Brothers’ keeper

Every now and then, I have these work related travels to upcountry places. Being a lover of travel, adventure and discoveries, these are some moments I crave.

Some of the roads can be rugged especially where they snake into rural Uganda but there are some very good ones too at majority African standards and some others on construction or repair. So having to stop in an annoyingly long trail of a jam with dusty patches, waiting for the opening of the blockades is customary.

Thanks to the vigilance of Police in the recent past along the roads where abrupt check ups for seat belts, speed limits, insurance, and general mechanical conditions of vehicles is a common scene along a travel on nearly any road.  There are now spots along most roads that traffickers are cognizant of obvious and regular police checks. Along such routes, order and discipline are customary.

Aware of this, the Police also once a while relocate to queer and unexpected spots. Some even have developed play tactics of hide and seek laying embargoes in bushy and forest areas where their presence on the road is obscure with their digital speed guns rehearsing the guerrilla warfare-like siasa, (sung in one victory song), which led the NRM  to power some 27 years ago.

Normally they shoot at any on-coming car often seeking to seize those driving above the allowed speed limits. Incidents of some underhand practices by individual officers trying to push drivers towards paying bribes grace such snares.

Even in a society that is almost rapidly degenerating into a self-seeking, individualistic one, you can not fail to notice how drivers –especially taxi drivers using uncustomary traffic signs, flashing headlights; pushing one hand out of the window and pointing down, notifying the would be preys to slow down and avoid the white boys.

Solidarity or rather being a brother’s keeper is the gesture you can but fail to miss on any average day you travel. Looking out for the other, warning them against danger, is the moral here. You need the other person who has seen it all, who is offering you help. However, you owe it to yourself to accept and heed to the warnings others and life gives you!

Village near

It was a Saturday and we were headed for a friend’s wedding reception off some village in Mukono District. The reception was hosted at a garden under development, the grass fully grown and trimmed to a sensibly smart size.

We had driven for over three kilometers and going but the celebrated garden was not being seen anywhere. Having grown from a village setting also, the trick to finding locations is to keep asking and asking people who seem indigenous by their appearance. It situations like this, boda boda (motor cycle transporters) are handy.

Approaching a junction where there were two divergent roads, asking was necessary. So I did. Do you know this garden? And how far is it from here?

The gracious lady with such onerous gait of certainty pointed us towards the direction. ‘It is just so near from here!’ ‘You will find a school ahead of you, bypass it on the left and you will find the place’.

So I said thanks to her and off we went. In my heart came the thought and quickly I voiced it. I hope it’s not the ‘village near’. If you have been to villages around the country, there are times someone tells you a place is just near here but you end up travelling miles and miles.

Once upon a time we were travelling to some up country home and we were told that the home is three kilometers from the main roadside but we traveled over 15 kilometers before we could finally arrive. Another time, in Rwanda, we were told the village we were headed to is just is just near and we drove over forty kilometers before arriving.

I can’t tell if there is a problem with measurements or because such distances are walk-able in villages that familiarity breeds contempt for distances.

This time round, my instinct awakened and was not going to be duped to simply believing a place is near in the village, especially where it’s my first time. Thank God this time round, it was a ‘town near’ and shortly we were there and we ate.

Strategize and Plan Your Journey

Traveling up country is one tedious journey, especially where the destination is so many miles away. A journey, especially to the north is riddled with long travels across majorly a good road with some bad stretches.

Living Luwero and headed towards Nakasongola up to river Kafu Bridge, the road is exceptionally good by East African standards but after Kafu on ward, the road is narrow, mapped with potholes up to Karuma falls.



Karuma Bridge overlooking the falls



One does not see the greater danger of the road until there is a heavy truck with a stubborn driver who cares nothing about other road users and drives right in the centre of the road. Often one is forced to swerve off the road to redeem ones soul from a calamitous death.

Depending on your destination, often, after Karuma, you either travel through the Murchison National Park towards West Nile or to the northern Uganda districts of Gulu, Lira, Kitgum, Apac through Kamdini.

Such long distance travels can be tiring but when one is travelling especially by private means, it becomes rewarding chiefly when you set time lines and particular places where you can stop, refresh yourself, rest, besides the pleasure of eating the delicacies from these major stops, they are major points to always start all over again.



Vendors selling merchandize at Kafu



Normally when travelling from Kampala, a major stop can be at Luwero where you can purchase some fruits like pineapples and bananas. Some other major stop is at Mijera just after Nakasongola, a fuel station and a supermarket where most long distance public buses stop. Here people normally purchase first foods, packed beverages and ease themselves.

