Happy Thanksgiving!!

I woke up that cold November morning in 2006, made a few additions to my luggage and started my journey to the Grey hound bus station – I was going to celebrate my first Thanksgiving with some friends in Washington DC. In the Thanksgiving tradition, families gather at a parent or older relative’s home to share in a sumptuous meal. The bus station was crammed and busier than an ant colony. Ticket queues were so long and the lines leading up to the gates where crisscrossed, it was hard to tell them apart. The Philadelphia highways were clogged for miles, somewhat like Kampala on a rainy afternoon only on a much larger scale and more organized. The journey I had planned for 10am eventually started at 1pm. Everybody was making their best effort to get home in time for the holiday. I saw a mother with several kids all under the age of seven and on their best behavior. In case anyone got wiggly, she gave them a look that made whatever was bothering them magically disappear.


The Thanksgiving holiday in America is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November - a tradition that started centuries ago. Pilgrims fleeing religious persecution, left England in search of a “New World” one where they would be free to worship God as they saw fit. They arrived at Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1621 but because of a harsh winter that year, they suffered and many died of disease and starvation. The Native Americans welcomed them, taught them how to farm and the next year they had a bountiful harvest. To show their appreciation, the pilgrims cooked lots of food and invited their Native American friends to join in the celebration – to thank God for bountiful blessings. In 1789 George Washington made the first Presidential proclamation declaring Thanksgiving a national event. Then in 1863 President Abraham Lincoln declared the last Thursday of November a national day of Thanksgiving.

It’s not Thanksgiving without a turkey, so while chicken die like a problem on Christmas and Easter in Uganda - turkeys suffer the same fate over Thanksgiving. They stand a better chance in America because every year some turkeys are pardoned and left to die of old age. The turkey is traditionally served with cranberry sauce which is the one thing I didn’t quite appreciate on the Thanksgiving menu. Cranberry sauce tastes like sour jam, so eating it with turkey took getting used to.
When I was told we were having pumpkin pie for dessert my insides cringed, I never imagined pumpkin as a desert but I was pleasantly surprised. It’s really tasty and nothing like the pumpkin I was thinking about. So, baked turkey with stuffing, a little cranberry sauce on the side, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn (maize), pecans, and marsh mellows and it’s a Thanksgiving feast for sure.

On the morning of Thanksgiving, parades march in procession on the city streets. The most famous being New York City’s Thanksgiving Day parade presented by Macy’s department store. It attracts some 2 to 3 million spectators along its 2.5-mile route and draws an enormous television audience. It typically features marching bands, performers, elaborate floats conveying various celebrities and giant balloons shaped like cartoon characters.

After Thanksgiving there is an eager buzz about Black Friday. Judging from its name I thought something terrible was going to happen - apparently not. Black Friday is one of the biggest shopping days in America. It’s considered the unofficial start to Christmas holiday shopping and department stores slice their prices. From about 4am, parking lots are filled and endless queues of people brave chilly temperatures outside the stores of their preference. When the doors are opened there is a mad dash for items - customers literally shop till they drop. So, Friday is only black for the police because they have to deal the large crowds of traffic moving in and out of shopping malls and department stores.

Even though the events surrounding Thanksgiving are commercialized and the reason for the season is lost in the feasting, it is good to have an attitude of gratitude.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Please, not tonight

When I go to bed at night
I cannot sleep
There are words hanging over my head
Words, phrases, statements, topics, themes;
Cluttering, whizzing, hooting,making lots of noise
I cannot sleep

It’s 2am, my family needs to sleep and so do I
Words, please come back to me in the morning
When I’m fresh and ready to waltz
When I can give you my undivided attention
Don’t hide from the rising Sun
Stay a while so we can truly dance
But please, not tonight

My miracle

It's been a long journey up till this point and a longer one yet a head.
Some of you may have heard about my little miracles Nziiza and Kwizera God decided they would be safer in heaven so He took them back.
But on July 22, 2010 at 11:05 am, He gave Sam and I another miracle to keep for a little while.

I take this moment and many others to thank God for being real good to me. He has answered countless prayers and seen me through some dark dark valleys.

I look at this miracle and my heart dances wildly.
Like Mary said in Luke 1:46 -

"My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name".

My boys came too soon, at 24 and 20 weeks respectively. I was later diagnosed with a weak cervix. When they got heavy, my cervix would just give way and there was no way to save them. To get the full story look out  for the November edition of African Woman under Real Life Stories.
End of kalango.

Anyway, I went to hospital thinking I was carrying a boy because some eager radiologist let her mouth run without request. Sam and I were not keen on the sex, we were thankful already, a healthy baby was all we wanted.
When the baby was handed to me, I was freakin' electrified.
"What?! it's a girl? It's a girl!" "Oh my goodness, it's a girl!"
The doctors had a good laugh.
I mean, who does that these days? Who goes into the labor ward not knowing what to expect? (I know, it's either one or the other -thank God) but I was supposed to have checked and double checked.

"Oh the joy that continues to flood my soul.
Something happened and now I know, He touched me and made me whole"

Amani Keeza Ongwen is now 4 months old. She is a strong and beautiful girl - just like her name suggests.

Her favorite person in the whole world is her big brother Mich. Nobody makes her light up and kick like she has a bee in her bonnet - the sound of his high pitched voice and his perky personality set her on fire.

Her favorite cartoon characters are Elmo (Sesame street) and Bob the Tomato (Vegetales), these two make her smile, but not as much as Mich does.

She loves stories with lots of pictures - big colorful pictures.

So, what are you asking the Lord for? Is it taking long? Is the pain more than you can bare and the yearning unfathomable?
Don't despare, God will meet you. Make sure not to leave the place of appointment (prayer closet) and don't forget to say thank you - remember the story of the ten lepers.

It hurts.

Have you ever made a decision that you nearly regret?
At first it seems the obvious thing to do but things go wrong and regret sets in. Why is it simply done by others and when my turn rolls around I face obstacles?
I know it’s not nuclear physics, it's life, but right now, it hurts.

I had Amani’s ears pierced on Saturday. I was told this was the perfect age, she would heal a lot quicker - I thought yeah! This is the thing to do.
I gained the courage to pierce mine at about 22 years of age and I didn't wish I had done it sooner but I thought she would thank me for this.
Took her to the salon and within a few short minutes we were done. Only problem was the guy who did the job didn’t mark the spot so the ear holes were not anyway near identical. One was much further up than the other.

Now, I stand at cross roads;
Should I let it pass? - this would be her special mark. She would be different:-)(I’m not sure I would be in her good books though).
Should I go back immediately and have her pricked again?
Should I allow time for this one to heal then do it again?
My insides are boiling. Why should my little girl suffer because some guy did a crappy job? But again, I exposed her, so he is not entirely to blame.

Trouble in the hood

Sam and I were enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon; Sam was working on the computer and I was keeping Amani entertained when Mich walked in sparkle eyed. He seemed to have a brilliant idea. He said “I’m going on an adventure!”

“Nice Mich, and where are you going?”

“I’m going to the market”

He sat down and drew a map. 

Sam and I were half attentive - Mich is always talking about things that he makes up in his head.

He went to his room and came back with a rack sack.

“Mummy what do you pack when you’re going on a long journey?”

“It depends on where you are going and for how long” I replied

“Not very long, just for one day”, he said

Sam and I run through a list – a rope, a torch, an umbrella, snacks…

“And where would you be going?”

“Out of the gate”

Sam said, “Uh, I don’t think that would be a good idea”

He went on working at the computer and I playing with Amani.

After about 45 minutes, I noticed the house was awfully quiet. I walked out to see what Mich was up to and noticed the gate was open. Since Stella was outside, I asked her if she had seen him, she thought he was in the house.

