Mrs.O's writing room.

As a kid Kololo airstrip was a land mark to locate residences. A friends home in Kololo was either below or above the airstrip - it set the perimeters. Independence Day parades were hosted here. If we didn't join the masses that flocked to catch a glimpse of the president or watch police and army bands play under the scorching heat we stayed home and caught it on UTV. Kololo airstrip is now burial ground for some presidents and national heroes, and a field for sports and corporate events. The last time I walked by I couldn't make heads or tails of it. It's under construction. This picture dates back to 2008, when it looked a little more organized.  It should look better when it reopens ... I hope.

1972,  10 years after Uganda received its Independence, a young policeman from Lira - John Akii-Bua won the country's first Olympic Gold medal in the Men's 400 meter hurdles. A simple man with a tall slender physic, never drawing attention to himself (from what I recall).  When Dad gave me this book, memories of their friendship came rushing back...their passion for sports and the times they traveled together.  #Ugandaat53

The road to my fathers house is layered with gravel, pebbles and stones. The road to my fathers house is dusty and worn.  The soil is dry and grainy. Mounds of clay mix with sand, mix with stones, making it uneven, lumpy and bare even. Undecided plants grow and go yet some take root determined never to move. Soroti road is paved but not to my fathers house. The silver-black surface spreads for sections at a time interrupted by pot holes here and there.  As you travel further out, towards my fathers house the layer thins and fades and disappears. All that's left is clouds of thick, brown dust. It settles over eye brows and hair, over skin and every where. Don't be mistaken this road has been worse, so rugged this road but surely 53 years later, it ought to look better.  It's expanded and contracted. He's cleared it, it's grown back closing in tighter not opening up wider. The road to my fathers home is brown as the far as the eye can see. ...

It happened yet again. I suspect I'm still looking fresh from Teso land. Today we visited a church and a little girl asked me "Are you from Africa?" I was in jeans and sneakers, looking like a "summer" and all so really what could have given me away? I said yes. Little girl: "Are you from Nigeria?" I said "No, I'm from Uganda but you must be from Nigeria" (I took a wild guess). She nodded her head with pride and said "Yes! And I have lots of friends"  I loved her confidence. I got more interested. "What is your name?" Little girl: "Chineke but my name at baptism is ..." (Banange!!! oba I also start introducing myself like that?!). "How old are you?" Little girl: 8 years old. I met her mom after the service and she told me I'd only got half the story. If I'd said I was Nigerian she would have asked "Are you Ibo?" I recalled my encounter on the train , these Ibo's' have...

Old man and dog "Bagyenzi bange !!" In Ateso we say " ikatunga !!" It's an expression of surprise. When I first came to America, I was shocked at how close people were to animals. In some cases it seemed the relationship with other humans had been interchanged for that with animals.

It's complicated this black and white thing. We see it where it's not and its not where we see it.The mind plays us and experience affects the way we view the world and each other.