Another major stop is river Kafu. There is a T- junction of the road branching to Masindi. Here, vendors of various roasted edibles ranging from muchomo for beef or chevon or chicken are found. The major delicacy at this stop is roasted cassava. There are these amazingly long white fresh cassava often sold when hot to travelers through the windows of the vehicles they are in.



Pakwach Bridge



Bweyale and Karuma are also other stops majorly for roasted maize or even fresh maize. Other stops are Pakwach, majorly known for angara (salted bonny fish) and other types of fish for those traveling to West Nile and what is normally called corner Kamdini for gweno (live Chicken).

These stops are not just famous for the items a voyager could find and purchase while travelling; they are markers of progress, accomplishment and a celebration of the triumph as kilometer after kilometer each traveler approaches their destination. They are an unconscious strategy or plan of movement; a goal of sorts that the travelers seek to attain as they fulfill their vision of the journey.

Life is a journey, a long one at that where each of us must reach our destinations. Great achievements in this journey ought to be celebrated, marked and clearly rewarded. You will not realize how far you have gone when you do not strategize and plan your life’s journey. Sit down and strategize and plot the journey of your life.

The boda boda spirit

Boda boda is a major transport means in Uganda. It normally is a motor cycle or bicycle used to offer the haulage services. You must have used them or seen them all over the country running up and down the streets and nearly all village paths.

picture from google photos
 

Bodas as they are commonly called, are handy and quick to use especially when one is on a hurry to go somewhere during rush hours. They have information of locations and it is alleged that some also act as intelligentsia or at least informants for the state security organs.

On an iniquitous note though, they are notorious for breaking traffic rules in their attempts to save time and thus are among the leading causes of deaths and orthopaedic complications in and around the whole country in the transport sector.

In jams they are always looking for the next available opportunity to breakthrough and forge forward. When stuck in between cars, they manoeuvre and squeeze their way out sometimes scratching people’s cars and hitting side mirrors. Whenever there is an opening and one manages to get through successfully, the rest follow almost thoughtlessly and effortlessly through.

It was a Thursday morning; I was caught up at the Jinja road traffic lights. There was a swam of boda bodas convergent on all the four junctions; everyone focussed and some with as though a foolish curiosity ready to take off.

From an onlooker’s standpoint, a semblance of a suicidal mission at the verge of execution could be gathered from the vestiges of facial expressions of concentration and alertness of the riders and the general traffic.

The daringly energetic approach to their work, with almost insurmountable courage to try even amidst riskily blunt obstacles; the faith that I can breakthrough if I try; the positive attitude of always looking out for the quickest and available opening are some of the nuggets to learn.

So it is with life. One always just has to have a boda boda spirit to go on. Never looking back but forging ahead, making the most of every window of opportunity; being willing to take risks, even life threatening ones at times, is the only way you can be of relevance in Life.

Acres of green

Working in and living off Kampala exposes one to such strenuous environmental pressures. The jams, the noise, the fumes, the steam and the speed of life are simply exhausting.

Once a while, sneaking out to other parts of the Country a far off Kampala is good; thanks to the village and home town I come from.

As part of work, moving up country almost becomes inevitable; more so journeying to Arua, my traditional, original home town.

The town is gradually growing with lots of buildings coming up in various outskirts. Talking to different people, you can feel and see the optimism the people have as they look forward to the grand idea of the eco-city. Some business fellows and ordinary people alike all in anticipation are seemingly saving their monies to acquire a portion of this ingeniously magnificent city.

Driving through the town itself, you cannot fail to capture the old infrastructure littering the new or at least renovated structures. People mingling in the heat and dust as they ride or walk down and up the streets making money or ends meet.

Busy, would be close to an understatement. Yet quite truthfully, busy, one can get in such settings even several hundreds of kilometres away from the capital city. Most often one misses out on the simple things and even the need to truly enjoy life.

Tacked off the edge of the main town is Arua Hill atop of which is a hotel that overlooks the site of the soon to be eco-city situated at Borifa. Together with a friend, I took a deliberate stand to find a place and sit to rest, take pleasure in a soda and praise God for the good things he creates for us to enjoy as I gazed at the green forest.

