Running the MTN marathon

I was eagerly anticipating the MTN marathon when one amazing event stopped me in my tracks. So, I let go of the button but hope I will be there to cheer friends on.

Run the race my friends, put every hinderence aside and press on to that goal for which you run - health, fun, money, prestige... Do it with all your strength.

John the tea man

He is a short, well built, Musoga man. Very soft spoken, hardly says a word except when he is greeting. He is one of the first to arrive in office and probably the last to leave in the evening. When I met him 5 years ago, I was impressed with how neat he was, he kept his office clean. One of the few men that wears a T-shirt underneath his shirt. In most offices his job is handled by a woman, so that makes him unique. John is our tea man.

Every morning he washes the flasks, boils water in the heater and makes tea for an office of about 30 people. Whenever we have office meetings he will make special preparations – tea and snacks depending who is attending the meeting. He will also supervise the distribution of flowers for the offices. He has done this for over 6 years.
His profession is belittled but when he is off duty, his absence impacts us severely.
We start the day with a daily doze of coffee or hot cup of tea courtesy of John. But as selfish human beings, we are never keen to relate with colleagues at a lower level. We pose the question “what will it benefit me?”. We are often drawn to people we think will help us in one way or another, in the office it’s about getting a pay rise or a promotion.

Anyway, so it's nice to see John again. I stopped by the office one Saturday morning and found him supervising the cleaners. There was no better time to catch up - find out how he is doing. Our conversation went somewhat like this:

“So John, how are you?”

“I’m fine thanks, how are you?”

“I’m ok”

“How is the family?”

“Oh! It is in a mess”

I immediately thought, he’d had a disagreement with his wife and they were separated.

“What do you mean? What kind of mess?”

“My wife! My wife passed away on the 1st of January. She was pregnant. She died during child birth.”

My eyes begun to water.

Then he said, “my child died too, they all went”

I felt a huge lamp in my throat.

“John, I am so sorry!”

“Thank you. You see me here but honestly It’s just my body but my mind is far. I can’t stop blaming myself for what happened”.

Our conversation was interrupted. I picked it up a week later, I was curious to know why he blamed himself.
He said, while his wife was pregnant he had a dream about a dead baby. Looking back, he thinks it was a warning that he should have acted on - told his wife about -shared with someone.
Life is torture right now, with all the guilt on his back. We talked about it. I shared my experience and advised him to take it to the cross. I feel committed to pray for John and his little girl Praise who is four years old and constantly asking about her mother.

The grieving process is very lonely. Multitudes will flock your house when calamity strikes but they soon leave and you are left alone to purge the pain of every single day without your loved one. When the last soil is thrown on the grave, life resumes its impetus, people walk away and forget.
Always check on friends and colleagues , who are grieving, even months and years after the loss. Don’t be afraid to ask, don’t think you are opening old wounds, it’s actually their best therapy, to talk and share their feelings and to know that someone cares.

Robert the Cleaner

Robert is an energetic, hard working young man that I met 5 years ago. He is one of our office cleaners. Whenever we need an extra hand, Robert gladly chips in. He runs a thousand and one personal errands; paying electricity and water bills when staff can’t leave the office, he is sent for food, he cleans, he photocopies, and he prints, never complaining. Office would be lacking without him, he is a link in this chain without which, progress would come to a halt.

When I came home last year, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a call from him. He wanted to know how I was – amazing!
When I returned to work 2 weeks ago, with a glimmer in his eyes, he informed me that he is a senior 6 candidate. I was elated! He is in his early 30’s, he works 7am to 5 pm, as soon as he clocks out, he dashes to school for evening classes which end at 10pm – talk about resilience. I’m totally inspired by him.

Today is examination briefing for all senior 6 candidates. He took the day off, but I was surprised to see him rushing into office. He seemed a little unsettled, but I assumed he was tying up a few loose ends. Before heading out the door he said “I am going for briefing just now, but last night thugs broke into my house and stole everything”. I was speechless! Leaving me no time to commensurate, he smiled briefly and run out the door.
He has left a print on my life.

