Mrs.O's writing room.

I'm constantly changing my blog title - it's crazy! I guess that says a lot about me; changing, searching, looking, longing ...

after a sumptuous meal with the family, Kongai took a stroll to the neighbor’s house where she engaged in a conversation with Nyeko the neighbor’s son. As they stood by the road side, laughing and exchanging pleasantries, the Toyota cruised down the street. Papa was coming home. He nodded, acknowledging that he’d seen them then drove home and immediately parked the car in the garage. Mostly he left the car in the compound for a while, this time there was some sort of urgency. Without stepping in the house, he walked out the gate like someone in urgent need of a restroom, as though he wanted to sprint but was trying to keep his cool. He walked up to Kongai and Nyeko and said;- “Kongai, you know it’s not polite for the two of you to stand at the road side as though you were homeless. Why don’t you come into the sitting room?” Nyeko sensed trouble, his six pack chest was heaving faster than he would have liked. Kongai on the other hand, always trusting and papa’s favorite daughter, didn’t

Aya! Hair maintenance in this country is for pain and going broke. Having to pay over a 300k to get my hair braided makes me want to break down and cry, especially when I think I could get the same job, no, a better job done back home for a quarter of the price. But my options are few. If I was sharp I would have learned to braid my own hair – I can’t cry over that now can I? I chose to keep my hair chemical free because I didn’t want to go hunting in spooky zones for salons that could handle this African hair; And again, " self chemicaling" was not / is not an option. So, when I was in Uganda I expressly implored Nicole to do an efficient job of braiding because my hair was not going to see a comb for 6 months minimum. Okay, I know that may raise eye brows but, I wash it every so often and I don’t have to suffer with dust and things of that nature. The 6 months are up and I automatically engaged the panic gear. Obviously people don’t undo braids without a plan, so I held tha

As I walked to the library this morning I saw a beautiful flower. When I past by 4 hours later I saw the most magical thing - it had folded up. Then I saw some more interesting flowers.

Every one in town knew the shiny blue Toyota Corolla, registration number -UVT 636. It belonged to Daddy. When he hooted at the gate we all scampered to clear any messes then run out to welcome him. The first there carried his briefcase, while slower folk shut the car doors and checked the boot – daddy always brought home something interesting. I remember once he brought a beautiful bird that he found by the road – it had pretty colors. I was all somersaulting (excited) thinking about making a bird cage, feeding it with millet grains, bread, and water – anything to keep it alive. Another time, I opened the boot and found the cutest, most energetic puppy I ever saw. Pearl (the name I christened her) took my breath away. She wagged her tail, jumped up on me, licked my palms, chased me - Oh! it was just like destiny. That was the beginning of a long friendship. Each day when I'd come home from school, Pearl would be eagerly waiting. She would wag her fluffy tail and tag at her chain a

Filled with wonder, Awestruck wonder At the mention of Your Name Jesus, Your Name is Power Breath, and Living Water Such a marvelous mystery Yeah... (Chorus) Holy, Holy, Holy Is the Lord God Almighty Who was, and is, and is to come, yeah With all creation I sing:Praise to the King of Kings! You are my everything, And – I - will - adore You! We sang this song in worship today and I can't begin to explain the power that was released. The freedom, the praise, the worship from my heart. I didn't come to church psyched and even singing this song didn't feel ooey gooey - it felt that the Holy Spirit was singing it through me. Talk about a higher power. (This might sound gibberish but there is no other way to explain it) Certain lyrics are God inspired more than you could ever know - it's like the words themselves are so potent that saying them makes all the difference. God, you are awesome. I love you, I praise you, I adore you - above all. You reign in glory and power, who

Ever wonder what life would have been if you had made different choices? Trodden a different path? - the road less travelled? or the one with all the foot prints? Ever wonder where you would have been if you had studied that and not this? What sort of family you’d have if you’d married the other guy or lady? Where you would be living? If you would be wealthy? If you would be dating or planning to marry? (for those of you) Or are you simply glad that you are where you are without any regrets - no "if’s", "ands" or "buts". I was musing about this when I came across a story about two women who found out they were switched at birth ; Raised by people they called mom and dad only to realize decades later that even though mom and dad were mom and dad, they were not actually mom and dad. Didn't that shake the core of their identity? wondering who and where they would have been if they had been raised by their actual parents? Now am not sure I want to wonder a

I’m in a funk. Musing about the rain. They say when it falls it holds nothing back - it pours. A drizzle, a down pour, hail stones, storms, thunder, snow, ice needles, sleet - name it. This is how trials have visited me, except lately it feels like a hail and ice needles special. Oh! why am I constantly going through wet seasons? Just when I think the sky is clearing up and the master of the day is about to show his bright happy face – drip drip drip, it begins again. I long for the day the sun will shine on me, dry my clothes; spur the butterflies to flutter around and the flowers to bloom. Let it shine Lord! Please let your light shine on me – not in bouts but constantly. Blind me with your rays yellow fellow, warm me up real good. I need to smile again. It’s hard to sparkle when I am constantly drenched. Once I asked for the rain but now, I can’t take any more. My poor back is breaking under this load. (Hmm reminds me of that song "I can't stand the rain"). Lord, love

