Festive season

Isn't she lovely? isn't she wonderful?
This is my god daughter Alessia, looking oooh so pretty. She was born in Philadelphia but is living in Singapore at the moment.












Christmas cantata - The Journey, at Watoto church - lovely!!
We were taken on the journey of God's salvation plan, from creation, to the birth of Jesus and His meaning in our lives today.
Pastor Gary shared the famous speech by Dr.S.M.Lockridge. Here is a small excerpt.

I wish I could describe Him to you.
But He's indes... Wooah, yeaaah! yeaahh,
He's indescribable - yes He is ! He's God.
He's, He's indescribable, yes, He's indescribable.
He's incomprehensible.
He's invincible.
He's irresistible.

Well, you can't get Him out of your mind,
You get Him off of your hand,
You can't outlive Him, and you can't live without Him.

Well, the Pharisees couldn't stand Him, but they found out they couldn't stop Him.
Pilate couldn't find any fault in Him.
The witnesses couldn't get their testimonies to agree.
Herod couldn't kill Him.
Death couldn't handle Him and
the grave couldn't hold Him. Yeah !
THAT'S MY KING !
THAT'S MY KING ! YEAH !











Family was together again after almost 6 years. It was a Merry Christmas no doubt, especially for mom and dad.



Then we had a wedding on the 26th, Simon took a wife.

We had another beautiful outing on the 28th to celebrate Andrew's birthday and now looking forward to the 1st - Stella's birthday.
So clearly it's been a very festive season.

I'm holding up, best I can. Still sluggish, slowly getting my energies back, wish I could sleep, sleep, sleep but we are good, God is watching over us.

We are alive!

It’s a little unsettling when your anesthetist begins to hum “nearer my God to thee” while preparing you for a surgical procedure. William was extremely talkative, he liked singing too, before putting me to sleep he said a prayer and my last words were “Amen” – scary huh?! I went into a deep sleep. 2 or 3 hours later I was woken up by the nurse who said “wake up Mary, Sam sends his regards” – that got me up for sure. The sleep was so “peaceful”; I can’t exactly blame MJ for wanting that drug each night. Only problem is you never know what is happening around. I didn’t see my doctor before or after the procedure so; anyone could have done anything to me. He eventually came round to check on me, said the operation was successful (I know have a cerclage round my cervix), I will see him again in 10 days. I was on bed rest for 2 days after the operation, my doctor I can resume normal activities, nothing strenuous.

Thankfully Sam and my sisters were there the entire time - the joys of being at home;- Mich spent 2 days with his uncle, Helen was in charge of cooking and cleaning and helping out every so often, all I had to do was rest.

What do you do when your doctor doesn’t speak fluent English, is very brief and mumbles? Well, such was my luck; Alex is a Russian doctor working in Uganda – hard to tell which winds blew him here. He has been in Uganda for over 3 years and seems to get on well with a translator by his side - well, a nurse who is now accustomed to his speech pattern and can help elaborate when he is short for words.

The medical practice in Uganda is interesting to say the least. Visiting with a Gyn can be likened to attempting to see the president. Lines are extremely long, there are only specific days on which they can be seen and appointments don’t work. I understand that in a normal pregnancy there is not much need to see a Gyn - a mid wife will do just as well, but when one has complications like mine, it’s really unnerving. This is when I miss the professionalism in Philly where there are plenty of doctors and they call to confirm appointments. Even with all my night mares, once you knew what you wanted and expressed it insistently, then you were served.
But I take one day at a time, I’m back in office. The problem with a“blessing” like mine, everybody gets to know immediately, especially when I ask for time off.
“You not well? Hmm I what is wrong? Malaria?”
“No, just feeling weak”
“Okay, quick recovery”
Then next time you show back up, there are weird grins all over the place and hints to “when I had my first child” or just baby talk.
Oh well! I’m glad to be alive, little person is alive but phew! the creation of a human being is amazing – just God and hard work.

It's a walk of faith

Going in for the surgical procedure tomorrow. Hold my hand precious Lord.

I'm still here

Surviving. Energy is 30%.
Alarm goes off at 5:30am, I struggle out of bed, take a shower by some miracle and drag myself to work. I do my 8 hours in office, manage to put on a smile and get work done – absolute miracle.
Can’t wait for the clock to strike 6pm so I can head home, have my dinner and hit the sack.

VISION AND REALITY

"And the parched ground shall become a pool." Isaiah 35:7

We always have visions, before a thing is made real. When we realize that although the vision is real, it is not real in us, then is the time that Satan comes in with his temptations, and we are apt to say it is no use to go on. Instead of the vision becoming real, there has come the valley of humiliation.


"Life is not as idle ore,
But iron dug from central gloom,
And batter'd by the shocks of doom
To shape and use."
God gives us the vision, then He takes us down to the valley to batter us into the shape of the vision, and it is in the valley that so many of us faint and give way. Every vision will be made real if we will have patience. Think of the enormous leisure of God! He is never in a hurry. We are always in such a frantic hurry. In the light of the glory of the vision we go forth to do things, but the vision is not real in us yet; and God has to take us into the valley, and put us through fires and floods to batter us into shape, until we get to the place where He can trust us with the veritable reality. Ever since we had the vision God has been at work, getting us into the shape of the ideal, and over and over again we escape from His hand and try to batter ourselves into our own shape.

The vision is not a castle in the air, but a vision of what God wants you to be. Let Him put you on His wheel and whirl you as He likes, and as sure as God is God and you are you, you will turn out exactly in accordance with the vision. Don't lose heart in the process. If you have ever had the vision of God, you may try as you like to be satisfied on a lower level, but God will never let you.

Oswald Chambers

Whoa!!