Off a desistance of about 2-3 kilometres, you see a patch of clear land toward the edge with no trees but containers, a portion the district leaders were once attempting to reclaim from an alleged land grabber. Further still, you capture the roof of Emmanuel Cathedral.

Towards the south east side, you gaze into some houses at the edge of the green. To the south, you see structures being built and green roofs appearing on long stretched structures which occurred to me is the site of the new Muni University.

The further you gaze, the green fades into blue and deeper blue turns misty and then horizon sky blue. All the while thoughts of beauty, grandeur, and hopeful imagination filled my mind of the eco-city soon to sit in the acres of green.

After nearly two hours of sitting on this hill, refreshment, renewal, restoration and tranquillity are but few of the feelings evoked from within. It’s always beautiful to pull off the busy spaces of life just to unwind and enjoy life quiescent. You sure do need to!

It is what I call myself that matters

It was a slope, straight into the heart of the averagely populated town basking with the steam of sweat and pants of breath under the hot sun.

No steep humps but few potholes to be afraid of as he rolled into the busy town. His dream was to be someone important and of relevance and so he adopted a code of conduct and dressing which predisposed him to smartness. Always jolly and amiable as he confidently and comfortably took his poise with a resolve to make the most of his day; Good morning! Good afternoon! Good evening!’ he retorts as he does the African thing, or rather the Ugandan thing, greeting everyone who cares to hear and in turn greet him.

Looking at him from afar, many people’s attention would be skewed to his wheelchair which effortlessly, gently and yet surely snakes its way across the road almost surmounting any barrier. This was not just a wheelchair, it was a part of him; his legs.

Off a corner, a man gasps in a loud whisper to another at a side gaze of him as though one who cannot govern the pressure of his presumptive exclamation, ‘that mulema is very rich!’ as they keep tweeting, watching wheel chair forge its way on! He smiled to himself pretending not to have heard and rode on!

Following almost aimlessly as he gazes in admiration, a young boy drawn by his childish curiosity, fascinated and so absorbed by the three legged miraculous machine and after a kilometer, he shouted disrespectfully, ‘how are you mulema?’ and then run away.

Almost in a split second, shouted another man, ‘ombere, ikini mivini tayi su indi ‘diniya? (Lame man! You also want to put on neck ties?) The local intonation and context suggesting he was not a real person deserving to do so. It cut him to his heart! He could not hold it. Tears mingled with anger, pain, regret, despair and anguish, fell from his eyes. All alone, dejected and unwanted he felt.

They always called him ombere; they never knew his real name and didn’t even care or want to. They knew him for his looks and what he seemed not to have.

But he smiled again and mattered, ‘it is not what they call me, it is what I call myself that matters’ So he let go the pain and in a sigh as though of relief, lifted up his face like he remembered something significant; he said it loud and smiled away to his real name.

Oku –nyoia

Anyoia is an Alur delicacy, a fusion of boiled beans and maize. A typical ordinary Alur breakfast or lunch, as far as I have known, would be endowed with this intense synthesis of a meal which is often served with a cup of black tea and in moneyed settings with milk tea. 

The same dish is called ‘githeri’ among some tribes of Kenya and ‘nyoyo’ in another. Whatever name it is called, its ingredients are basically the same staples. Having eaten it from different cultural settings before, you can almost feel the slight variation in the taste; thanks to the cultural differences or may be the names.

Okunyoia, is not a verb in Luganda. In fact nothing like that exists. It however is an imaginative concoction by a friend I shared the said meal with, this time round in Kenya a few weeks ago. The concoction arose from a question on what the process of preparing anyoia is called leading to the invention of the word ‘oku nyoia’.

It was supper time, around 10:00pm in a small village in the western Kenya. We had all washed our hands ready to eat. It was rice served with anyoia this time round. Never had I eaten anyoia as source with rice before; however, the two served independently was familiar taste. What I had to add up was the taste of these two solid foods mixed on one plate.

Amen! And down went the first spoonful of this jumble into my mouth as I meditatively chewed to discern the autonomous and joint taste in my mouth. Not too bad, in fact a good taste it was. The only challenge that I faced in fact was just that I had never had this mix this way before.

As we ate, commentaries on various foods began with funny descriptions of the feelings aroused in ingestion them which all together made the supper time a joyful and exciting one. We talked of Chapatti and how that most men love it; we talked of sukuma wiki, a gracious vegetable delicacy enjoyed with Ugali in Kenya; and we talked of anyoia, its various names as far as any one present at the table knew. 