PANIC!!!

Then I prayed intensely.

I walked out the gate and there was no sign of him. What were the clues?  Market, long journey, adventure. Since we have a market at either end of our road, Sam searched at one end and Stella at the other.

She found him on his way back, talking happily about what he saw.

That gave me the fright of my life, especially with all the kidnappings going on.

Now that we have a slight idea what kind of 6 year old we are dealing with, Sam and I need to listen more attentively, take clues and act on them immediately.

Meanwhile Amani made 3 months a week ago; she is eating and sleeping well. She wears clothes for a 6 to 9 month old. Weighs a good 7.2 kilograms and her smiles are for world; they literally make her father melt like an ice cream in the Dallas summer heat.

She has been drool central. Yesterday I was about to feed her when she gave me a knock out smile, the sun shone on her gums and they sparkled, well at least I thought they did. She seemed a little unsettled when my sister asked if she was teething. I brushed it off – “No, she is only 3 months old”. But then I flashed back to what I thought were sparkling gums in the sun and quickly checked again. There, on her lower gums where two white teeth, shyly peeping out of her gums. Yup! She is teething alright; I hope she doesn’t get any ideas of using me as … I won’t even go there.

My Einstein

The morning drive to school is interjected with intense quiz sessions, taking a cab is starting to look like an alternative. Mich has some serious abstract questions to ask, I never know what is coming at me.

Monday
Mich – "If you fall from a cloud what happens?"
Me – "You die"

Tuesday
Mich– "How fast do you fall?"
In my mind – How fast do you fall? What kind of question is that? You just fall.
His Dad – "9.8 meters per second", then he goes on to talk about gravity and all that;- Physics lesson right there.

Wednesday
Mich – "Can a cricket swim?"
In my mind – But of course, don’t we hear them most in the rainy season?
His Dad – "No! Crickets can’t swim, they would die,they breathe through their abdomens ...". Science lesson - Check.

Thursday
Mich– "When you’re making a brick, how do you prevent it from sticking to the ground?"
In my mind – Hmmm… but what makes you think it would stick to the ground?
His Dad – "You could use straw, or grass"
Mich – "I’m making a ball out of mud but every day I come back from school I find it stuck to the ground".

The way I see it, I need Sam by my side all the time. Physics wasn’t my favorite subject, so really … I hope he asks all his questions while his daddy is nearby otherwise I will be in serious trouble. Don’t want to be getting butterflies in my tummy each time I hear “mummy?!”

The alternative is to answer the questions a day late, that way I have time to surf the internet for answers.
In the mean time I thank God for an intelligent husband :-)

Did I marry too soon?

What am I doing in this mans bed? Who is this kid calling me mummy? And why is this baby suckling at my breast? -  Exposing this sacred part of my body?

I want to go dancing. I want to write a new chapter in the novel of my life. I want to twirl in the free open meadows. I want to listen to the sweet tweeting of the birds and the crunching sound of leaves under my feet. I want to date again, to spend time with friends after 8pm and not feel it’s late. I want to have a snack for dinner and not have to cook a meal. I want to think about me alone.

A friend invited us to a housewarming; on the card the party would run from 4pm – 7pm. I thought 7pm was late - it’s Amani’s bedtime. Sam had a good laugh, he said, “When you think 7pm is late for a party, then you know you are truly growing old”. Tut tut! I’m in trouble.

There were days when 7 pm was time to bath and get ready for the paaare - which only begun to sizzle at 11pm. We organized parties, danced and laughed till the wee hours of the morning, then crammed ourselves in the girls rooms of a friend’s house (at 4am). I want to do that again.

Now I’m thinking about home work, P.1 school projects, shopping lists, diapers and occasional intimacy.

I enjoyed being single. I skipped at the opportunity to have a drink. Young men told me they loved me, they wrote poems, they tripped over themselves and I basked in their praises. I didn’t look, they came searching. I miss that attention.

I would like to travel and not worry about the husband and kids. Sometimes the task of raising human beings is daunting, the thought that little Amani depends entirely on me is overwhelming.

Why is it okay to go into town with a head scarf on? Frumpy clothes suit me just fine and now I fancy my mother’s flat shoes.

It’s unsettling to meet friends now married with 4 – 5 children. The lean mean guys are now pot bellied; the ladies are chubby all over. For some men the hair has taken flight, never to be seen again, for others the hair reminds me of snow white - white being the common denominator. The perky personalities have been replaced with frowns – life is too serious.

Maybe it’s not marriage, maybe I’m just growing older. Is this midlife crisis?

Back on the treadmill.

A fat hamster, having lived a lazy life is placed on a tread mill by a 6 year old boy. The boy is so excited to have a hamster for a pet, he turns the wheel double fast to see how fast its little legs can peddle. The hamster runs, faster and faster – it loses breath. Its feet can’t move as fast as its mind dictates. It topples over, gets dragged, ends up with its feet in the air, still peddling as though it was on the tread mill and its eyes wide open in bewilderment. I feel like that hamster.

After 3 months of sitting at home, 2 and a half of which I spent sleeping and eating and feeding Amani, I'm thrown back into this fast paced work world and I’m struggling to catch up to speed. Half my mind is at home with my little bundle. As I focus on the pile of work on my desk, my expanding chest is a constant reminder that right about now, I would have been serving my munchkin her breakfast/break/ lunch or snack.
In theory I should;-
-Feed her before I leave in the morning – 6:15am
-She should wake up between 7:50 - 8:15am
-Bathe and sleep again around 10:00am
-Wake up around 10:45 and have her 2nd feed of the day
-Have her afternoon nap between 12:30 and 2pm
-Have her 3rd feed around 2:15pm (this is when I should dash home and feed her)
-Feed again around 3:50pm and nap for 30 minutes
-Wake up around 4:20pm, play till 5:30pm when she has a bath
Hopefully by 5:30pm am back home ceteris paribus.
After her bath I feed her and she slowly winds down to sleep around 7 pm.
But with the work on my desk, colleagues asking for help when the clock strikes 5pm and Kampala's crazy traffic, it's tight.

While briefing my supervisor about my schedule, our conversation went something like this;
“So, it’s good to have you back. How is baby?”
“Thank you. Baby is doing just fine”
“Are you still breastfeeding?”
“Yes I am”
“Do you have enough milk?”
“Yes I do”
(My responses were brief. I was not too thrilled to expound with a male colleague intentionally standing within ear shot)
“Ohh! That means you have to express, where will you keep the milk…”
I almost told her to shhhpp!! I didn’t like the conversation, for a second there it sounded like I was a cow in a dairy factory.
The fact of the matter is, yes I have to express. I sit in the conference room and like a secret service agent, I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone. I unleash my weapons and spend the next 15 to 20 minutes looking out the window.
I have to be careful how much I drink because soon after expressing I’m full again. It’s nasty if blouses get stained so I have to be well equipped and tactfully avoid bright colored clothing. There is nothing as unpleasant as a nursing mother with map stains all over her blouse or having the scent of a milk machine – so I drown it in perfume. But seriously I hope I don’t get to that point.

Love and malice aforethought.

“Mummy, Amani’s nose and hands look so yummy, I want to eat them”. Then he spends many of her waking hours pecking and sucking on her cheeks.

“Mummy, I think Amani is the most beautiful baby in the world”.
“Yes Mich, I couldn’t agree more”.
He will want to carry her, sit with her, dance for her and not leave her side.
He reads to her, shakes her hands and brings the cutest smile to her face.
He is protective of her.