I was on a diet. I tried tucking my tummy in but it bounced right back like a balloon.
It’s the mango season right? So I packed some mangoes for desert but apparently this raised eyebrows. A work mate insisted I had a story to tell, but none that I was aware of. I hadn’t seen the moon though but I figured it was due to changes in the weather and stuff. Curious about the moon’s disappearance,I found the nearest clinic and asked for those little testers. The lady at the reception pointed me to another room in which I found 3 men stacking little parcels into boxes. They were excited to see me, then I felt embarrassed asking for the packets. I kept my hands in full view, to show off my rings, just in case they thought I was doing things illegally.

“Madam, you feel free, for us we are here. You tell us everything”.
That cracked me up.
They took great delight in explaining how to use the little gadget.
“Now Madam, it is simple. When you go to the bathroom, preferably early in the morning, you will put a sample of u…”
“Ok, ok I know what to do”
“Yes, then you wait for at least 3 minutes. When you see 2 lines, it is positive. One line means it is negative and then if you see this line only, it means it’s wrong - you try again”
I paid and I was out of there.
Next morning - I waited and saw “this line only, it means it’s wrong - you try again”
I tried again the next morning and WHOA!!!!!!!


I’m feeling pretty fine.
Any changes so far? Well, my waist line is rounder.

A week later
I’m swamped. I wish I could get some nap time but can’t do much of that in office. Little person is pattering and kicking and flipping and somersaulting. I have headaches from time to time but that is only when I haven’t eaten in a span of 30 minutes. Yeah I have to constantly nibble on something.
My nose is extremely sensitive to the slightest of scents. Each whiff makes single file entry into my nostrils. That means at one moment I can smell all the scents around me and tell the difference. I don’t know if I’m making sense but that is what it is - Agh! Which means, no perfumes for me and please keep your distance if you have one on.

I love all things bland right now, who knew sugarless tea could taste so good.
Rabbits would consider me a serious force to contend with, I nibble constantly – nuts, veggies, fruits, something needs to go down all the time.
I need to take time off work but can’t get round to that just yet,especially since I only begun work a month ago.
Frantically searching for a doctor who can handle my complications. Spoke to Ian Clarke, he referred me to his hospital doctor, so I will probably go to IHK on Saturday.

There. My long explanation for not running the marathon.

It's over, now what?

I woke up early and lay in bed, enjoying the warmth and debating on how soon after the alarm went off I should drag my legs onto the floor. When I finally dragged myself to the shower, I was almost wide awake. By the time I was ready to leave the house, it was 7:15, the marathon was scheduled to start at 7:30. I grabbed the first bodaboda and got to the starting point just in time to see the tail end of the multitudes that were stampeding and pushing in the name of running. So this time I wasn’t able to get good snap shots.
At around 7:50 I heard people shouting “he is back”, “cheer him on”. I thought that was just wrong, did the man take a short cut? Did he forget the route? The marathon had just began, how could someone be back so soon? What drug was he on? I put my ignorance aside and acknowledged that some people are road runners, the guy did make 10km in less than 26 minutes.
I love the mood stirred by marathons –a spirit of unity, solidarity, and purpose, the pickpockets and thieves notwithstanding. I was amazed at the numbers of people that trotted up and down the streets of Kampala in the name of preparation. They had a set goal and were united in achieving it. When the day arrived, acquaintances had been made, business cards exchanged, maybe even proposals. I wonder if this unity could seep into other activities like fighting corruption, injustice and poverty. What potent does a marathon hold to draw millions of East Africans? That street vendors and taxi drivers would gladly part with 6,000 shillings? May be they are happy to spend it on events they will execute personally not in mystery ventures like Aids and Malaria prevention.




I took pleasure watching people clock in, walking, limping, some even running with fresh enthusiasm. Standing at the side lines I saw friends, relatives, colleagues, schoolmates that I hadn’t seen in eons. That was enough to keep me smiling all morning, amazed at the effect life has had on them – some were smaller, larger (mostly larger), bolding, graying – aah! I smile again. There is something special about seeing old school mates later in life, especially those with whom I lost teeth, lisped with and discussed the amazing rats in our homes.

Advertising at its best.

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 baton 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

Renewing my Ugandan license is driving me crazy

My driving license expires in a week. No better time like the present to have it renewed right?

I drove to Uganda Revenue Authority office in Nakawa and begun the hustle. I’d have been happy to have someone else run this errand but there is no one else, so the “ponky” landed on me.

The chaos in that place is hard to describe; - 8 o’clock on Monday morning looked like 12pm, Thursday afternoon - lots of people standing around, gazing at cars, and conversing. I walked passed a man squatting by the wall, trying to catch some sleep. I don’t know if he was succeeding but his eyes were shut and he was rocking slightly, with the wall as a support.

The office/warehouse, which is excellent for cargo and animals but nothing else, was stuffy and crammed. I had to guess my way around, figure out which forms to fill, where to take them and whom to talk to. Meanwhile men were staring, taking long glances at my paper to see what I had written. I occasionally heard, “Njagala okukyusa numba puleetti” and “kati kampune yange”, kampune became kampune. A hundred and one transactions taking place - company registration, number plate acquisitions, license renewals... I wish there was a simpler way - like getting a drivers license for life. Okay, maybe the country revenues would take a dip, but can we make it 10 years instead of 3? That way we won’t have to squash up in an old unventilated warehouse, among other things.

I stood in 4 different lines in the space 4 hours. Twice I was lucky to stand in the right line from the start, the other times I had to begin at the back of yet another line. Twice, while in the right lane 2 men elbowed their way in front of me.

Hello! In case you didn’t notice, this is a line, if you want to join, kindly start at the back, just like I did.
So I asked the man why he was “fixing himself”.

“But I was somewhere here”

“I have been standing here and I don’t recall you in front of me”

“Yes, but I was somewhere here”

“Where?”

“Ok I don’t remember well. But let us leave that”

“Would you be happy if someone did this to you?”

“In fact, no!”

I was in a good mood, figured there was no reason to continue the exchange. I got my name printed and was off guessing what the next move was.
I queued up at the bank, paid the fee and after 30 minutes was instructed to go back to the warehouse. By this time the lines were so thick it was hard to figure out which counter I would end up at and if it was the right one. Again I stood in what I suspected to be the right line and again a man popped in front of me, just like the weasel.