To my mind came the thoughts that we need to learn to blend and accommodate each other’s differences. Just because another person does a thing a little different from you or looks different shouldn’t divide us. 

The staples that blend us are the same. What differentiates us as cultural values, upbringing, training or languages that we adapt are minor compared to our common heritage and value as human beings.

Accepting those small differences and seeking to enjoy the taste of what makes us human as we mix with other peoples, tribes and nations should be our common goal.

The Economics of the Storm

Suffice it to say, normally in Kampala, especially in the rainy seasons, after a stormy down pour, all streets, subways, run ways, even walkways too get thickly jam-packed with cars, and some stuck for being deficient in fuel or mechanical evils. One often wonders where and why all this swarm of vehicles that congests our tapered infrastructure leading in and out of the City come from after the gracious rains.

Sitting in such a ram of cars killing time, snailing a meter or two per every ten to fifteen minutes is nearly idyllic. Crisscrossing of vehicles in junctions, round-abouts or even walkways is cluttered; with some knocking each other further adding salt to the injury.

Kampala has this heavy jams that sometimes necessitates a little more knowledge of some extra ordinary roads, closes, or even panyas stretching down into galleys, valleys; windings, turnings and twists, ins and outs from gaudy buildings neighboring putrid slams. In a grand attempt to navigate ones way out of it, the beatitude ‘blessed are the drivers who know many roads for they shall escape jams’ releases its true holiness.

In the midst of this iconic mystification, most especially when the drizzles are light or its just sultry, vendors of all sorts retailing various kinds of goods ranging from air-time, electrical appliances, mechanical tools, personal effects to grocery and even some artifacts profit as they bazaar their merchandize from one car window to the next.

‘This has been it for ages!’ one can safely assert. Even when the regulatory authorities of the City tried to clamp down on it, somehow these merchants have kept at their trade unabated. For those exodused into some organized affluence of modernism this is a state of lawlessness while to others that have known this as the biggest and best of all cities they have ever been to, it’s normalcy.

The convenience this trade brings to occupants of a vessel in such critical hours is to explain for its continuous flourishing. From vehicles needing fuel, to fixing of mechanical tribulations, satisfying a hunger or quenching thirst, to making an emergency call, to finding an alternative escape route and many more are the desires engrossed in such clatter.

Talk of the economics of a wrong or evil or immorality and all such things as are communally condemned, here is the proof. I guess it’s true, every coin has two sides. Your best Kampala street preacher would say it, and like an Amen to it affirm that ‘there always is a good in your storm’. Take the merchants view of things.

Fond memories of this wealth around me

Waking up early is one of the things I like and especially to do something that fits in and reduces the burden of my work in the day. Given that it is quiet and serene it is one of those moments of time to catch.

Today was one such day and this time round I had this grand privilege to write out invitation cards to some of my friends I am calling for my wedding due to happen soon.

The excitement nearly died out because I realized that when it comes to friends, it seems I am wealthy. I have them in all shapes, colors, sizes and of different backgrounds, opinions and beliefs. Some are acquaintances and there are really core ones who I would call real friends.

So I wondered who deserves these cards! Real friends or acquaintances? Which of these real friends do actually deserve invitation cards and which ones don’t?

It dawned on me that my true friends actually do not need a card to come for my function. Actually the culture of where I come from bails me out nicely. People often and always freely come for functions as long as they get to know about it. They do not need a special invite.

So I thought for those who do not get any card or who are accustomed to cards this other side of life where my culture is almost shelved, feel free, you are welcome. I know there are some who will deserve a card because of their caliber or some other value embellished in them by some sort of responsibility they hold. To these a card is more than deserved.

But you see, it is only today that I appreciated that culture of mine. It defines in no uncertain terms who your friends, those who love you, your relations and enemies are. In fact functions such as these reveal your real wealth, the people in your life. You know it for the selflessness and the burden they are willing to shoulder because of you.

Therefore you do not limit, let alone by a card who wants to love you and be there for you and be a part of the happenings in your life. After all the functions that shape a life most often are the obscure and the attendants are not invited most times.

The truthfulness of this culture is that the real people who come into and are a part of your life are not invited per se. They are there somehow; they just come; not because you invited them or gave them anything of benefit at all. Life maybe I should say God places them where they need to be and when they need to be, freely.

So today I go to sleep refreshed by some of the fond memories of all this wealth around me; ever determined to cherish every moment and reminiscence of all who have fashioned me by being there for me.

