In my grannies' granary

One fascinating thing I ever saw at my grandparents' was a granary; a storehouse for threshed grain. 

In a small village of "Karo'karungi", every end of year or beginning of year was time to harvest grain mainly millet and this was often done once a year. Almost all the chunks of land would have been sowed with millet, a bit of maize, sorghum and beans. As everyone gathered around for Christmas celebrations, this was also part of the plan. The sowing was simple but the harvest extremely tiresome. It was done with short blunt knives smelted specifically for this. After the bountiful harvest, it was sun-dried and later kept in the granary. When the time to consume it was right, it would be drawn from the granary and milled with grinding stones into fine flour. 

The granary is made in such a way that it protects all the content in it from moisture, pests or any other destructive measures. Food kept here was meant to last the family an entire year until the next harvest and it did. The millet was mainly used for millet bread and porridge but along the year, a few other crops would be planted and harvested as supplementary foods. In these homes food was thus always in abundance. In this granary, however small it looked from the outside, was plenty of food collections and in most cases, it would only be tapped into when there were visitors at home.

However today, hindsight is 20/20. If one day we woke up and got to find out that all the food selling points are out of service for just a week, it would be a crisis. Then I wonder, what happened to the granary attitude, have we become too blessed that we take the things around us for granted. But also I have been wondering if banks are the new granaries, and if so, I guess each home should have control of their granaries that is not under the supervision and control of another system, because whoever controls it, then controls you.

Democracy

Is democracy really the government of the people by the people for the people?
Who are the people? Are people really free to make their will?

I just want to talk about one thing I have never been able to understand in the definition  of democracy, and that is the people. Is it all the people, a few of the people, majority of the people or a special group of people. It is unfortunate that most of us when we thing of democracy, we think about the electoral processes, but this is what I think. That people are hypocrites. Beyond the elections, I don't see in which other circumstances people opt for democracy to rule them. If democracy was that good, why don't people apply its principles in their day to day lives. Does democracy rule in our homes, at our work places? in our relations? and so is a human being truly a democratic person.

In a democracy, why then do we have hierarchies of power, which hierarchies create economic, political and social imbalances. How then will such people ever be equal before the law when some are rightfully of higher command than others; in a world where a customer is often working by the terms set by the seller.

For most of us we apply democracy by the majority rule, but then how do we marry that with God's ways where majority does not necessarily show the will of God. God went after people considered outcasts in society like Hannah, David, Joseph, the apostles. Today I only came with questions. we shall continue with the conversation later.

ORANGE THE WORLD

Safeboda championing a campaign against
gender based violence in Uganda.

As we go through the 16 days of activism to end  gender based violence against women and girls, I am reminded of so many bitter experiences I have had to numb my nerves against for sanity's sake.

For those that might not know, 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence is an international campaign to challenge violence against women and girls. The campaign runs every year from 25 November, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women, to 10 December, Human Rights Day. The color Orange symbolizes a brighter future, free of violence.

I keep thinking to myself how I can use these days to actually make a difference to save or change a soul, but the courage to do so is still so far away from my wishes. To have to go through violence is one experience that I think until you go through it, you would never understand fully. 

I am yet to hear from a woman who has not experienced this kind of violence especially here in Uganda. I recently overheard someone make a comment that if you have never been told by a boda boda guy that you are beautiful ( which is often followed by grabbing or insults of you negatively respond) , you must be the ugliest being to have walked on these Ugandan soils.

The rage in my heart. I didn't even know where to start from to tell this young man that that is the ugliest sense of compliments any girl or  woman should ever have to go through. Before I did, everyone laughed out loud like that was the dopiest joke anyone ever told. It was sad enough that a young man thought this way, but worse to see that this has become so normalized to the extent that women here were in agreement.

Calling that sexual assault opened up a debate that you probably already know where it ended.

The thing with violence is that we think that it depends on the offender. No it doesn't.  Probably a boda boda rider is not one most of us expect respect from so his actions don't seem like they matter much. When someone close to you carries out an offensive act against your body, your mind, you will never be the same again. 

Gender based violence could be physical, emotional, economical. While we are used to the physical bit of it, the emotional is largely unrecognized as violence. Some of us are in controlled relationships or marriages and we think that's okay simply because the offender has a side that cares and loves us as much. Don't let the honeymoon fail  your conscience.  