Mummy! my leg hurts. Mummy! I fell down. Mummy! Look – see what I can do. Mummy! How do I handle this? For years you've embraced my desire for attention - my selfishness. When I tripped, was scared or troubled, “mummy!” was the first word to escape my lips. Your warmth, your tender touch, the loving gaze, your quiet spirit. I loved to rest my cheek on your arm – soft and smooth to the touch. With you I felt secure, who cared what happened? The times you were silent, yet fully aware of what was going on - waiting patiently for me to divulge. I cherish the way you lean over, placing your ear close to my lips to hear what I have to say, even after all these years. When we were hungry you fed us with the best, the choicest, I could literally taste the love. I know I can count on you. It never crossed my mind that you too needed love, to be asked how you were doing, or how your day was. I was solely engrossed with self. Who listened to you when you had just about had it with us? By the

Here's a note from mummy, just thought I would give you a little peek into when God colored our lives with your presence. Sooner or later you are going to read mom's blog, I hope you will find it a fun read and not boring old peoples stuff. So anyway...that morning I saw two blue lines. Putting the little gadget down to one side, I reread the instructions on the packet just to be certain of what the two strips meant. Aaah?! I was pregnant. The queasy feelings were not from food poisoning after all. I shared the news with your dad just before we left for work – it was exciting but a little overwhelming. I became a mother the moment you were conceived. Soon, the skirts, dresses and trousers were ill fitting. I didn’t have to tell my workmates, it was written all over my face – the glow, the chubbiness that crept on slowly and then picked up speed. I started getting those “I know what’s going on glances” - I was good with it. It was a natural process; your dad and I loved each oth

For mothers that left hospital empty handed - without a bundle of joy but a bundle of crushed dreams and emotions to mourn over. Crying them selves to sleep at night - breasts gorged with milk but no tiny lips to feed. Whose tears are triggered at the sight of tiny boots, mittens and baby scent. Who never got the chance to feel their baby’s warmth - the firm grip of little fingers wrapped around their thumbs. A medal of Honor for moms who’ve had to gaze at their angels through tiny glass boxes, wincing as their babies gasp for every breath - their tiny chests heaving ever so slightly. Praying their babies would gain an ounce or two, hoping that God would hear their desperate groans, yearning for the day they would be discharged. Traumatized by the sight of tubes running the length of their baby’s body like it was a little highway. For mothers whose hopes and dreams fortified as they watched their kids; learn to tie their own shoe laces, read their first book, pack their cases for colle

When skirts twirled by Tempting him like an ice cold coke on a hot summer day Did you shut your eyes and turn away – Pretending it never happened? When money hit the bank - Ka ching! Ka ching! And they swarmed his path, smiling ever so sweetly – Unashamedly craving a piece of the pie, Did you stand up and state your claim? Reminding him of the vows you exchanged at the altar? As the sun receded behind the horizon And there was no sign of his return, As his meals grew cold – And you waited up, your eyelids drooping with sleep. Did you wonder where he was? Who engaged him into the wee hours of the night? You lifted the hat off your head to shelter us from the rain You peeled the sweater off your back to keep us warm You slipped the shoes off your feet to protect ours from blisters You lacked so we could have. But tell me - When the twirling skirts and so-called buddies vanished And the bank recognized him no more When strangers knocked on your door Demanding to see their dad, Did you thi

Mother-in-law! These words weigh heavily on almost every girls tongue. It either provokes a smile or sudden ulcers. Will she like me? Will I be good enough? Shall we get a long or avoid each other? Will my cooking be good enough? Will she consider me a friend or a foe? Am I pretty enough? Educated enough? Intelligent enough? It’s an endless stream of uncertainties; some legit, maybe even a case of sheer anxiety and other times - a reaction to horror stories passed down "4th hand". One fine Thursday evening I gather my wits and traced my boyfriend's residence. I knocked at the door and I introduced myself to the lady who was clearly his mother. “Good evening, my name is …, I’m a friend of your son (who at the time was outside countries ). I have come to introduce myself and also to get to know you”. Crazy stuff!!! – The things we do for love. She welcomed me with open arms and that became my second home. We spent many Sunday afternoons together and our friendship grew - it

I dedicate this week to mothers;- mommies, grand mothers, mothers in-law, name them. I start this mini series with my moms favourite song from the 70's. In those days it was either radio Uganda or nothing. David Ogwang or Mike Arereng would say "Kampala, Mbale, Soroti, Kabale, Kotido... every where - habaaariiigaannii!!!" SWEET MOTHER Sweet mother I no go forget you for the suffer wey you suffer for me. Sweet mother I no go forget you for the suffer wey you suffer for me. When I dey cry, my mother go carry me--she go say, my pikin wetin you dey cry ye, ye, stop stop, stop stop make you no cry again oh. " When I won sleep, my mother go pet me, she go lie me well well for bed, she cover me cloth, sing me to sleep, "sleep sleep my pikin oh." When I dey hungry, my mother go run up and down she go find me something when I go chop oh. Sweet mother I no go forget you for the suffer wey you suffer for me When I dey sick, my mother go cry, cry, cry, she go say inste