But when mummy says, “hush! Baby needs to sleep” all over a sudden doors get slammed, slippers are dragged, shoes are stomped, songs get louder. There is a need to raise his voice as though we are in separate rooms, even when we are at the same table.
Funny thing is, she doesn’t mind. She associates the “littler” person in the house with noise, energy and games. She beams a wide smile when she hears his voice and sleeps as still as a log through all his noise.
I have labored to explain “Baby needs to rest, so she is happy when she wakes. And mummy needs to rest too, so that mummy is happy”. He doesn’t get it. I probably should let it go.

I wish I could read the mind of a six year old. From where I stand it’s all about “me, I and mine” – absolute selfishness. Now how to get the selfishness out is the trick, I wonder if it comes out the same way foolishness does.

Proverbs 22:15 (Amplified Bible)

Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him.

She does me well

She rides a bicycle, starts a motor and pulls a few punches

She steps on an imaginary accelerator

She studies my face intently:- making out the C shapes at the sides of my head and the black things on the top of my head

She looks me dead in the black spot of the eye, when she has had enough of a gaze, she shuts her eyes to drink it all in

She knows my scent and leaps at the sound of my voice

She laughs when its time to feed

She coos in satisfaction

Her toothless smile makes plants grow and the sun to shine in the middle of the night.

My little girl Amani

No ordinary lady.

They say to prevent puffiness and swelling in pregnancy, drink lots of water – I drunk water like my life depended on it but still managed to look extremely pumped.
I know ladies who give birth on their due dates like clock work, me? it just doesn't happen. A week after my due date, am still twiddling my fingers.
I read about celebrities who claim they lost baby fat by breast feeding – I’m exclusively breastfeeding, constantly hungry but can’t seem to shed off the pounds as fast. I have been told to stay away from porridge, drink lots of water, eat fruits and I will be on my way to a slimmer me. Let’s wait and see, it’s a month already and I still look fresh out of hospital.

Talking about fresh out of hospital, I have met moms with 2 day old babies and their tummies are as flat as ironing boards, wonder how they do it, me? Well lets just say Mich is still convinced there is another baby in there. I have heard about the tradition of  belly wrapping, where moms wrap their waists up to get things back into position. That’s all cool, but does it work better for some than others?

I have come to accept the fact that I ain’t no ordinary lady.

The art of breast feeding

I curiously scanned Amani’s mouth when she yawned, just in case I’d missed to see the teeth that magically appeared at feeding time. I could have sworn there were teeth in there somewhere – but all I saw was her cute pink toothless gums. In the first week my nipples were extremely sore, things got steadily worse when I begun to sense what felt like sand paper when she suckled. She yawned again and there it was - a pink little tongue, I wondered how that thing could do so much damage. Like the bible says, the tongue is a small part of the body but it makes great boasts – it’s tiny but my! The things it can do. Breastfeeding became complicated. I stuck with it nevertheless; this is the most expensive, nutritious food Amani could ever eat, quite apart from the fact that we need to bond, she builds antibodies, it strengthens her stomach walls and helps my uterus contract.


Week one
We are first timers, am trying to recall the feeding tactics and all she knows is to suck and suck she does with all her might. The muscles in a baby’s mouth should never be taken for granted. There were times I imagined she could dangle from my breast just with the suction pressure inside that tiny mouth. It was absolute survival and I was sore.

Week two
We are getting a hang of things, milk production has increased and she is feeding longer. She knows where the food comes from and latches on with a firm grip when it comes anywhere near her mouth. Just like a frog slurping a fly, she does it swiftly and holds on for a few seconds before she starts to suckle as if to ascertain it’s all hers and no one is messing with it. She keeps her eyes shut and slowly opens one eye to check that the coast is clear then she relaxes and feeds away. The soreness is slowly fading.

Week three
We are both pros, she stimulates the milk letdown with her lips and moistens the nipple with her saliva, so that by the time she begins to suckle, its easy going for both of us. I’m not sore anymore.

Week four
What do you know?!, she is a month old already.
It’s interesting how God meticulously calculated this art to the very last detail. Human beings are awesome creatures.

I hope I haven’t grossed you out with all these details, IT’S LIFE! And that is all I will say.

Presenting Amani

The scale tipped one fine day when Sam and I went in for an ultra sound scan. Out of the blue the radiologist blurted out “it’s a boy!” We were surprised that she took it upon herself to tell us – we hadn’t asked and we didn’t pursue it any further.
Meanwhile Mich continuously prayed for a little brother. We joined the band wagon and believed with him. When this little person finally made their debut, I had the doctor and the other medical staff roaring with laughter. As soon as I heard the first sound of the baby’s cry, I was thrilled! My heart went “feregeshe”- I was all jelly inside. I said “wow, that boy has a real strong cry”, Dr. Asa then asked, “How do boys sound?” before showing baby to me and what do you know?! “IT’S A GIRL!!”
A pleasant surprise! Absolutely the bestest thing that has happened to me this year. Now I must confess that I’m such a tom boy in my ways, I don’t know how to be all girly girly but I will try.

Amani means strength in Runyankole/Runyoro/Rutoro (but I have since found out it means so many other things in different languages - all good though, so no problem) those of you who know my journey will surely agree that God has been my strength. Holding Amani in my arms is a true miracle.
She arrived more than a week after her EDD – July 22nd 2010 at exactly 11:03 am. She is lovely, sleeps a lot, feeds a lot and is very cooperative.

Mich is thrilled to have a little sister. He dots on her and is a great help. However he keeps checking to see if he still holds a special place in our hearts. I have been getting questions like “Mummy if Amani and I were twins would you love us the same?”
“Mummy, if you had 73 children would you love them all?”
“If you get a new baby, do you throw away the old one?”
I have to be alert at all times because the questions come in different ways but we continue to assure him that we love him just as much.

Still here

4am on the 14 of July (my official due date) and for some reason I can’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning and then lying very still wondering if that was a contraction. I gave up on pretending to sleep, made a cup of tea and surfed the net. The internet seems to understand me better than my doctor who needs to attend some communication classes.


So, it has been 2 weeks since my cerclage was removed and the show just hasn’t begun. There have been previews (mild contractions) but no real action. I’m short of saying am anxious. So I go to see Dr. Alex and all he asks is when we should schedule the c-section. Is there any good reason I need to go under the knife just yet? He doesn’t say. I want to know if I have started dilating but no, he won’t even do a physical exam, just checks if my pressure is good and touches my belly to gauge how far down baby has come. When I try to probe him further, he smiles and gives me this look of “I know what I am about and I have done what I need to do, now scurry along”. At the end of it all, he says if I haven’t started labor by the 21st, it’s a c-section for sure. This is when I run to my creator and ask Him to make my body function the way it should. He knows my physiology better than any doctor or scan machine can, so I ask Him to make things work.

The days have been long; I hear the clock ticking away – seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be full term, grateful that God has helped my body hold up to the end but eish!!! It’s hard not to be antsy. I’m continuously soaking my mind in Philippians 4:6-7

Do not be anxious for anything, but in everything by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Just when I’m getting to the point of rest, I receive calls from my concerned friends wondering if I forgot to let them know the big news. I’m tempted to set up voice mail-

“Hello, thanks for calling. Uh, no I haven’t given birth yet, don’t worry I will let you know when baby comes. Otherwise am good, just remember, don’t call me – I will call you”.

Checking on me is all good. I love the genuine respectful calls, the problem is people who sound more anxious and tired of me being pregnant than I am. The ones who from the time I was 7 months kept asking how come I hadn’t given birth yet – Not helpful at all.

It was nice to open my mail this morning and find this message.

"You can do this - I know it
Hey, you. Yep, you. The one feeling a little weary.
Carrying that load. Fighting this battle.
You're amazing, you know that? It's true.
And you can do this with Him. I know it. I feel it. Keep going.


It feels like your strength is small. But it's not. It's BIG.
World changing big.
Make-it-over-that-mountain big.
Big enough to do what you need to do.


