Mrs.O's writing room.

  I have been thinking about Joanna Namutebi – a bride who died a few days after her wedding. She lost her life trying to protect her body from unplanned pregnancy. In many parts of the US, girls are educated on contraceptives as early as 11 years old. As a girl grows, her parent’s influence on her sexual decisions begin to diminish. By the time she turns 18, what she does with her body is fully her responsibility. Unless she gives permission, her parents are not privilege to her medical records. Whether we are equipped with knowledge on contraceptives or not, the bigger issue is the delicate nature of the woman’s body. The woman’s womb, nurture’s life and extends the human race. The woman’s womb is also sensitive and when mishandled can lead to a tragic end - the irony of woman’s existence. In The Economist issue of June 24 th , 2021, under the section of “Books and Art” it says, “ When Serena Williams struggled to breathe after giving birth in 2017, she knew something was wron

Some people suffer rough patches and bounce back with renewed energy. You’d never know they’d experienced a challenge except for visible scars. I was thinking about my Literature teacher. She lost her speech but not her spirit. Mrs. Mubiru taught us how to identify and argue character strengths and weaknesses. Our A-level Literature, from The Poor Christ of Bomba to The River Between was music to her ears. In her red cotton dress, she’d stand before the class and reel in our attention with her soft firm voice. She scanned the class like a mother pleased with her offspring. Her eyes settled gently on astute youth, bubbling with promise. She was molding lawyers, teachers, writers, responsible citizens who would go on to impact Uganda. Even the naughty students had a special place in her heart. After class, she’d walk down the flight of stairs with gaiety. One day, Mrs. Mubiru didn’t show up to teach. The day turned into a week, then a month, then we didn’t see her again. Ou