“Can you please join the line (at the back)?”

“Ah ah! Me I just want a stamp”

“What about the rest of us?”

“I don’t know”

His raw nature made me chuckle but honestly I wished I could yank him by the back of his shirt collar and settle him outside the entrance.

We own the moment.

Aah!

You look stunning!

I’m enthralled with the way your clothes fit perfectly; defining a man with purpose and vision, a man with style - dignified and playful all at once.

It’s refreshing to see your smile.

You bend ever so slightly and wrap me in your arms. Your cologne - subtle and crisp, smells heavenly. As I lay my head on your shoulder I wish time would hush, make no move, stay forever in this moment.

You whisper – “I've missed you” I respond, breathless, “me more”.

The strength in your hand as it envelops mine, firm but gentle confirms – “I care about you. I want to protect you”

My heart skips a beat, our eyes lock in a knowing gaze and we smile when our favorite song plays on the radio. We own the moment! Nobody feels the way we do. Fireworks and lightning engulf us at the same exact split second - simply blissful!

Just you and me baby! Just you and me.

I love Uganda

Chap-chap!
Just like that, 2 months have whizzed passed since coming home. I have done my share of complaining and now life goes on. It is almost down to a routine; Crazy boda-boda men putting their lives on the line, the pushing and shoving, heavy traffic, numerous holidays. The riots came as a surprise welcome home package but clearly some Ugandans are burning with rage and there is dynamite waiting to explode.
I love the predictability of the weather, when it’s scorching hot during the day; I know showers are around the corner. I know that since the UMA show is on, it’s going to rain; at least it has been that way for many years. I love the cool breeze and I’m glad I don’t have to drastically change my wardrobe to suit the weather. I miss fall colors but not the cold winter nights, wrapped up, sipping on a cup of coffee every hour. Hustling with Sam to turn up the heat and he turning it down because much as I need the warmth but he can’t take the bills.

I love munching on a soft freshly baked bun, sprinkled with sesame seeds, sand witched with crunchy onions placed over tasty ham, glazed with mayonnaise, snappy lettuce and a nice red round juicy slice of tomato yummm! The Dominoes burger does it for me!
I close my eyes and slurp as I chew on the tastiest, juiciest, Ugandan pineapple.
My toes curl as I sip on an ice cold glass of homemade, thirst quenching passion fruit juice.
Memories of a fun filled childhood rush in like kids running out to play when I settle down to a plate of that white ish – colorless ish stick of sugar cane. Ah! It makes a cracking sound when I take a bite, as I begin to crunch, the sweet juice gushes out, filling my mouth, it flows down my throat and I forget it’s a chore to spit out the husks.
The firm, fleshy jack fruit, takes me to another place.

As I glance at the tree in my compound, pregnant with its fruit, my cheeks lean up to meet my eyes.














The “C” word (calories) is history, food is fresh, healthy and organic.
Oh Uganda, may God uphold thee! ( and I haven’t even mentioned the Avocado).

Madness from the East

Like grasshoppers drawn to light, they are drawn to money ventures. Like ants in line, stopping to greet each other and ferrying chunks of food to the anthill, their sense of community and hard work is evident. They are spread out all over the globe, from the dingiest dark corners to hoity-toity palaces.
They multiply like mushrooms; they creep into areas and take over. They are successful business owners, when they spot fertile fields, they ship family, distant cousins, neighbors and local touts by the hundreds. Woe is yours if they employ you - getting fair pay is like squeezing juice out of a dry mango seed. They almost always carry packed lunch to work and will not leave until they must. They own shops’ in villages’ on the outskirts of civilization, yet the villagers will know where they are located because of the reasonable prices.
While the rest of us buy expensive cars, they drop children off on simple scooters. When there is a fuel crisis, guess who is still on the road?
2 grown men walk into a restaurant and order a 300ml coke which they gladly share. Don’t know if it quenches their thirst but something tells me they were on a mission, scouting out the possibility of taking over that business or maybe it’s just the sense of brotherhood.
3 families with 2 children each will live in a 2 bed roomed run down shack and there is room for grandma and grandpa.
Madness!
They make for half the population in prestigious schools around the world.
The best known doctors carry their long tongue tying names.
They are advisers' in the White house.

Even though their heads balance like eggs on spoons as they speak, we’ve got to give it to them – we need some of that madness.

Father's Houses

Curious about the tent peek-a-booing outside our gate every Sunday morning, we decided to check it out. For starters it’s conveniently located. It’s full of young vibrant men and women who pray with urgency. It’s been a while since I prayed so fervently and for so long. People pace the floors, rumbling, groaning and rocking to a rhythm. Sermon;- Knowing whose you are

The next Sunday we travelled to the centre of the city’s hustle and bustle (only less intense on Sunday). Located on Luwum Street, opposite Mutassa Kafeero plaza; up a flight of stairs, up another flight of stairs, up more stairs and more stairs yet - finally at Calvary Chapel phew! It’s got a familiar feel, probably because 3 quarters of the members shifted from Watoto Church. The choir is energetic; they have a young pastoral team and a semi international congregation. To be investigated further. Sermon; You must be born again

The Sunday after that, we travelled up Makerere hill to St. Francis. It’s over flowing with students and passionate worshippers. It’s long since I attended an Anglican service, but it was nice to turn to the hymn books and prayer books and recite responses to the prayers led by the priest. Standing there, memories of my days as a student came rushing in; Running to the chapel to say a prayer because course work deadlines were breathing hot air down my neck and yet my brain was on pause. The concerts with groups like Keith Ministries and Come Alive, Uncle Ben’s humor... It was a nice trip down memory lane. Sermon; Being a true Christian
Finally made our way down town, to the English speaking, cell based, community church, with a vision to grow and multiply as each one reaches one, touching those around with the love of Jesus, with the aim of bringing healing to the city and to the nation. It’s as glamorous as ever, crammed as ever, with the best worship south of the Sahara. Seeing familiar faces in the choir and having Marilyn preach, made me feel at home. It’s so busy though, a thousand and one activities to keep in mind. I got the sense that to be comfortable in Watoto church one needs to have grown to a point where they are not dependent on the church to feed them. One needs to be grounded in a cell group or have accountable peers or spiritual parents to keep them tuned in. Sermon; The Call is not easy

Watoto North church was great! Chatted briefly with Pastor Joshua, met a few old friends, and worshipped freely without worrying that I might hit my neighbor’s nose. Sermon; I don’t remember
One last stop and then we will prayerfully decide.