Because your strength is as big as the GOD in you.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:13


He sees you, loves you, will carry you through... and I'm cheering for you too."

UNSTITCHED

I saw Dr. Alex on Monday. He invited me in, asked me to lie down and as I shut my eyelids tight-tight, occasionally peeping to see what was going on, ready for the worst pain of my life, he said he was done.
That’s it? The stitches are out? OK!

He asked me to report back in 2 weeks incase labor hadn’t kicked in.

Like I said before, I was not sure what to expect. Would I go into labor the minute the stitches were removed? As soon as I walked out the door? In the car? Would we have to dash right back as soon as we got home?

Well, none of the above ensued. I’m still here, walking around like before. The stomach contractions (Braxton Hicks) are on and off. For a while there I was anxious, listening and feeling for anything unusual.
I have decided to relax, am certain that if real labor sets in I will know for sure. The baby is dropping steadily, I look like I swallowed the world cup ball – speaking of which, pole Ghana! You did your best but football is like that – madness!

In other news, Mich presented me with the most beautiful assortment of flowers this morning.

In case of any news I will keep you posted, now back to the studio.

The death of a praying mantis

Today a praying mantis died. It got into a fight with a butterfly, the butterfly over powered it and killed it. There was sadness in Mich’s heart; today will be imprinted in his memory for a long time. He found the mantis a few days ago and kept it in a tin on the shelf. He checked on it every other day and exclaimed how the little creature was growing. Just how the butterfly came into contact with the mantis is still a mystery but that is the story and we will stick to it.


Mich buried the praying mantis and took the butterfly captive into his tin.
This is the grave.

The tomb stone is a little fragile so we can’t keep it out there but this is what is written; I will decode it for those of you …

"praying mantis and Mich
matis died on sunday 27th June 2010
Butterfly killed it"
One is easily tempted to brush off his acts as childish, but I’m reminded to tread carefully, play along. It is an opportunity to understand him better, see his reactions to situations and gauge his temperament and interests. On the other hand without reading too seriously into things, just have fun.

I had to stop him from lighting a fire to protect the grave site.

Not yet

I went for my scheduled appointment last Monday ready to have the stitches removed but Dr. Alex decided against it. He said I should give it 2 more weeks. He thinks baby is still small and not quite ready to see the world. I was disappointed. I really wanted the stitches out so that I could go on my way without worrying about what would happen if labor started and they were still in. I thought I would have a better chance of a natural delivery if the baby was small plus I didn’t think I would have the baby immediately anyway. But the doctor knows better and now, I’m good with it. I prayed about it, I know God will work things out beautifully.


Sitting home makes the hours tick by really slow, but it is nice to sleep in. My bags are packed and I’m looking forward to this new chapter in our lives. This period allows me time to pray over the baby, over the delivery, and life thereafter, for quick healing, for energy, for good health and so on.

Mich stays a few more hours at school to get some help with his writing. Apparently writing makes him really miserable. When I spoke with his teacher she said, he is quick to grasp what is taught, happily answers questions, but the writing sessions are torture. She was pleasantly surprised that he passed his exams so well. This weighed me down for a while but after I prayed about it, the burden was lifted. I have to keep in mind that he is an individual with strengths and weaknesses. (Even though I can’t recall having choices when I was a kid; we all did everything without ifs, ands or buts). He is easily excited by outdoor activities, he will catch insects and name the parts, plant seeds and watch them grow but please don’t ask him to draw or write sentences. If everything at school was play and orals he would be top of the class, unfortunately life is not a straight line. He has to embrace everything before he can narrow down and he has a long way to go. Tuesday was sports day at school and he won a medal for coming 3rd in the 3 legged race. I am really proud of him.

In the mean time I enjoy my birthday today and thank God, another year is here and I am excited about what He has in store for me.

Happy Father's day

HOW?

How does he become a Man
Without a Man to show him how?

How does he become a father
Without a Father to show him how?

In school? - By the intellectuals?
On the streets? - By the seasoned?
In the bar? - By those who see double?

How?

They call Him Abba
Father to the Fatherless
He will show you how

Mjay

Been chilling

35 weeks today, woo hoo!

And what have I been upto? you may ask. Well, I have been partying: had a 3 day office retreat in the beautiful Lake Victoria Serena hotel - just off Entebbe road. Celebrated Sam's birthday and our 9th anniversary- went to the movies, then took a boat ride the next day to Buwunga and spent the day with MTN friends. Hosted family to lunch and tea at home and now am just chilling. My work contract is up, hopefully it will be renewed in the next financial year - July ..., in the mean time I will prepare for the debut of our little bundle of joy.
My comfy room at Lake Victoria Serena Hotel

A nice view
Team building

Tree house in the distance

Buwunga sunset.

I'm feeling good! Still have lots of energy, actually sitting home is cramping my style. I would have loved to work till the last day. I have put on quite a few pounds. Even on a healthy food, the weight piles on like I'm on a junk diet. I look forward to shedding this weight or rather it dropping off. I miss drinking soda, wine and eating french fries, cakes, doughnuts ... that is not to say I haven't fallen off the wagon from time to time but I have endevoured to steer clear for the most part. I must confess that I have been guilty of taking coffee lately, that aroma is irresistable.

Next week the stitches will be removed. I don't know what to expect from then on. When I asked the doctor if I would have to be on bed rest, he found my question funny. So, apparently not, life continues and we wait for the signs which should come sooner or later.

I'm excited! Looking forward to this baby. I wonder what he/she looks like - a whole new person is coming into the world, unique in everyway - that is exciting. It feels like being a mother for the first time - 6 years since I had a baby. I pray it all comes back to me.

Love is serious business

It was while at a friend’s wedding recently that I was reminded of the beauty and seriousness of the vows I made to Mr. O almost 9 years ago. At 24 I was rosy eyed and love stricken, this was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. What that entailed?! – I had no clue. Even with all the counseling, the excitement of walking down the aisle and sharing house with my boy friend got the better of me. Now, almost 9 years later, sitting in the congregation and listening to Flavia saying her vows, set me nodding like a puppet on strings, like I was having a eureka moment.


In marriage, not only do you become one in body, “You become one in thoughts, dreams and aspirations”. It’s the melting and molding of two separate individuals into one – the surrender, sacrifice and selflessness, the encouragement, rebuke and protection that make everything real and hard at times. As time inches forward, our faults and failures are magnified. You get your cute little head out of the clouds and trek the ground with all its rocks, sand, paddles, potholes and parties. Purpose to trek together, support one another and be there for each other no matter the situation. There is an indescribable bond and purpose to life when you work as a team. You have more confidence to face life’s curved balls because you know your back is covered.

The rings are made of earths most precious materials signifying heavens most precious virtue – Love. So, the priceless question is - What is love? Is it the ooey, gooey, mushy, washy, starry eyed feeling that makes your heart go giddy up?
Well, here is another angle:-

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

Love never gives up.


Love cares more for others than for self.


Love doesn't want what it doesn't have.


Love doesn't strut,


Doesn't have a swelled head,


Doesn't force itself on others,


Isn't always "me first,"


Doesn't fly off the handle,


Doesn't keep score of the sins of others,


Doesn't revel when others grovel,


Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,


Puts up with anything,


Trusts God always,


Always looks for the best,


Never looks back,


But keeps going to the end.


LOVE NEVER DIES.

Love is a commitment not a feeling. It puts up with anything – beat that!

I can’t snap my fingers and say, “That’s it! I’ve had enough of your adulterous, porn addictive, nagging, filthy ways!” You choose to love me even when I’m a disrespectful, stubborn, unsupportive, uncommunicative partner.

There is heavenly freedom and joy in knowing that no matter what I do, you are there, you care. Just the knowledge that you’re accepted is a motivation to be a better person. There is salvation and not condemnation.

