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.