She's black, he's white yeyeyeah!

Land cruisers’, Ipsums’, SUVs’, Pajeros’, trucks, Rav 4’s, Nadias’, Carinas’, name them, they are all here bumping up and down Uganda's roads. Maersk, Transaami and every other shipping company or car dealer in town is loaded with vehicles in the bond - all the way to Mombasa. Ugandans are importing cars by the minute. Meanwhile the Kikumis' (white Toyota Corolla AE100) that once jammed the city are extinct. Ugandans are doing well financially. Economic Crisis? What’s that?

Strolling through the malls and super markets, I notice more interracial couples. White men with black wives/girlfriends, “Kyots” on arm or tucked in strollers. Uganda is becoming international. The days when the sight of a white man walking with a black woman stopped traffic are long gone.

In other news, what’s with organizations all going yellow? Once Yellow was a bold color that only MTN, Shell and Bell lager dared to use. I could spot an MTN kiosk/logo/banner from miles away – now? It’s jumbled up in all sorts of “yellow shades”. Uganda Revenue Authority, National Housing and so many other companies are using the same color, are the colors running? In that case, I will commend Warid for going hot pink.
Speaking of which, why do telecommunication companies adopt weird names? CELTEL sounded right until it changed to ZAIN. I never associated phone conversations with fruits but ORANGE managed to squeeze in right next to MANGO, before you know it we will have PUNCH - Uganda Telecom or UTL would have done just fine. WARID Telecom got me worried, boy oh boy! When I first heard that name, I thought shoosh! Those customers are going to be stressed. I still think MTN has the most decent name and I am biased. There is something about a name that makes all the difference. Now that SMILE is round the corner, I can’t help thinking about the TV show “Smile your on candid camera”.

Are you my son?

As Sam and I conversed one morning, Mich eagerly awaited a chance to slot in a word, but his dad was still in mid sentence, so out of frustration he said “But daddy, you don’t have to use all your words at once”, that cracked me up.

Anyway, we begin the 3rd week of school and the adjustment process is uphill. Our regular morning wars to get out of bed;- Mich crying about his dream being cut short or how he is still tired, then we face the concept of adding a helper to the equation.
I have been mopping the floors, burning my dress in the kitchen and making sure he has washed behind his ears, so Mich doesn’t understand why someone else has to do these chores for me, (apparently I was getting good grades). He views the helper as an intruder and is always telling on her or giving the instructions. I have over heard commands like “Apolot, you need to wash my clothes”, “Apolot! Apolot! That is not the way they clean the bathroom”. All over a sudden he is extremely authoritative. He is harsh at times, I hate to think he has learned this from me.
He insists on bathing himself and isn’t comfortable with other people seeing him naked. I’m happy with his zest to bathe but half the time he comes out with wet hands and dirty feet. I've assumed the position of referee because “Apolot is not listening to me”. I don’t know where the bad blood is coming from.

Recently he prayed that his teachers would learn to tell time well because they ask the kids to get back to class before they are done playing and playing is his favorite activity.
One other time I went to pick him up but he wasn’t with the rest, he was in class reading a book - that didn’t sit right. Getting down to the details;- he was attempting a cart wheel when one of the girls laughed at him. Without hesitation and steaming like a hot potato, he punched her in the stomach and refused to apologize, so he was sent back to class. I was upset. When did all this violence begin? He has never so much as pushed anyone. I thought I was raising a boy who discussed issues and certainly not with the fist.
You would assume that all the time we’ve spent together would give off some good dividends - a marked difference between him and the other kids because he is being raised by his mom (who constantly laboring to bring the best out of him). It’s extremely embarrassing when ugly traits rear their heads at the least expected moments; right in public where everyone turns to see who is responsible for this lad. It’s hard to convince anyone that he was taught otherwise and it makes me wonder what’s going to pop up next. I think I have sorted out an issue and then it resurfaces in a new form.

Market cafe

Internet in the market? You’ve got to be kidding!

I found an internet café in our local market area. The sign post was my only hope that I was not hallucinating. Passed the tomato and matooke stalls, down a dusty path, opposite the charcoal sellers and in a corner - there it is! I was curious and skeptic all at once; the prices were fair for starters. The connections are slower than a sick snail but it’s busy. I strictly check mail. One can spend an entire day there, in an attempt to surf in its true form. Majority of the clientele are passionate face-book teens. However slow the system is, they hang on, to send the next message or update their profiles.

My market café even has webcams, cool ainit?! Today I sat next to a girl who had jazzed up her looks for some web talk. I was minding my own business (for the most part) but how the eyes love to wonder. She was on a chat site scanning the profiles of bazungu men. I thought it was silly; first the page takes forever to open, then it’s distorted, then it takes a minute before you send or receive a response, then time runs out. You must be desperate or something to go through such pains. But thinking back now, I’m more concerned about her ending up with some serial killer who lures her. We might end up with the headline “Ugandan girl found dead in Boston Hotel”.

Bon appetit?!

On Sam’s first visit to America, he walked into a fast food outlet and placed an order.
The guy at the counter - “forherretogo?”
Eh! Sam is trying to figure out what the man is saying.
Guy at the counter – “Sir, forherretogo?”
Sam – “what?”
Guy at the counter (gives him a puzzled look, then emphasizes) – “Sir, would you like it here or to go?”
Sam finally figures it out – “here”.
Kati why didn’t the guy just ask if he wanted “takeaway?”
Anyway, I concluded that “Takeaway” is a code only used in Uganda.