SHIFT

When I last posted about events in my life, I had a helper called Apolot. She has long since returned to her village in Atteta. Apolot and Mich were hissing, purring and barking at each other like cats and dogs. Having enough issues to contend with, this was not one to add to the number. She didn’t quite appreciate life in the city. When asked to clean the bathroom, she would stare at me as if to say, “ you’ve got to be kidding”. Her cleaning patterns were a little odd, she insisted on using a brush instead of a rug to mop and evidently the floor didn’t sparkle, in fact at times it looked worse. Thinking I was a little too particular I let her settle in. Out of a burning curiosity I asked about her cleaning strategy, and found out she had never cleaned a tiled floor before. She’d lived in a mud hut all her life. To clean a mud hut floor, all one needs is a local broom, do not make the mistake of using water , unless of course you are planning to create a mud puddle. For a new look, the floor is plastered with fresh mad or dung to smooth it over and then left to dry. So it’s possible that to Apolot, the tiles looked perfect the way they were.

One fine day, I came home to a resignation letter asking me to “be easy” – the “it’s not you, it’s me” story. I was somewhat glad that she had taken the initiative, we talked it over but when the time came for her to leave, she had second thoughts. Unfortunately I was already geared up to resume my duties; wake up at 5:30am, take a shower, get Mich ready, prepare breakfast , drop him off to school, get back home, clean, cook, have some alone time then pick Mich up and usually that was where my day begun or ended. I would listen to his stories, answer questions, engage in play and small arguments. Bath time, dinner, brush his teeth, read bed time stories…wakeup at 5:30am, take a shower and so on. By the way, Mich passed his P1 interview, yeee!!

I was gladly settling into a routine when I received a phone call from my former place of work. My supervisor asked me to begin work in a week. Whoa! That was going to be tricky without a helper. Panic!! I didn’t have a backup plan.
DAY 1 – Sam picked Mich, took him to grandma’s, I rushed home tired and that night we ate some leftovers.
DAY 2 – Sam picked Mich, took him to grandma’s, I rushed home tired, managed to whip up a meal.
DAY 3, 4 – Crazy weekend. Aunt’s introduction ceremony and search for a helper.
DAY 5 – Sam picked Mich and worked from home.
DAY 6 – Mom came up with a brilliant idea and viola! I have a helper. Thank God for moms. Hellen and Mich get along like a house on fire. By the way, I’ve been on cloud 9 since Mich begun to read on his own. It’s a wonderful feeling.

For 3 years now, I have been a house wife. I have enjoyed looking after my husband, loved watching my son grow. I carried out the duties of a stay home mom – cooking, cleaning, shopping – the works. That I have been blessed with a job in this fast paced Uganda is a blessing. That my former employer would have me back is an honor.
I give God thanks. In my next post I will tell about my challenges returning to work after being a stay home mom.

He is larger than life

The “THIS IS IT” rehearsal video is amazing!
An adventure, showing people excerpts of Mj's life that we had never seen before.

The large crowd that walked into Cineplex seemed anxious, like they were going to watch a live concert. The silence was deafening, no phone’s going off as they usually do, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen.

Michael’s passion is such an inspiration. The manner with which he swerved his body and wiggled his toes seemed like music was literally flowing through his veins. His rehearsals were like the actual presentation, he poured out his life. He was very articulate as to how every note should sound, when he wanted a loud bang and when he wanted the music to simmer. As though he’d seen the concert before.

It was great to see Jackson unveiled, a side to him that had always been shielded. To listen to him talk, rebuke and guide his crew in a cool manner. The words “I love you” and “God bless you” flowed steadily from his lips.

His talent was truly out of this world. He wrote his own songs, created his signature dance moves. How is it that my 5 year old son who had never heard of MJ before his death can with ease, Identify his songs as they play on the radio? That just blows my mind.

His director and the team he worked with were in awe of him, how is that possible after several sleepless nights, grueling rehearsals and clashes which come with the package of any serious production?

I loved the show, I loved the amazing young talent, I loved seeing Jackson uncut.

There were occasional jeers of pity (Ugandan style), by the end, a wave of satisfaction swept through the crowd as they had drunk deeply and their thirst was quenched. Like at last funeral rites, they were happy to finally lay him to rest, to close the door and say goodbye.

Of Rats And Thieves!