We promise to be together “in sickness and in health” but how one’s stomach falls when a partner is diagnosed with a terminal illness – it’s scary. It’s near impossible to shake off the anguish when a child dies or is sickly. The flurry of emotions either strengthens or tears the marriage. The dangerous blame game pours salt in the juice; my children are not as brilliant because of your genes, now they stand a risk of inheriting this disease, I could have had a child of the other sex … As if to say, this was not part of the deal, I expected you to be perfect. Acknowledge the feelings of frustration and accept your partner with the knowledge that certain things are not planned.

Can we Love unconditionally? Not without God’s help we can’t.

As partners, our primary role is to help each other blossom and live up to our full potential. We are accountable to God. At the end of the day you will present you partner before God and He will ask to see how much of a better person you made them.

The world would be a different place if we didn’t give up on each other, didn’t strut or fly off the handle, took pleasure in the truth, always looked for the best, trusted God always…

It’s that serious and that fulfilling.

A day in the life of this expecting mommy

I honk the car horn, throw my head back and wait.
I hear fumbling on the other side before the gate creaks and opens in a haphazard fashion.
There, I see Mich, struggling to drag this heavy metal, pulling it back like a playmate resisting his tag. Tripping over his own feet in excitement , he grins as he lets the car in. I roll the car into parking position and switch off the engine.

I’m exhausted!

My back is on fire, my hands and feet are expanding like they are being pumped with air pressure. My facial features compete for space. My nose stretches east and west, my eyes sink under the flab of chubby eyelids as though in the game of hide and seek. My cheeks are filled up like I’m hoarding nuts on each side.

Then I hear on the radio how some crazy Chinese man stormed a kindergarten and hacked 8 or 9 toddlers to death.

I unlock the door and drag my legs out - one at a time. They slump to the ground and I raise my wobbly self up on their support. The weight of my tummy is unbelievable, it gravitates me towards the floor. Pressure on my pelvis, pressure on my bladder, pressure …
Mich rushes at me like a bullet, his eyes sparkling like diamonds, he screams “Welcome back Mummy”. He slams into my side and hugs me tight, as far round as his little arms can reach. The screech of his voice makes baby leap. I smile. What a heartwarming welcome!

I slowly walk into the house, drop my bags on a chair and slump down on the sofa, carefully raising my legs onto the footrest and sighing.
As I stretch and take a few deep breaths, I muse on the news I heard earlier in the day; a plane - Airways Afriqiyah, crashed landed in Tripoli, all 103 passengers died, except an 8 year old boy.
I think of the joys, the aches and strains of pregnancy, how the body works like a machine to make this baby. The woman’s body takes on a new form, it stretches, internal organs are crammed to make space and to nourish new life. Then there is celebration when this baby is born and starts life on its own.

In all this God’s mercies are new every morning; Chinese toddlers die, a Dutch boy is a sole survivor of a plane crash and this African woman, carrying new life in her womb mourns the death of her grandmother. Rest in peace Tata Apio.

What a day, day, day.

My world

We have come a long way and there is still a distance to travel but I give thanks to God for bringing me this far. It’s a new experience. Feels like I’m expecting for the first time. Touching my belly and feeling parts of this little person’s body is amazing. Obviously I’m doing a lot of guess work but am certain that the head is somewhere around “here”, the butt is somewhere around “here”, the knees or elbows … I can’t tell the fingers and toes apart but I feel him/her drawing circles and lines, punching and poking the trapeze, aka my stomach. Trips to the loo have stepped up to almost every 30 minutes – that can be very bothersome.


My bounce is gone. I have recently acquired the duck walk for balancing purposes but I try to keep it as subtle as possible.

In other news Mr. O is out of town, I miss him sorely. It’s not good for woman to be alone. When lives get intertwined, life is not the same when one party is missing. It’s in the little things: turning on the radio in the morning, driving to and from work together, conversations and remarks, having dinner together…

Mich feels his absence too but I get to face the brunt of zillions of questions. They come in one big wave, as though he were uncomfortable with silence and talking is a calming therapy. He calls me 8 times in one sentence and everything is a question “why did God create men with breasts?” “Did I tell you about Bakugan swam fire?” “What is moisture?” “When is Daddy coming back?” I have to give well thought out answers - the absent minded responses only cause a regeneration of questions. He loves to share new information too like “the smoke that comes out of a ship’s engine is burnt coal” or “we should thank the Indians and Chinese for inventing gun powder” – this is off an education DVD that he just got.

We butt heads constantly these days, especially when he is fixated on disobeying. I tend to miss his subtle manipulation mostly because I’m drained from the days events. On good days I’m able to get a grip on things and think of creative ways of getting him onto my side without exactly being dictatorial. On other days I just lose it. He relates better when he understands the principles but it takes a lot of patience and yet I want immediate obedience. Every day I’m reminded that parenting takes prayer, lots of it, there is no way of carrying out this responsibility without God. I see traits in Mich that I loathe, even more because it’s a mirror of me. I need God to work on my character on a minute by minute basis so I can portray Christ.

Pregnancy and tradition in Kampala

Tradition! tradition!
Just like Tevye would sing in "Fiddler on the roof".
I stumbled on some interesting pregnancy information over the long weekend.

While Helen lived with me, she talked about a herb expecting mothers in Teso take to avoid miscarriage and to strengthen the womb. The ingredients include tree buck and millet grains; it’s pounded to powder, mixed with water and taken 3 times a day.

As the pregnancy progresses to about the 8th month, the traditional birth attendant / "old woman in the village" massages the pregnant woman’s belly to make the baby face down, ready for delivery. The massage is also known to keep the baby active.

The Baganda are hinged to their traditional beliefs more than any other tribe I know and Emily played a huge role in confirming my suspicions.

Her advice; - a pregnant woman must bathe with cold water. It keeps the baby active, gives her energy and wades off nausea and morning sickness. The water should be kept outside overnight and she should shower before 7am. I couldn't bother leaving it out all night, by the time I run the water from the tap, it's as chilly as could be. The moment that water hits my back I'm as awake as an owl in the night. Of course that is after I have counted to 20, taken a few deep breaths and muffled a few screams. I don't know if it cures nausea and morning sickness though.

She should soak certain herbal leaves in cold water and wash with them.
“How does this work?” I ask.
And that is where my adventure begun.

Saturday morning; I met Emily at the taxi park and we started our journey to Katwe. Wading through the park was worse than trying to swim through thick mad. It's overly congested - more complicated for me with my protruding belly. Cars park so close together it’s near impossible passing between them. I took the longer route which was a maze in itself – reminded me of the puzzles I did when I was a kid; “Jane is lost please help her find her way home” your given several possible routes but only one leads home. So, it was up and up, turn left, turn right, turn right, turn left again, move back, watch out for the wheel burrow pusher, move back again, a little forward until finally you get there. We hopped into the taxi and travelled to Katwe market.

The market was packed with vendors selling all sorts of goods; banana fibers, honey, fish, spaghetti, live chicken, carrots, vegetables, tangerines, 2nd hand gadgets, pears...

We were given directions to the women selling traditional herbs where we met a woman in her mid 30’s sitting behind a heap of what looked like weeds that had been uprooted from a garden, hard to imagine that she was actually selling trash; dried yellow flowers, goose berry stalks, pumpkin leaves…But to her and all those who know the treasures beneath these grasses, it’s a lucrative business. That she makes a living off selling this is amazing.

I stood beside Emily as she made inquiries. My tongue was tied because of the language barrier although I understood what was being communicated.

The woman picked out 10 different weeds, which I’m certain to have seen growing in bushes here and there. As she mentioned which ones she considered essential, I asked for an explanation for what each does.