When fast food was still a new phenomena in Kampala, Bon appétit brought it home. The chips and chicken, fish fillet, kidney, liver and fried cassava defined take away, that is until Ugandans got into a frenzy, thinking they would die if they all didn’t set up their own “take away”. Now Kampala is drowning in fast food restaurants.
Even in this sea, Bon appétit remains top on my list of fast food stops. I like the potato chips (most of the time), I even dreamed of them when I was subjected to tasteless potatoes in outside countries. We have a history you see, Bon appétit and I go way back, besides I’m impressed by Mrs. Mosha’s stamina. She has opened up a chain of Bon appetite’s in accessible locations around the city, if she keeps up we might have our very own version of Mc Donald’s right here.

A young waitress burst my bubble when I made a stop at the chain store on Jinja road. I was excited to finally get a taste of my favorite junk food; I placed my order and noticed she wasn’t amused. She seemed to blame me for her misery. Ok, so it was a Sunday afternoon, she would much rather chill out with her friends or something, but hey! It was not my fault. I didn’t hire her; I just thought that since she was there, she would make the most of it. It was quite dramatic when I asked her about something on the menu and she used her mouth to indicate what was available. I smiled, made my order and hoped the food tasted better than the attitude. It did. The chicken was as crispy and tasty as always, the chips were nice and hot, with a few strips of cabbage on the side and plenty of ketchup to make up for the lack of sauce.
Even with the poor reception, I will not be deterred. I will try the original Bon appétit on Kampala road, next to fidodido before I even think of throwing in the towel.

The Ebony Tower

As I look around for someone to pay me to tell stories, and to avoid being idle and disorderly, I went visit a former lecturer at Makerere University.
I took a taxi to Wandegeya with the aim of using the famous “gate” in front of University hall. The area is buzzing with kiosks in all sizes and shapes. What was once a tiny rack of second hand shoes for sale is almost a full blown shoe store - without the four walls.
I couldn't find the gate. It was either uprooted or trampled, but the remains are evident – two strong poles, bits of mesh sticking out of the ground and a worn path. University hall looks horrible; the filth, broken glass and worn window frames are hanging on by some miracle.

These buildings haven’t been renovated in over 20 years and to think the halls are churning out graduates by the minute... What will be left for those little boys and girls who are dreaming of coming to the famous hill? Is this the destiny of all government institutions?

The arts faculty and precisely the literature department, has a dusty, ancient feel - like a famous building turned into a museum. There is no effort to preserve the look, it’s natural. The hall way is musty, the pin up boards are the same, the photocopy lady is still in her corner, the dark corridor has the same art pieces that have never been touched since they were hang up.
There is a phone booth, a stall or a kiosk on every 5 meters of compound and idle photographers wait to take passport size photographs. There are pockets of students standing around and it's not like they are waiting to attend a lecture. What is all the idleness?

I took a stroll to my former hall of residence. The canteens are owned by the same shop keepers, who I assume are the happiest Ugandan entrepreneurs, they are a lot chubbier. I was amused to see stationed manicure and pedicure facilities, with pillows for comfort. Back in the day we painted our own nails. I don’t remember visiting a salon the entire time I was on campus – I didn’t need to, my hair was natural and braided half the time. Times are changing constantly.

I nearly slipped and fell moving around to see the rooms; the bars that used to serve as a support are now used to hang laundry. So, quite apart from the shabby look, the dripping water had me skidding; -
The bathrooms?! eew!
Is the academic state of affairs surprising? Hardly! There is rubbish everywhere and at every level.
The lecturer wasn't in, probably looking for money some where else.

Ugandan women lean towards public indecency

I’m not a fashion guru. In fact I'm not fully aware of the current trends. When shopping, I look for clothes that flatter my shape and are comfortable, whether or not they are the latest styles.
The Ugandan trend is - “If it’s in - wear It!” Never mind that it doesn’t suit your size or shape. As I walk on the streets of Kampala, I see ladies in ill fitting clothes all in the name of “keeping in style” and I’m embarrassed on their behalf. It’s particularly unpleasant when one has a big bust and an extended tummy, with a butt that’s heading in the opposite direction. All the curves and contours are emphasized, it’s not cool.

Blouses and dresses with low cuts at the front have invaded the city too, no problem! Who am I to dictate what ladies wear anyway? Issues arise though in taxis - when they have to bend over to get in/out/or shuffle over to let someone pass. Twice I have watched men get totally disorganized, either because “the girls’ are in full view or they are about to fall out.

Then there are women who don’t wear intimate apparel for their busts. One can see “the girls” chilling or very attentive, depending on the fabric and the weather. Now that I understand men to be optical machines, I shudder. I would like to think that the women are not aware of the effects, and probably don’t do it to provoke emotions, but for decency’s sake,cover up already!

I’m beginning to sound like those “kill joy old ladies” in my past.

Oil! Grease! Chai! wha’ever!

“Desperate times call for desperate measures” or so they say. In our quest for a school, we made an appointment with the headmaster of a recommended primary school in town. The secretary ushered us into his office where we begun our plea. He shook his head and said, “I don’t know what to do for you”. We sat humbly, looking at him with pleading eyes. Again, he shook his head and repeated “I don’t know what to do for you”.
After a brief silence the conversation went something like this:
Headmaster- “I’m going to conduct interviews tomorrow, so if you pay 100,000 for the admission forms, I will interview your son. But it is not a guarantee that he will be admitted”.
My husband- “I’m sorry but we didn’t come with that kind of money”
Headmaster- “Where do you live?”
My husband- “Ntinda”
Headmaster- “That is not too far away, I’m going to be in office until 3pm. If you are really interested in the place, you can go get the money, I will be waiting”
Silence
My husband- “Thank you very much sir” and we bid him farewell.