Two days ago, Mich asked me to feel his shaky tooth. He said when it fell out, he would place it on top of the fridge so the rat would find it (a school theory no doubt). Then as though he had an aha! moment he said – “mummy, we shouldn’t kill rats because they will not be able to bring our gifts”. So, that is the new campaign in our household.
Once, my grandma in Serere told me about a huge rat that crept into huts and snuck off with utensils. Over time, cups, plates and ladles were noted missing. The rat would dig holes in the ground where it would hoard its loot. I don’t know how the things were traced but I imagine in folk tales, the rat would be caught and asked to lead the villagers to the hot spot. Mich has no clue what he is asking for.

And now to the real stuff that is making me boil. You see, in Africa, when a man is caught in adultery, tress passing or in some kind of wrongful activity, we get upset, we raise our voices but it’s soon forgotten. When a man is caught stealing, he is beaten to a pulp and set on fire. People walking passed passionately add their two blows without a clue of what the thief stole. Stealing ticks people off. The anger, rage and feeling of violation that they experience with thieves in their lives provoke them to pitch in. One thief caught is an ambassador for all the others who slipped away.
A thief invades personal space. He is an abuser. He doesn’t ask for permission, he snatches, takes what is not his. A thief kills and destroys, invades privacy, crushes our spirits and leaves suspicious, enraged, disgusted people all around.

Everything we own has a story; you recall how it came into your possession. It may have been a gift, something you saved up for - denying yourself of certain pleasures to purchase it, or maybe it’s a sentimental piece, valuable because of who gave it to you or who it reminds you of.
Out of desperation I have wished for a chance to negotiate with “my thieves”; to tell them - take the money but leave my ID, take the bag but leave my school notes, my contacts, my passport. That is the manner with which a thief brings me to my knees. I understand the fury that erupts when a painter’s half finished piece is stolen, a writer’s third draft manuscript is gone, a pupil’s pencil disappears, a business man is conned of his capital, and the 500 shilling coin is missing. It sucks!

I have encountered 4 types of thieves.
Hobby snitcher – They see something nice and think it would be great to add to their collection - it’s gone!
Desperate snitcher - “Man! I am hungry. Kato’s chicken will have to do, I will pray for forgiveness afterwards”.
Killer – “Your money or your life”
Kleptomaniac – He will pick anything that is not nailed down. He gets a rush from taking stuff.

Since I got back, a phone and a camera have gone missing arrrggg!!!

Sensual Kampala

Eyes mirror the soul. Many have trained to disguise their emotions, but ordinarily our eyes tell on us.
I have therefore concluded that this city is on heat, excuse the language but I can’t find a more polite phrase. It’s the way men look at women, women smile coyly and then meet at strange locations at weird hours to quench their lust. Old men defile little girls, older women sleep with younger men; it’s about black mail, love affairs gone bad, the devil – the reasons are endless. It’s probably been this way since before, before, but now I see the issues with new lenses.
As I interact, I sense the forces in control -; “sleep with her, just don’t get caught”, build my house, get the latest car, wiggle a way in to the CEO’s good books for a promotion, crave status, hang with the “right” crowd, date the pretty young thing, have an affair with the married lady – “she’s been on my list for a long time, besides her husband doesn’t pay her as much attention”. Study ACCA, MAT, CAT, AAC, AMT, TMA and I don’t know what else.

The waves of traditional and church weddings continue to sweep the city while the waves of separation, infection, unfaithfulness and stress sweep right back and stronger. The gravity of commitment to covenant's has long since lost meaning. Have the traditional introduction ceremony and wed, who cares what happens after the guests are gone? Ok, so we have a few debts, the presents are nice, there is a “bun” in the oven and she is still being pursued by man-friend x who will not give up no matter how many vows she makes. That is life!

Looking to be employed is ancient, owning a business is the in thing. Money pours in, you wish you had embarked on this journey ages ago. “Do business” “Be your own Boss”.

But I wonder back to - When do two people become one? Is it when their minds have the same password, they understand each other beyond words? Is it when they publicly confess their undying love? When they get physically intimate? Or when after 30 years of living together, they know how each one likes their tea, what that look means, how one’s toes curls when they are extremely irritated?
Should sex be taken seriously? Isn’t it as simple as spontaneously laughing at the same joke?

Life is complicated and yet the author says it’s quite simple. “Self control” runs the course of His manual like a man in a marathon. He says He has given us everything we need for life and godliness – I don't know.

Anyway, now that it's finally off my chest, I can carry on with the day’s events. Whether or not I make sense is a whole other issue.


Have a great weekend