- Akayana
- Kasamba ndege
- Mululuza
- Akabanba maliza
- Oreza
- Ebbobo
- Mukasa
- Namirembe
- Ekyomusayi
- Bbololola
- Akabulula

Three quarters of the leaves were for energy, wading off dizziness, increasing blood levels and making the tummy a perfect trampoline for the baby. I was instructed to soak each type of leaf in a basin of cold water and after taking a normal shower, to wash in the leaves.
I tried the leaves that first night as instructed: soak the leaves in a basin, after taking a shower, squeeze the leaves into the water. I did. The leaves gave off a tantalizing scent, the water turned green and the soil from the roots settled at the bottom of the basin. I didn’t feel that different afterwards but I did struggle to get the leaves off my body. It was a messy process; by the end of it all I was sweating from trying to clear the bathtub of all evidence of this stuff. Because it takes so much time, I doubt that I will be able to do this on a daily basis – it would be so much easier in a grass thatched bathroom.
Next to the lady with the herbs was another woman who sold clay- Bbololola and Akabulula. The former is supposed to be a nice drink that clears the system and the latter is to be drunk in the later stages of labor, it is said to reduce the pain and make labor swift.

Bbololola and Akabulula

Bbololola; pour boiled water into a dish (specially made out of clay) grind the piece of clay into the water until it makes some kind of grayish drink. Unfortunately the little calabash/ dish that I bought broke on the way :-). I’m looking for a new one then I will tell you my experience.

The other clay - Akabulula looked like mad. It’s mixed in a similar fashion but strictly drunk when labor is in the 3rd stage. It’s meant to ease the pain, but apparently should be taken in secrecy – I don’t know how a woman in labor will have the frame of mind to be discrete, especially in the final stages of labor but apparently doctors don’t encourage it that is why it’s done in secrecy.

That is the little education I received over the Easter weekend. I’m not a good student – can’t follow the instructions to the tee but I will keep you updated if and when I notice changes.

The clock is ticking. I have climbed over the 25th mark, just hit 26 and going steady. In a week’s time I will be in month 7 - That is exciting! I’m doing well so far, nothing to complain about except the heat and a few aches. Sleeping is serious business these days, can’t just flip over like I used to. Now I plan the turns - think about it, decide it has to be done lest I get numb, I sit up, shift, turn, and then lie down again. Thankfully sleep is still in plenty even though it’s hiccupped.

YOUR BROKEN HEART MENDED MINE

Your eyes locked in a loving gaze
Words were not necessary - You had been chosen
Papa’s heart was breaking but you knew It had to be done.
A decision soaked in Love and Mercy,
Grace and Compassion,
Sorrow and Pain,
And Passion – a mission!

Wrapped in swaddling cloth and held in the delicate but firm hands of a maiden.
Though she was naïve and inexperienced you saw obedience, desire and wisdom.
How did you feel dressed in human flesh? - A “made-in-your-likeness” baby?
You! Perfectly God yet perfectly man.

32 years on, your purpose unfolded
12 simple men by your side, questioning, always questioning,
Crowds following, some smiling, some sneering
Ladies reaching for your cloak, emptying perfume jars on your feet,
Eager to hear you, feed you and wash your feet with their tears.

The donkey and the Palms
The 12 simple men at the dinner
The garden – bleeding with sorrow
The betrayal
The interrogation
The denial
The crown of thorns
The flogging
The wood plunks, heavy on your back
The excruciating journey up the hill
The nails in your hands and feet
The gush in your side
Aaaah!

Papa turned away
Deserted you to bear it all
You became sin, but you hadn’t sinned
Alone, wounded, mocked, despised
The last breath and you were gone.

What happened down under?
What did you there?
What did you see?

Three days later
You came forth
The stone was rolled away
The BATTLE won
You took the keys of death and hell

Now I immerse myself in your blood,
I use your Name – the password to Life
Your obedience paid my ransom - bought my freedom

You are coming again, do not tarry I pray
But that I would be ready when you return.

Copyright © Mary 2010

HAPPY EASTER!

24 weeks with a stitch and what to expect

When I first became pregnant in 2004, there was one book that moms swore by. It was expensive, those with copies guarded them jealously. I was told the book had everything an expecting mom needed to know about pregnancy and the title – “What To Expect When You're Expecting” said it all. Although I was never able to get my hands on a copy, I visited the website regularly and I still do. What I appreciate about WTE, (apart from the detailed information on various topics) is the humor. It was easy to get a slight smile on my face on days when I was bloated, when the world has a sick smell or when I couldn't lift my head off the pillow.
There is a wealth of information on this website for ladies trying to get pregnant, are pregnant, have just given birth, have a toddler - the whole nine yards. I just love it.

I’m 24 weeks today!

I enjoy feeling baby’s movements, I love the tap tap tap, the pokes and twirls, smooth and reassuring. Some of the kicks have been alarmingly painful though, the scan showed my cervix is already dilating but thanks to the stitch everything is still intact. It might have to be reinforced but I will only know after my doctor's appointment tomorrow. I’ve got to be extra careful. It's not easy, especially now that I feel energetic and want to do so much. It’s exciting to come this far in my pregnancy - Nziiza and Kwizera didn’t get to this point. I also read that babies have a good chance of surviving from now on.

Baby has an interesting sleep/wake pattern; -he is gyming away at 9:00pm when I'm ready to sleep. 5:30 am, when my alarm goes off, he wakes up. At 20 weeks, the alarm would startle him but now, he is used ; he either wakes just before it goes off or just on time. On weekends, he is my alarm, he wakes up at the same time. Who knew sleep patterns could be noted so early?! Can I reinforce this out of utero?! I wonder.

Poof!

My word! Something is going down up in Uganda.

The Bududa landslides that hit eastern Uganda early this month, were a shocker. The destruction and death unfathomable;- whole families suffocated under the mud, children left orphans, fresh widows and widowers. It all happened in the blink of an eye. When King Solomon said life is fleeting, he was spot on, these hard working groups of people woke up to death. No one saw it coming, literally.

Last night, the Royal Kasubi tombs caught fire and burnt down - something like rain in the desert. My jaw dropped in shock. What is going on?

Acts of God, and now acts of man, what next?

I think about the tombs with nostalgia and pride because I ‘m glad I visited this historic site early last year. I saw it in all its glory; the smell of dried banana fibers, dust, coffee beans, backcloth and old wood, now replaced by the choking smell of smoke and ash -all this, turned to ash and emptiness. The relics; the spears, the king’s stuffed leopard, Buganda's history, our heritage ...

David Hoffman has some insights to share about losing everything. His house burnt down and this is what he had to say

My special before picture;

So, hopefully we can take this bad and make something good out of it.

A FUNK

Spinning in circles - circles - circles
My stomach churns, my head expands
This place I know, this place I've been
Trapped in its miry, musty ways
I gasp for air and freshness.

This routine makes my skin crawl
To escape its grip - my one desire
But how?
Please tell me now
I’m drowning, suffocating, writhing
Humiliated and exposed.

Copyright © Mary Ongwen 2010

Beware the Ides of March

Caesar was warned by a seer to be on his guard against a great peril on the Ides of March. On his way to the Theatre of Pompey (where he would be assassinated) Caesar saw the seer and joked "Well, the Ides of March have come," to which the seer replied "Ay, they have come, but they are not gone."

Precious memories of Julius Caesar.

Scam??

It was a Thursday afternoon, around 2:30pm. The sun had his eyes glaring down on us; faces glistened with sweat and wet shirts clang tightly to men’s backs. I was in the cool of my office, enjoying the brilliant invention of air conditioning when a boy walked in. He was a little over 4 feet, he had big round eyes - the kind that grip your heart. His faded grey shorts and what used to be a white shirt hang off his tiny frame, saved from sliping right off by a belt that was tightly locked around his waist.