As we walked out, he followed us into the parking lot. He seemed a little uneasy but was rather speechless. After a few minutes he went back inside.
Sam and I looked at each other in disbelief, had we just been asked for a bribe? Shock! And why did he follow us out? To assess our means of transport for measure? We are using taxis just like most other Ugandans. I guess that makes us less worthy.

We missed a slot in that school - don’t have oil to smooth greedy, shameless palms, so help me God. Let this not end in a “No Longer At Ease” sort of way.

Reverse culture shock

I quickly forgot my peoples’ ways.
Once, I mocked bazungu who wore flip flops and less than descent clothing. I thought they were making an effort to fit in, how wrong I was. You see, Americans for the most part are not snazzy dressers, except in New York and Dallas but don’t quote me. Smart is relative and I seem to have adopted the culture too. I’m embarrassed when I step onto Kampala’s streets with a rack sack and sandals and everybody is dressed as though they were attending a function; high heels, trendy clothes, suit and tie eeish! It’s hot, it’s dusty, it’s muddy, lighten up people!

My rack sack makes life easy, I throw what I need in there, but lately it has caused me trouble. A guard in Nakumatt would not let me in, boy! That ruffled my feathers. He couldn’t give a good reason why I had to leave my bag at the check in desk except that it was the rule, well, I insisted. Something about exposure to efficient systems doesn’t allow me to settle for less. 20 minutes later I saw a mzungu with her rack sack strolling down the shopping aisles and I wanted to scream. Double standards and robots make me mad.

So, we finalized the deal with our landlady. Next day I received a passionate message from the broker claiming we betrayed him by telling her we had paid him. The intensity of that text could have blown up my phone; Brokers didn’t feature in our conversation with the lady. Apparently it was a code to say, he was given less money than expected and we were supposed to top it up. After reading the story of a landlord burnt by tenants because they suspected he wanted to change up his quarters, it gets really scary.

The men in Owino still tag and pull at ladies hands as though we are their property. I could have sued them all for sexual harassment. Some things don’t change.
Ugandan’s still push and shove without shame; clearly the idea of personal space has no place here.

Everybody and their brother has a car, unfortunately the roads are not experiencing the same multiplication effect. Costs of living are higher, gaps between the rich and the poor are widening and it doesn’t relate to the state of the country. Are companies paying better? Or is the good life disguised under unpaid loans? Are funds being misappropriated? The details remain a mystery (don’t ask, don’t tell). It might well be that we are catering for ourselves and leaving the country to whoever cares.

Owning a cell phone was once prestigious, it still is in some parts of America, but now Ugandans have at least 2 cell phones. One for each network provider?
And where did all these pretty little things sprout from? Kampala is blooming with gorgeous girls, wow! They are driving expensive cars and holding top positions in the corporate world.
Where are the older folk?

School hunt

Ugandans’are breeding with urgency!
Women are pushing out babies at an alarming rate, alas! Our schools are filled to capacity. No wonder the women’s section in the New Vision is constantly addressing pregnancy and childbirth.

I once brushed off stories of parents’ registering their unborn children on school waiting lists. Because excellent schools were readily available in Texas, all one needed was to find a house in a good school district. Now that I’m home, I face the Ugandan reality - there is no room! Day care centers are packed, pre schools are jammed, primary schools are overflowing and since Mich has not been in the system, squeezing him in is proving to be harder than uprooting banana stumps.
Apparently children introduced to learning abroad (America, UK) find it difficult to embrace the Ugandan system. Ugandans are steered by rote learning while the American system is based on the Psychology of the child, his state of mind and his emotions.
One school had the head teachers sighing and shaking their heads when I mentioned that my little boy had done preschool in America. By the end of preschool here, Ugandan children are on to a good reading pace and copying work off the black board. Looks like my little man will have to warm a sit in kindergarten a little longer. I would rather he picks up at his pace, saving me the hustle of dealing with mystery illnesses on Monday mornings.
Meanwhile, the craze for the International School system has hit almost every young family like an epidemic. If your child is not in or on the waiting list for Word Of Life, Vine, Montessori, Aga Khan, and the like, then be afraid, be very afraid. The Primary Leaving Exam (P.L.E) system is now ancient. While it worked for us in the glorious days of Kitante Primary School, Kampala Parents, Nakasero, Buganda Road, and others in that vein, (we turned out alright yeeee!!), mentioning such schools now is likened to setting your child up for failure. Never mind that much of this is an effect of peer pressure;- because Clare takes her kids to school x, I must take my kids there too. As I fight the urge to follow the crowd, not that I have much of a choice in the matter seeing as all the places are taken, but I will admit, Universal Primary Education (UPE) sucks and the basis of class promotion gives me a bad stomach.
So, caught between a rock and a hard place, what does a woman do?

The origin of home schooling!

Once a girl, already woman.

A woman emerged from the shell of a child.
She was once a little girl, now, I can barely fathom the curves and dips of her frame. She sways from side to side as she walks, lifting her legs like 20 tons were attached to each ankle. I tilt my eyes slightly upwards to capture her face and my head moves from the left to the right to engulf her entire form. She ogles, follows, and traces my movements in an eerie fashion. If she could stop all the intensity I’d relax, but with no sisters, and a mother who is least likely to entertain a needy daughter, I end up being the scapegoat.
She grunts nearly all the time. I wonder what runs the course of her mind for she seldom speaks. Not that she is shy, no! She will raise her voice at the slightest provocation, making her more cryptic.

With her big, round, expressionless eyes looking straight at me she says, “I need to talk to you”. Before I brace myself or compose my thoughts, she unburdens her heart. Casually opening a can of worms, and pulling skeletons out of her closet, she lays them on the table; No apologies, just matter of fact information. Without flinching she explains the anatomy of each skeleton, I wish I could put a tight lid on the worms but no! She is not holding back, she lets me have it all. I almost break out in beads of sweat - embarrassed, empathic, nearly apologizing for her pain. Tears flow from her eyes but she shows no emotion.
I’m humbled - speechless. What do you say when a little emotionless girl turned woman, opens the pages of her life? Especially when you are caught off guard? I barely know her, what do I do?