Disability in the head

Today marks the beginning of the Paralympics in London that sees scores of several persons with abilities having some deformities take part in living their lives and dreams. Today also marks a historical gesture offered by Barcelona FC to Gabriel Muniz the 11 year old boy born without feet to train in their camp.

Muniz is said by the mother to have always been a fighter. That Muniz has had dreams of being a soccer player. His teacher says he is a child with a ‘can-do attitude and indefatigable spirit’ and as a result has won several medals as his school’s ‘star sportsman’.

Almost on the darker side, there is that story of the Malawian government that couldn’t support the dreams of some other Muniz’s who had hoped to step into their dream from tonight in the Paralympics.

The Malawian government leaders have stamped with approval the adage ‘Disability only exists inside our heads’ by failing to support the Malawian Paralympics dreams; by failing to recognize that they not only have extinguished the beacons of those great dreamers to shine but have deadened the spirits of many.

 In Africa, indeed in Uganda, the Malawian leadership attitude exemplifies the leadership and more so the societal mindset towards PWD’s. That mindset is a key disabler of dreams and aspirations of persons with abilities who have some deformities. Such a mindset is seen in the lack of funding for activities like sports, lack of training facilities which are tips of the real iceberg.

It continues to take the fighting spirit of the Muniz’s, the continuous dreaming and dedication of individual parents, couches and teachers to bring out the best in many other Muniz’s among us.

This throws a challenge to the national council of sports for Uganda to consider the development of such sports, identifying talents, providing facilities and training.

Resized

Everyone else has these moments when they devalue themselves. You feel like ‘I’m not worthy’ or something a little less than a high standard is okay to go by of cause, as long as it is not the least level at all. Patchiness to be precise is the word I suppose.

Many other people have experiences like this, at least Kiprotich, our ‘golden boy’ of London Olympics 2012 shares the same feelings with me. That is why I am also a golden boy in my own Olympia. Making one of those press statements, at least the most I heard being played as a news byte is ‘I will not die a useless man!’

Going through difficulties, struggles, and adversities in life most often predisposes one’s mind to such feelings of worthlessness or uselessness. Where the right attitude is not adopted, one might sink in and be abased to wretchedness. Many who have been privileged to be archived in the annals of history like Prophet Elijah, Moses, David the King in the bible; Martin Luther, Nelson Mandela, mother Theresa including me (yet to be) testify to this.

My mind is drawn to these words alluded to Nelson Mandela, ‘There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.’

Yet sometimes to arrive at this pivotal point of the junction between the vile and noble stands the a voice of one who knows you; who should believe in you, trust you and invest their time to couch, mentor, encourage, prepare, resize and present you the platform to shine.

I was in a meeting and a friend looked at me and said, you are no ordinary, you still deserve better than you think you do. See, you need to resized yourself to fit the real you.

The threads of success

The papers were awash with today pictures of Kiprotich! What a glorious celebration of success, stardom, victory, glamour, whatever you choose to call it. This is what we all waited for what we all wanted to see from the beginning.

Our expectations were finally met in Kiprotich, when we had all lost our hopes of getting any gold. If you listened to the various radio stations or watched TV stations or read commentaries and columns in news papers, you would not miss the disenchantment, the nuisance, the defeat all tucked up the minds and expectations of Ugandans of team Uganda.

Complaints, blasphemy, blame, accusations, condemnations, abuses, calling of names marred the air was as program after program Ugandans woke up to vent their anger at the performance of our only hopefuls like Dorcus Inzikuru and Kipsiro as they fell way below set world standards of performance.

Ugandans gave up and never ever expected the star of Kiprotich to rise amidst the dark of disdain. But when you pick up the papers and other media in Uganda, you pick up the story behind Kiprotich’s victory.

Threads of hard work, determination, never giving up amidst adversity and trying situations knit together the talent, and resilience of the personality of Kiprotich to beautifully crown this glorious victory as a mark in the apex of history.

Kiprotich outlasted all of our patience, our hopes and expectations as Ugandans during the 2012 Olympics with his own fervent diligence which he so graciously has nurtured for long to realize this gold medal.

At a point, before he overtook his contenders on that long track, he seemed to be limping and stressing under the pain of hard work and at a time thought, maybe he won’t make it to the front. But that gallant attitude and spirit of a winner sprung as though unnoticed to work its way right to the top to grab the gold medal. The same thread patiently used through time knits the pieces of everyone else’ success!