I promptly discontinued my duties to embrace the reason this little soul was in my office; he should have been in school. Our eyes met in a brief locking gaze before he quickly looked down and fell to his knees. I had never seen such pleading marble sized eyes before - eyes drained of all childhood eagerness and play. In the most desperate and dejected of ways, he kept his eyes fixated on the carpet and in a monotone he whispered “Sibyo tyano nyabo” I responded and asked him to speak in English.
Like a tape recorder had been switched on he began again

“Goodafternoonmadam mynameis…Iamgoingtoschoolbutwaschaseawayforschoolfees. IamcomeheretoaskforyoukindassistancetogivemeanymoneysoIpayandgobacktoschool. IwaswalkingontheroadandseethisbuildingthenIdecidetocomeandaskassistance".

Wow! He had spoken dozens of words in seconds - stop, rewind, and start again.

A colleague, curious to know who the little boy was came by,the boy introduced himself again and explained the purpose of his visit. Because my colleague is Dutch, I asked the boy to take it slow, one sentence at a time.
This sincerely desperate child knelt down again, opened his tattered bag and presented his term report. He had been promoted to p6, had impressive marks in every subject - a clear demonstration that he studied hard.
Money or the lack of it stood in the way of him and first term as a semi candidate.
My Dutch colleague was most intrigued.

“Where do you live?”

“Kawempe”

“Who do you live with?”

“My grandmother and 2 younger brothers”

“What happened to your parents?”

“TheydieofAids”

Was he telling the truth or just tagging at our hearts for all the wrong reasons?

“How much are your school fees?”

“50,000 shillings sir”

“Have you collected any money so far?”

“Yes, sir”

He kneels down again and carefully withdraws an old dented tin Oxford math set from his bag. The Oxford set no longer had its utensils but there were broken pencils and used up pens. He lifted the paper on which the pencils rolled around and beneath was a starsh of Uganda shilling notes and coins.

“Do you promise me that you will not go and spend this money?”

“No sir, I gostraight to schoolandpayfees. I comeback and give you receipt. When termend I bringmy reportyousee”

He was given 50,000 shillings. I never saw a boy more grateful.

He was back on his knees;
“Thankyousir, thankyoumadam, Godblessyou, Godwatchoveryou, Godblessyou, thankyouverymuch. I’m goingbringschoolreceipt.

It’s been two weeks now and we haven’t seen him again.

It's a Baby!!

Halfway there, woohoo!!!

I am feeling fantastic, energized and alive. Loving the weather! It’s been raining and the breeze is the best – anything in exchange for the crazy Jan heat. My nose has reduced in size – see what the cool breeze can do?

20 weeks doctor’s appointment; - the major ultra sound to determine baby’s gender, its anatomy and general health, insuring that all the organs are in place and the rest of it. I had my U/S two days ago and we are having A BABY Yeeee!!!; got two hands - five fingers each, got two legs - five toes each, a throbbing heart, a good spine and lots of energy. Little person couldn’t lie still, tossing and turning and folding and ….
Couldn’t gather the guts to ask for the gender … I know, my bad … but I just love mystery and surprises. When the radiologist pointed at the pelvis, I hoped that by looking intently I would figure it out on my own but I was wrong, the picture just got more cryptic. But it’s ok. If it’s a boy - that’s familiar territory, Mich gets a little brother to rough around. If it’s a girl – unfamiliar territory but Dad gets “his little angel”. Other than that babies/kids/children/teens all come with inimitable traits. Beyond the baby’s sex is its individual personality, made in God’s precious heaven. Nothing prepares you for that.

I haven't done any shopping yet, does that sound crazy? and now the added imperative to pray and search for both boys and girls names.

Had a better midwife appointment this morning, with my original hospital but in a separate location. I was early as usual and this time I had the midwife all to myself - I was the only patient in the clinic. I got the tetanus injection which I should have received at my first visit. Then I discovered that I’m 166cm ~ 5.5 ft - now that is not funny at all, I had no idea I was that short. I always thought I was 5.6 or 5.7, I must have shrunk somewhere along the way.


All in all, I’m good. Have a blessed weekend.

Antenatal care in Uganda - a pregnancy rat-race

I finally got a chance to vent in Uganda's leading daily.
My article on antenatal care.

My little gentle man

turned 6 today.

My oh my! His growing moments are forever engraved in my memory.
The aches of carrying him, the ecstasy of seeing his mystic but handsome frame on the ultra sound scan. The labor pains, the awe of seeing precious life emerge from my own, the sleepless nights, his laughter and tears and now his ever so firm ideas about everything.

Since his last birthday Mich has been going on and on about strange creatures, aliens, Bakugans, Ben 10, Iron man, somebody fire, flying bicycles ... the list is endless. Even though I have introduced him to the person of Jesus, whom he knows and loves, the pleasures of this world bear down on even the best of us.Some days he is amazed by David and Goliath but don't push it, his little mind craves variety and not only about this amazing God.

I started a ritual that I hope I can pull off for a long time to come. I blow up balloons and decorate his room and the house while he is sleeping. He is absolutely thrilled to wake up to a colorful world and his little chest expands in glee of his special day. But as the years go by, the decorations get more complicated - Spider man, Batman ... but I'm not going down the alien route.

After waking him up this morning, he quickly threw off the covers to see if his legs had grown longer, then he smiled and said “yes! They have grown”. I chose to keep quiet and let him enjoy his moments.

Mich, your papa and I love you dearly, Happy Birthday!!
Every day you confirm your name “Mich” which means blessing or gift, for that you truly are.

DO YOU KNOW?

This song plays nonstop in my head today, kind of makes me sad, kind of soothes. It's got to do with where I am at in life... I think.



Do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that life is showing you
Where are you going to?
Do you know...?

Do you get
What you're hoping for
When you look behind you
There's no open doors
What are you hoping for?
Do you know...?

Feb the 14th

It was an ordinary day, even with all the hype and excitement of cupid, dashes of red on TV, in the news papers, on the streets and on the radio.
I chose to ignore the frenzy, mind myself and let the day pass. Previous wars and bewilderment as to why this particular day had to be special and raising fists against some guy called Valentine, taught me to leave the day and its celebrations alone, that’s if I wanted a semi normal day minus silent treatment and stuff.

So, I went to church as usual, listened to a beautiful sermon and chatted with friends. Sam suggested we swing by his mothers place for lunch - how cool is that? - Visiting mom in law on Valentine’s Day. It was all good, had a sumptuous meal and left 3 hours later. Now, this being a Sunday like any other, I dressed as simply and comfortably as I could: sandals, buggy pair of pants and an “ok” top. I was set to chill.

Sam however decided to take Mich and I for a ride. Across town, passed Muyenga, onto Ggaba road, passed Kansanga… when we made the turn to Buziga, I knew we were heading to a “hot spot”. Up and up the hill we drove to Casio lodge, Mich in tow. The view from up there is breathtaking.

We had a beautiful evening, surrounded by lovey dovey couples whispering sweet nothings to each other and looking smashing. And there I was: - extended tummy, casually dressed in flip flops, with a little 6 year old boy giggling and excited to be out to dinner with his parents.

Priceless!

We had the noisiest table but it was cool.

Update

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.
I’m 18 weeks along; - 4.5 months down, 4.5 more months to go. Round about this time 2 years ago, I had the emergency delivery of Kwizera, my 3rd son. He was obviously too fragile to survive. The event is forever engraved in my memory, so each passing/growing day of this pregnancy is treasured. I’m not feeling the painful kicks I experienced with him or Nziiza, thank God! The cerclage is certainly working.