House hunt phase two.

After narrowing our house hunt to 2 locations, we picked the one with easier access to town and to public transport. The house is not ideal, but it works. When I expressed our interest to the landlady’s son, I told him he would never find better tenants; this was his only chance to salvage his mom’s house from disrespectful, filthy, ungrateful tenants. He put in a word for us when his mom got back; 2 days later we met to discuss the tenancy agreement. Madam Landlady was very chatty, being my parents’ age mate she was typically loaded with advice for any young ears willing to listen.
She was articulate about her expectations, but also appreciated our need for privacy and space. I hope it turns into a long term cordial relationship.

We are moving in slowly, should be done by early this week. Eachtime we pass by, the land lady is cleaning something or the other. I'm concerned that house inspections are going to be serious business.
I'm Glad we finally found a place to call home.

House hunting in Kampala

I have been reacquainted with Kampala’s nooks and crannies, I’ve driven on the dusty roads of this beloved city in desperate search of a place to lay my head.
Finding a house in Kampala is rather draining. If the house is not too small, then it is too far out, if the finishing is not shady, then the house is too expensive. The rooms are ill proportioned; landlords squeeze 3 rooms in a space sufficient for 2.
Now that everyone has woken up to inbuilt wardrobes, instead of curving a space that sinks into the wall, wardrobes are built in a protruding fashion, making the room even smaller. Some landlords’ think because they have plastered a few tiles into the house it’s justifiable to charge exorbitant rates, even when the light fixtures are crooked. One broker was so excited to show me a house because it had a sitting room and a dinning. Uh … isn’t it standard to have both? Apparently not.

One can get a house any where depending on the location and price. 100, 000/- can get you a hole in the wall in some slum area and depending on where you go, it either gets better or worse as the price peaks. Houses on the market are going for 500,000 shillings and up it’s crazy! The last house I rented had 3 bed rooms, it was located right by the road side in Bukoto for only 250,000/-. Now, that price is laughable. Land is truly appreciating at a terrific speed.
On my quest to view a wide variety of houses, I gave Google SMS a shot. The instructions - type “Rent a house” mention the location of interest and text it to 6007. Yee! Uganda is stepping up its game. I got leads to brokers. Now, you would think these are professional, decent, real estate agents right? Wrong. For starters the young man I contacted didn’t have the courtesy to call, he beeped. When we met, stating his fee was the first order of business. He said he was aware of 3 bed roomed houses going at a good rate but first I had to drive him some place to collect the keys. Our first destination was on the out skirts of civilization and miserable to say the least. The second house he attempted to show was locked, he bluntly asked us to peep through the windows. At this point we decided it was a waste of time, paid him half his fee and drove back to sanity.
A broker we met in Kasanga probably didn’t conceptualize what we wanted. In one house, no 2 doors could be open simultaneously; 1 had to be closed so you could have enough space to open the other. In another instance, the builders where in the middle of digging up the floor, the broker claimed it would be ready over the weekend, hmm a likely story! Another house was perfectly located, had great proportions, was enclosed in a fence, but the house itself was falling to pieces. The repairs needed were more than we were willing to invest. So we drove off, with heads hang low; money spent, time wasted and nothing to consider.

Recommended brokers like Henry may seem more credible. He is stationed in Ntinda, judging from his Rav4 in the parking lot, business is good. He asked for our price range, and then proceeded to show us houses way above our means. He claimed anything below what he had shown was not neat enough. When we insisted on seeing more options, he delegated the duty to his colleague, who searched high and low to show us various available options. So we are down to 2 houses on our top list.

I need to build my own house and soon.

Dust and abysses

My page has collected dust and cobwebs these past couple of weeks but I haven't the time to keep it fresh or updated.
I am in over my head; folding and stashing,shopping and packing,discarding and donating.
I have walked for miles in department stores, barely aware of the passing of time - that was the fun part. The stress and strain engulfed me when I had to make trade offs, when my eyes were bigger than my pocket, when I was spoilt for choice, trying (in vain for the most part) to decipher between needs, wants and would be good to haves.
"Now, if only I could have all 3 dresses".
"These shoes are great! and so are those, and these and the others".
"Mich would love this toy, I've got to get him those DVDs,the books are awesome too, what about the arts and crafts?".
"I have just seen the most amazing pillows, they would look lovely in the sitting room, with those curtains,that rug ..."
"Just look at these cooking pots, they would last forever".
"Oh! what about family and friends and relatives?".
This is crazy!! I can't have it all, I don't have the means, oh well.
There is no end to material things, that hole just doesn't fill does it?

Anyway I need to finish packing.

News

In America: Chicken lays golden egg!
Next day: Kansas chicken lays golden egg!
20 minutes later: Farmer Brown’s 5 week old chicken laid golden egg in upright position
Next: Chicken with golden egg ate grain from Mr. Murphy Silentspoon’s store.
Then next head line : Chicken tinted with blue feathers, had never laid eggs before.
And the next: Chicken linage traced back to Cleveland Ohio.
Chicken is given special care, it dies of old age and is placed in a museum.

In Africa: A chicken lays an egg which is golden.
Next day: Chicken dies
It's eaten and that's it.

Americans’ uncover everything they can find on a story. It’s discussed, analysed and broken down until you are fed up. They will scrutinize the words spoken, the way they were spoken, the possible thoughts, moods, expressions – every angle. The public is either satisfied with no further questions or wonders what other twists and turns could be included.


Federal judge Sotomayor, nominated by President Obama to be next Supreme Court justice is a perfect example. If she survives the lines of fire coming her way she will be the first Hispanic justice and third female justice in US high court. She has been grilled, turned over, reversed inside out, squeezed and shaken for over 4 months.
Now, if only Uganda could borrow a leaf, issues like Faith Mwondha and the global fund troubles would be justifiably history.