As human beings we all deserve to be treated equally whether we are children, men or women. Break the chain of gender-based violence. Write if you can, speak if you can and  act if you can. All our small actions matter.

Lifting the Veil!

When you visit a place, however beautiful, desirous, comfortable, don't overstay your welcome! Even if it it is a place you have dreamed of all your life, get up and leave in due time. In fact leave when you are still desired but if you must stay pray to be admitted as a resident.

Here I am reminiscing about childhood memories, about the days I spent with my grannies in the village. Whenever visitors were coming over, we laid beds, prepared the finest meals, scented the entire home, cleared and beautified the compound. In fact, the kids were asked to shower and put on their church attires, because our casuals would have been torn and dirty for days. My grandmother would even pull out the utensils that would have been kept for ages. All the table cloths were unveiled and place cleaned to sparkle. 

Some visitors would be so impressed that if they had come for a few days, they would stay longer until my granny would Lift the Veil. Underneath it you would see all the pretense that has been making everyone uncomfortable. Beyond the intended welcome, the visitors would be required to work like the rest of us. One by one, she returned the "special utensils" until that awkward moment when the visitor lost comfort in their stay.

Ideally the visit had gone into a stalemate and indeed, the minute the Veil would be lifted, these visitors would take off either back to their homes or maybe to the next host. Like food, anything that overstays its span is bound to go into a stalemate. It could be a  relationship, a job, a journey etc

Anything that stops to grow starts to die; especially the spirit. Employment is currently the biggest contribution to people's state of stalemate. I am a believer that while we apply for various jobs, by writing our resumes, the very minute we get hired, we should be working on our next qualification. It is not greed, it's growth. A man that is not ambitious in this era will easily be ambushed by their own death.

A goodbye should precede that hello. Don't keep the door waiting.

However, there is always an exception to the general rule which technically is the general rule. There is a visitor who will lead you to and and also lead you in your own home. When he visits you, you will soon realize that that has been his home all along, he will lay the tables for you, invite you to dinner, clean up after all the messes that you have learnt to live with. Unlike other visitors, he is the provider for his host. When you make him feel at home in your own home, he will become your home.

He has been waiting to make you his own for so long. And eventually, he gets to wed you like like was born for this exact moment, that you may have life and that you may have it more abundantly. When he lifts the veil off your face as his bride, it is for good, it is eternal. All the lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride are lifted along. And now you have a new face full of love, joy, peace, patience, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  It is a moment to live happily ever after.

He is Jesus Christ. When he comes knocking, please invite him in, and your home will never feel, look or be the same again.

What is your ENDGAME?

Some of the Fans and Spectators cheering on during the Uganda v Malawi Match, November 2019 at Nambole Stadium.

Basking in the warmth of a fading sun, I watched the ball curve in from one goalpost to another. There was such mammoth energy behind each sun's ray as men gambled in the field. My experience in football is not one to pride in from playing to watching and anything else related to the game despite having recently joined the "Abachuba" team in the Budo League. 

Much of my attention is easily drawn away by the spectators. 

A couple of weeks ago I managed to follow through a match between Uganda and Malawi at Nambole stadium. There was so much energy, love, commitment, consistency and attention from all over the stadium which was painted black, yellow, red and white. The vuvuzelas there, the screams and excitement was all exhilarating. I kept wondering if this in no way affects the concentration span of the players.

I remember once running a marathon in high school, and the very minute the race commenced, mine almost ended there. The shock that all these people on the sides of the trekking journey were gathered for our cause, most of whom were strangers and a handful of friends humbled me that I literally sat down to first shade a tear but journeyed on later. To hear my name out there made me feel like I had won the race already but maybe that was also to my disadvantage. I started to imagine how I would disappoint these fellows in case I performed terribly. The journey that started there after was no longer about me alone but literally about every other person waiting for me on the finish-line including those on the sidelines. But first, I found a certain peace within.

"God's Grace Took Me Through The Race"

 

Some of us have not mastered the art of focus amidst all the voices that surround us, cheerleaders, or spectators. I was stunned by these young men's focus and skill which gave many spectators reason to cheer on. It was definitely good energy throughout and we blessed God for the win thereafter.

However, sometimes they may not be cheerleaders, but just a bunch of naysayers. May you say nay to such Sayers. Like Peter walked in faith onto water we can become deaf to all the naysayers that might intend to instill fear in us. I noticed a couple of Malawian players rolling up fists in disappointment against each other and I guess those are the hardships of playing on foreign grounds. 