My appetite is back in full swing and I seem to be growing bigger every second, don’t know what is going on. I eat healthy average size potions, drink a lot of water but there it is - I’m already being asked my due date and yet I have got a loooong way to go before we even start talking dates. Funny thing is I’m gaining a pound or 2 a week, which is normal.
My feet and hands are not swelling but my nose, boy! My nose is going places. My face is puffy. I was advised to drink water which I know is good but it increases my trips to the bathroom. I’m not stressed and I walk as much as I can within the limits. I started out at 145 pounds – 65kgs, by the end of my first trimester I was down to 143 pounds – 64kgs. Now I’m up to 151.2 pounds – 68kgs. So in all 18 weeks I have gained roughly 5 kgs.

Cravings over the weeks:
Zinello Ice Cream, especially in the 1st trimester. I succumbed a few times.
Dominos Burgers – mmm! Just the thought makes me weak, I indulge occasionally.
Crisps and chips – I have painfully avoided.
Matooke (plantain) - Oh! I am a hopeless captive.
Pawpaws, Mangoes, Watermelon – love, love, love.
Green leafy veggies – Have some almost every day

Once upon a time...

She looked into his wrinkled face, marked with lines of pain and suffering, well worn paths of worry and stress. He was misty eyed and tired - not from the day’s events but from months and years of hardships. He leaned back, and stretched out his legs on the sofa to take a brief nap. As he closed his eyes and shifted around to find a comfortable niche - she watched. Amara couldn’t take her eyes off this man. He turned his head to the side and she could see how the years had loosened the skin around his neck, his head was a growing forest of grey hair. She folded her hands against her chest and sighed.

The house was deafeningly quiet, but the coos and moos of animals tethered in the bushes blew in from the fields. She looked out into the distance, the mango tree that she and her brothers climbed as kids still stood strong. It seemed like only yesterday when they had no care in the world, when climbing trees eating mangoes and sugarcane was enough to carry them through the day. In that instant she was whisked off to another time, a time when Papa was young and energetic. He trotted up and down any stair case, his laughter rung from the neighbours compound. People praised him everywhere he went. They whispered about his success, he was the first son from Mzee Onhono’s home to travel to the city. He was rich. The villagers sat at his feet and occupied any patch of grass in his compound in the hope that he would be ceased by his sudden bouts of generosity, “aso olototi mariata, “here, you go and share this”. They scampered to grab the money from his hand and run off, each one endeavoring to state the reason they deserved a share of the money. “Engo egeit I ngitun”, “no, I was the first to sit there”.

Papa juggled 3 jobs at the time; 2 in government and 1 as a private business. He was busy. He travelled throughout the country, scouting for talented youths who could run like the wind. Head teachers scrambled to invite him to officiate at school competitions, with the hope that their fastest students would be spotted and selected to train in the city and probably build a sports career. Amara was a little girl, she loved to go on trips with Papa, travelling on new and exciting adventures and listening to everything Papa said. Her favorite journeys were those they made to the village for Christmas.
As soon as she broke off for the holidays Amara and her siblings started pestering Toto to go to the country side. On the day of travel they would wake up before the Muslims had a chance to belt out the first prayers for the day, they would have a light breakfast, and set off for the long ride to her village in Salutsi. Salutsi was 700 kilometers from the city. With Papa and Toto sitting in the front, Shoko, Kiki, Mamanzi, Pipi, Zenzi and Amara saddled themselves in the back. It was always fun at the back. They would sing songs, tell stories and crack jokes. Half way through the journey, Papa and Amara were the only ones showing signs of life, everyone else was fast asleep. Amara took great pleasure in watching her siblings doze off. Mamanzi’s head would be bobbing back and forth, Shoko was always careful to find a good rest for his head while Kiki had his mouth open. Papa stopped twice along the way, once for a leg stretch and a bathroom break and the second time was usually to have lunch. Amara burst out laughing as her siblings stirred from sleep, squinting their eyes and looking furious.

The sun would be going to bed by the time they reached salutsi. The sound of the car could be heard from miles away. As it turned into the compound, grandma would crawl out of her hut excited to see her grand kids. She cooked a sumptuous meal of Millet, sweet potatoes, emuna, sour milk, rice and chicken. She always slaughtered a chicken when they came. After dinner Amara and her siblings sat out by the fire and reflected on times passed, asking questions about their village friends and marveling at the beauty of the clear night sky. The moon shone bright over the village that most times they didn’t need to light the paraffin lamps.

The tortured soul

I walked in through the back door and was greeted by commotion in the boy’s quarters.
I heard gasps and mummers and urgent voices. Men were moving around like sheep without a shepherd, or better still shepherds without their sheep. The ladies stood huddled together in a corner, wiping tears from their eyes, while others placed hands to their cheeks like they had been glued on.
Hadn’t anyone realized I was missing? The issue at hand seemed more critical than a silly little girl gone missing.

So this is how it happened. One bright Sunday morning we all went to church; I was only 8 or 9 years old at the time. After mass, I got lost in the crowd and couldn’t find my siblings. I walked around for a while before I figured they had left without me. I began to panic. One lady, noticing my dilemma, walked over and asked if she could help. I told her I had been left behind and needed someone to take me home. She was a nice lady; I had seen her at church a couple of time so I trusted that she had my best interests at heart. She offered to escort me home. Our house was on Katonga road, not too far away from church so we often walked to and fro. I knew some basic land marks – Sheraton hotel, Nile hotel, Tanzanian high commission, Doctors mess, and then home. We walked quietly together, but I couldn’t help the feelings of betrayal. When we arrived at our gate I pointed and said this was it, she waved goodbye and I skipped along.
That is when I stepped in the back door, and saw what I told you I saw.
Curious to know what had taken center stage, I wiggled my way in under their arms and against their waists. My eyes landed on the most ghastly sight in my 9 years of existence. Blood was splattered all over the walls, there was a mess of a soiled blanket and clothes on the floor. A paddle of blood mapped one corner of the room, it had caked on its journey out the door. The stench was most unbearable. As I scanned the room I noticed a heap of something or the other next to the wall. In that instant, one of my aunt’s caught sight of me and hushed me hurry a long; this was no place for little kids. The heap coiled on the floor was Oyen, a young man who had come from the village to help with home chores. I was extremely unnerved, as I slowly walked away, the men attempted to lift him off the floor but he protested – “Leave me here”.

This is the story: Thieves broke into the house while we were at church, and as Oyen attempted to defend himself, they diced his head with a machete and left him for dead. Even though the cuts were deep and he couldn’t quite recall the events of that day, Oyen survived. He was discharged from the hospital after 3 months and returned to the village. The criminals were never traced because of too many twists and turns in the security systems. We didn’t alert the police because nothing would come of it, we were just glad that Oyen got away with his life.

Mrs. Kiyingi and Major Gen. Kazini and now Ms. Karamuzi did not experience Oyen’s luck – their candles were smashed out without mercy leaving family and friends with so many unanswered questions. As the curtain comes down to end the show of our lives, people are known to seek rest, to unburden their hearts of heavy loads, secrets, untold stories. I wish that someday I, or someone with the same passion and professional skill can have an honest – no lights, no camera conversation with Draru, Mr. Kiyingi, Nkurunjira or whoever else fits the criteria. I would listen to their account of events and hope to God I have the right questions and countenance that would exude plain honest truth. Answers to questions that are scorching our minds about the events that led to these peoples murders.
What straw finally made them decide this person didn’t deserve life any more?
As they hit, stubbed, shot, shoved, what were they thinking?
What emotions ravaged their hearts?
Was there satisfaction after the gruesome act?
Do they sleep peacefully?
I know it’s a spooky road to walk but I itch to know the mind, the emotion, the spiritual state of these murderers.