2015

Mummy.

My mother is my real definition of a full woman. She is the woman who left work every day at lunch time so she could breast feed each and every one of her children. She is also the one who held the fort down when my father was away for one scientific escapade or the other, in one country or another. She is the one who, when asked what he could bring her each time he was away, always answered with either a certain set of saucepans or a particular brand of cutlery. I personally would have asked for shoes or something... My mother is the woman who supported my father when he was running some crazy experiment in one of the bedrooms, she supported him even when she didn’t get it. My mother is the woman who still believes in true love. My mother is the woman who smuggled a pack of sausages for us in her handbag during school visitation days when home-cooked food was not allowed. She is the same person who always called relatives to tell them of an abrupt plan that needed me to retu

Can you see me?

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That’s me at the back over there. No, not the one holding the large blue umbrella, further back… Yes, that one, the one with the knowing smile and a few drops of rain on my face from standing just slightly outside the umbrella. It’s okay if you don’t notice me at first, that’s how it usually is, and that’s how I’ve come to like it. I walked about ten kilometers to be at school today, but that’s okay because other than that, I may have had to go without lunch again. I was happy to come today; it’s been five long days at home. Five days without lunch. Five days of no movement because it was that time of the month and I could not afford those fancy sanitary towels that I saw in the television commercial through the window of the brick house that’s just on my way as I walk home every evening. My friends have warned me about passing by that brick house. They say that if one of the older boys catches you there after dark, you have to become his wife. I’m among the lucky ones;

I don't want to know

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I'm in awe of this poetry... so the few custom made pieces I have, I intend to share sparingly.  Enjoy :-) I don't want to know about you, About those boys you talk with, on your phone, Or the girls, The ones you flash your heart to, and they laugh and you laugh, The ones you like to try and taste The ones who come and leave Empty tins, rolling Stones While I sit here waiting for you Gathering moss, Those running waters pouring where everyone pours As I quietly wait, running deep for your soul. I don't want to know. You're piercing my midnight thoughts While you and your boys, and girls Exchange morning thoughts each time you meet. You're the sack I poured into Which had holes, The shoes I sought to fill Which had no soles. I loved you deliberately Yours was whenever you felt like it So perhaps I don't want to know how you are And I'm okay with it. But am I okay with it? This bittersweet when you

Thoughts on a humid Sunday midnight

Images of you race across my mind, and then quickly run off to hide, like a shy girl from unknown guests. ‘It’s been long enough’, they say, but what do they know? How can they know when knowing was only ours? A narrow tarmac road, twisting slightly to the left as it slopes, only to straighten out and show the way home; home for a while, home forever; Home. Silence, friendly silence. All sounds combining at once to match the music in my head, or is it in my heart? A mouth with a wide smile, lips that tell of dreams long forgotten and yet coming alive once again, a heart with such kindness, hands that accept, embrace and give. Warmth from every pore. Hands that hold. Hands that work. Hands that lead, gentle hands. A gentle soul. Night lights, of every color; yellow, orange, blue, green; speed by like a man on a mission, a man blown away by strong winds that squeeze through small spaces looking for the quickest smoothest way out. Eyes that stare at the lights, eyes full of

Anything but ordinary

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As a writer, you pride yourself in the fact that you are able, on a higher level than the ordinary man, to put into words what exactly it is that you are feeling, what it is that you see, smell, hear, name it. Whether it is a terribly scrumptious heaped plate of spaghetti with a slightly orange tinge that tastes like ocean waves at sunset or a large tree with red and brown leaves that bends slightly to the right whenever the wind blows and has endless trails of tiny black insects harvesting sweet cold nectar up from its pale pink flowers down to its partially hidden roots...you get the picture. That was not the case with the writer’s retreat on Bulago Island over the Independence Day weekend.This retreat was organised by Jackee Batanda of SuccessSpark Brand and Nyana Kakooma of Sooo Many Stories. Don't let the fact that this was the first of it's kind fool you... Imagine a big orange house, with large glass windows that cover almost fifty percent of the walls. Imagine

Dear Social Media Star, I have Every Right to Share My Life too.

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  I want you to imagine a person who has everything that you are currently working towards in your life. Imagine that they have the dream house, the dream relationship, the dream job, the dream friends, the dream life and a perfect personal brand and reputation. Picture the kind of person that has over 5000 friends on Facebook and each time they post a simple selfie, within an hour they get over 300 likes and 100 comments . Visualize a person who is always dressed impeccably, and speaks so eloquently, even when caught off guard in an office meeting. They are always seen at the hippest events, and let’s not forget to add the fact that they have   a feature column in the national newspaper to share their latest escapades.   Imagine this person is always posting pictures of themselves and ‘bae’ on some paradise island trip, while you are busy sunbathing at home in your garden reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s book ‘ Eat Pray Love’. They have told people that “bae” is amazing and fulfills

The Prologue...