Notes from Arizona

June 22nd

It’s rejuvenating to escape from the hustle of my mundane life, put my feet up, fold my hands behind my head, take a deep breath, close my eyes and smile. God is good! My life is upside down, I don’t know what tomorrow brings, not sure where I should be at this point in life but in spite of all that, it is well with my soul. From whence my source comes ? – I haven’t the slightest clue. How my life will span out? – I really don’t know. Not that I care less but I can’t deny that this higher power, the force that spoke the world into existence is reshaping my life.

I’m living in a beautiful Hyatt hotel in Phoenix Arizona. I never imagined that I would be persuaded into driving 15 hours to any destination let alone this amazing, desert-ish, cactus infested land. But here we are.
I don’t get to cook a meal for a whole week – awesome!! Feels like an ice cold coke on a blazing hot summer day.
I’m having some serious one on one moments with Mich - aww!
Listening to his articulated thoughts on what he makes of this world, it’s evident that perceptions are already molded: some can be reshaped while others are inscribed.
And so I kneel down to pray –
“Heavenly Father, thank you for this gift, help me to shape and build his little heart for your kingdom. I can not express how daunting the task is, hold my hand for on my own I fail miserably”

Phoenix reminds me of Philly and down town Dallas. It’s smoldering hot, but what’s new?! Arizona is semi desert yet beautiful in the same breath. I love the way they have taken the Rocky Mountains, hard earth, and spiky cactus and created some awesome art. I dream of Karamoja’s potential and what it will look like when it becomes a center of focus or when some rich men decide to invest there (in 416 years time).

The people are almost friendly, they are not stand offs but they are not entirely embracing either. It's ok, I don’t mind.
The city is spread out; there is a lot to see, do and eat. Tourist spots all over the place, we will see how much I can pack into 5 days. Kid’s activities are paramount; I don’t need to explain why.

Halfway

I mourned MJ longer than I had anticipated ; now, I get up and dust myself off.
When my grand children ask how I got nicknamed "Mjay", I will enthrall them with my tale.
When they say - "Fo shizzle grizzle?" (For sure granma?) , I will delight in humoring them.


'09 has unveiled some over the top events that have left my eyes spinning in my head.

~ The recession turns the tables all over the world upside down.
~ U.S innaugurates its first black president - whoa!
~ Owino catches fire
~ Maddof, fraudster of the century, is exposed by his sons and sentenced to 150 years in jail - He got it coming! "Give us back our money you scammer you!"
~ Air France plane crush;- 228 aboard, 228 fatalities - my heart goes out to the families
~Susan Boyles' becomes an internet sensation in her 40's - Good for her.
~ Mzee Kakamega dies, Mugabe Kaijuka dies, Michael Jackson dies, Billy Mays dies, Farrah Fawcett dies, David Carradine dies... former South Korean president Roh Moo-hyun jumps to his death.
Friends, relatives and neighbors have died - probably not world famous but precious nontheless.

And we are only halfway through the year, what does the second half present?
If its more of the same then, ...

It's all smoke

Today, the shell of the shy and soft spoken guy will be lowered 6 feet under.
Where is he? - A priceless question, no doubt.

He worked hard, did what he did best and captivated the crowds. They pursued him in a passionate stampede, trampled him, and while some remain to mourn, others rush passed, eyes transfixed on their next victim.



Musings from King Solomon in Ecclesiastes :

- He arrived naked from the womb of his mother; He'll leave in the same condition—with nothing. This is bad luck, for sure—naked he came, naked he went.

- When I realized that my fate's the same as the fool's, I had to ask myself, "So why bother being wise?" It's all smoke, nothing but smoke.
The smart and the stupid both disappear out of sight. In a day or two they're both forgotten. Yes, both the smart and the stupid die, and that's it.

- I hate life. As far as I can see, what happens on earth is a bad business. It's smoke—and spitting into the wind.
And I hated everything I'd accomplished and accumulated on this earth. I can't take it with me—no, I have to leave it to whoever comes after me. Whether they're worthy or worthless—and who's to tell?—they'll take over the earthly results of my intense thinking and hard work. Smoke.

- Life, lovely while it lasts, is soon over. Life as we know it, precious and beautiful, ends. The body is put back in the same ground it came from. The spirit returns to God, who first breathed it.

- The last and final word is this: Fear God. Do what he tells you. And that's it. Eventually God will bring everything that we do out into the open and judge it according to its hidden intent, whether it's good or evil.

(The message bible)

Aliens

My efforts to capture 4th of July fire works on camera.

Michael Jackson dead!

I didn't see this coming.

I'm watching Mich trying to spin around and moon walk (backslide) - really hilarious.
He had no clue who MJ was until today, now he is asking whether Michael Jackson will come back.

Why he is so famous, what he did, if the whole world is going to be at the LA hospital.

My memory of Michael is stuck in the time of Jackson 5, "Beat it", "Thriller"and "Off the wall" - Billie Jean, The Girl is mine, Fever, Bad - man! the list is endless.
I'm thinking - shiny white socks and pulled up sleeves and how we tried to imitate the look, yeah! even the girls.

Reminds me of the day Princess Diana passed away, the chaos, the questions, the confusion, the media buzzzzzzzzzzz.
These are events that stands out in my mind - leaving me speechless.

Michael was a weird guy, but he did amazing stuff in the music arena and boy! those dance moves will always be BAD!

So long King of Pop.

Play on

June 21st

The clock chimes
It strikes another hour
Another year ends – begins
Wrinkles and scars on this ebony mark a path
Each with a story
Of Sacrifice and love
Of errors and errands

Yesterday, I danced playfully to nursery rhymes
Today, the steps are intricately sophisticated
Sometimes the music blends with my heart beat
Sometimes I’m flustered and I lose my step
I’m still on the dance floor, mastering this skill called life
Drummer, play on
Beat the drum, so that I might pass on the rhythm
Play on till I can sway no more.

I'm a year older today, funny that it's fathers day too.
Double celebration in the "O" house hold.