I sat across the table rubbernecking at the couple that had strolled into the Cafe; to everyone who cared to watch, the lady was deep in love while the gentleman seemed just a knee in. He appeared not to pay attention to what she was saying but afforded an occasional laugh to keep her going. He had a lot on his mind and time was no longer his ally. The lady was elegantly dressed, a blue dress top; vogue they called it, black leggings and a cream sweater,and for the cold weather; the scarf sufficed. Temperatures were dropping by the hour and a few days later winter would be knocking at our doors. The ring on her finger was definitely aesthetic; to match her jewelry and the watch on her arm, it must have been bought for her as a gesture of his “love”. Dressed in a white polo shirt tucked into white khaki pants with a white kangaroo cape and white moccasins; the young seemingly corporate and averagely tall gentleman strolled majestically with his lady, arm in arm, across the caf

So I fall in love...

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“So I fall in love, With the ones that run me through, When all along all I need is you.” Switchfoot “Poets that rhyme together Stay together” At least that should be in the rule book But the book has no specifics No special instructions based on Vocation, location or temperament. It even says nothing about disease Or disability. She is no poet And I’m no rock star; I love the quiet getaways Where the waters crush on the rocks And the silence that speaks with my soul She loves the wild water Where birds make noise in a flock Where her voice must get to the top. I’m in love with her sunshine She’s in love with my rain And it doesn’t cause rainbows Just cats whose spots won’t change; I want more for the cold She wants more for the heat There’s not yet been a place Where we travel at peace. And the book has no specifics No special instructions, Doesn’t care for exceptional languages Or self-immolation There is a man that must die And one that mu

Oh darling, why the constant frown?

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Young girl, why are you so sad? Why are your shoulders stooping so low? Is it the burden that you carry, the one that you guard so fiercely from the prying eyes of those around you? Is it because you think needing others is a sign of weakness, an invitation to pain? Does it feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders? Does it feel like you’re walking this road alone? Remember the days when you had a skip in your step and a smile on your face? Remember when you would dance by yourself in the middle of a crowded or empty room? Remember when you believed that a problem shared was a problem halved? When you winced at phrases like ‘Every man for himself, and God for us all’? Remember when you trusted enough to share that load with your nearest and dearest? When you believed in holding hands? Dear love, why is your heart so heavy?  Why are you so detached and guarded? Why have you put up walls as high as the sky, and as wide as the ocean? Is it because you know now

Trolley Dash

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Hebrews 12:1 ‘Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith…’ For starters, I’m really not a believer when it comes to lucky wins. Either I’m not so lucky or the system is completely corrupted; all I know is I would never spend a single dime on a lottery ticket or take the time to purposely take part in any sort of draw unless I had no choice. However I must say that my faith in these systems has been given a positive nudge this weekend (Thanks Colin). A friend of mine won a shopping voucher in a draw organised by one of the banks here in Uganda. Since he was not going to be able to use it, it was passed down to me (Yey! Thanks again Colin). It was a trolley dash, where you’re given a very VERY little amount of time (think less than 2/3 of a minute) to dash through a s

Taking the 'high' road

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When I was younger,I was always one of the children who just shriveled and died whenever there was a long exchange of not-so-nice words. Because of having been brought up in a rather conservative family(to put it nicely), I never really had a come-back ready whenever the neighborhood bully/ cool kids threw a rather mean word(s) my way. It always bothered me and I'd stand rooted in one spot, still at a loss for words but shaking with anger because somewhere deep down, I believed I had to be better than that. I would then lay awake in my bed later than night thinking up of all the possible come-backs I could have used, but in the end dismissing them all as not good enough. At around 3:00am, it would finally come to me: the perfect come-back. I'd barely be able to sleep and all day the next day, I would wait for the cool kid to try and pull another fast one on me. Talk about too little too late; I would never get the chance to use my perfect come-back because he/she would have al

Three secrets about growing up

As you grow up, everything about you becomes more defined and clear cut. It’s no longer easy to be undecided, in the gray or to switch from one side to another. Every move you make seems to have consequences ten times its size.  I’m not talking about turning sweet sixteen or finally being able to legally take alcohol or have a driver’s license. The kind of growth I’m talking about is less of an event and more of a realization, epiphany you could say.  It’s the kind of growth where you finally see the world for what it was, not the movie you imagined it to be. You finally realize that your parents might have had a point and maybe you should have considered their opinions more regularly. You realize that most of the time, you’ve got to take care of you because no one is willing to drop all they are doing to come and bail you out of a rut anymore. Mostly you realize that life is unfair, it’s not a straight path where if you follow steps A, B and C then you will definitely get to p

The stronger sex!

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I had never really taken the time to wonder why there is so much hype about women. It was just one of those facts that I was indifferent about. I mean I liked it,I appreciate the appreciation, but I just wasn't interested enough to ponder further on an issue such as that. The various songs about women, the various holidays, it was like the wind to me; its a mystery where it comes from and where its going but you're not curious enough to find out more. Women's day was just a public holiday I was grateful for because I did not have to go to work. Honestly speaking, for a long time, I thought it was a stroke of bad luck that I am a woman, a disadvantage of sorts. We are supposedly the emotional ones, we are the ones supposed to step aside and put others before self, and no matter what they tell you, there is still a heck load of gender based discrimination going on everywhere. Being a woman in a working environment where men still do not categorize your ideas and in