One thing is for sure, that spectators, cheerleaders or even naysayers don't determine the endgame; the players do. If we may see the world as a football pitch, we can make it worthy enough for the spectators to cheer on and if we must let's slay those naysayer.

One man's meat; did another man eat it?

Secretly we(silent majority) love the villain but publicly we praise the hero. This particular morning, I sat in a 14-seater taxi from Kyanja with the intention of accessing the central point of Kampala Capital City in the shortest time possible. As is the routine, 06:00am - 08:00am are rush hours for almost everyone around the city especially for taxi drivers. I witnessed the taxi guy dodging corners and using all the insane edges to escape the traffic jam and even when I closed my eyes not to see what this "mad" guy was up-to, my heart was beaming with excitement both at the thrill that came with the rush and also at the fact that he worked against my time constraints.

Did I feel guilty about my inner man? Insignificantly yes! A tingly thing in me felt like this guy was my hero in this particular moment and I bet you must be thinking, "how can human beings be this selfish?" But you already knew that, right? It is debatable whether human beings are innately selfish or not, but that's for another day.

The nature of a villain is unapologetic, unkempt, with no limits nor boundaries, always up for a challenge and one that he will put up a good fight for. Fortunately or unfortunately such struggles always end not in his/her favor but rather in favor of the hero, bringing to life the words, "Good always wins". In fact, because we depict the villains to be shrewd, gigantic and masculine, it is rare to even imagine a woman as villain later on a hero. In movies, the closest she has been is from Ugly Betty on one side and a witch, bitchy high-school fellow or evil stepmother in snow-white on the other. Well, thanks to WONDERWOMAN and the likes, for extending our imaginary lenses to this fierce woman.

Villains are always portrayed as fun characters while the heroes are just boring figures only intended to ride on our empathy. One might say that these are just movies, but the influence they have on us is just immeasurable and can be depicted in how we interpret our daily struggles, institutional movements and political regimes. Epithets no longer motivate heroism nor deter villain-ism.

The other day I visited the Uganda Museum which featured the Unseen Archives of Idi Amin Dada and I left challenge seeing a hero in the eyes of a villain. Slowly by slowly our society and culture are drifting into treating villains as heroes and we are back to the drawing board where one man's meat is another man's poison. I guess at the end of the day what matters is who tells the story and I pray that GOOD will always win.

Remember that "Until lions learn to write, every story of the jungle will glorify the hunter" African Proverb.

Edited version

I edited my story, thinking I'd feel good about the narration. Where convenient I threw in a little white lie and swiftly moved on with my life. Partly it was due to my shame, then my pride and also because I could. It's not easy to tell people exactly what is on your heart that sometimes I just want to draw a sketch and leave the mapping to whom it may concern. Trust issues are a big block to expression and may eventually lead to depression. 

For a while now, I have been advocating for authenticity but little did I know that half a truth is sometimes worse than a naked lie. One day I am testifying God's goodness after I lost my phone over the Good Samaritan who gave it back to me intact and the next am embarrassed to tell anyone about the trauma of having the same phone gruesomely snatched out of my hands along my other possessions only that this time, the situation is life threatening.

On this fateful evening, I arrived at my gate nearly at the same time with these two young men, after one of those long beautiful day (insert smiley face). Little did I know that it was to end with a long face. In my happy heart, these were just some of those passersby probably heading their way that I even dared to tender in my greetings. In a blink, one of them quickly reached out for my mouth to deter me from uttering any word while the other held the Safeboda guy I had arrived with at "Panga Point". For a minute I was in shock, and the next I was burning with anger at the helpless state I had just been subjected to by these young men turned thugs who in my judgement seemed to have just been welcomed into  their adulthood.

Let's just say I was given one more reason not to trust humans, but hey, what about my first episode about the Good Samaritan? what about my neighbors who reached out to me and hugged that trauma away, gave me a place to stay and food to warm my heart again? what about all those nights I have managed to get home safe and sound? what about all the good days in which I have enjoyed the calm and peace on this planet? what about every morning I wake up to my conscience? Or rather, these I have considered obvious and taken for granted?
 

It is very important that we always step aside and stoically recognize God's will in all situations. This will help us rejoice in a place of darkness and to remember that all things work out for the good of those who love the Lord. This love will seek us back into a place of peace and to know who to grieve before is how happiness happens when everything around you suggests otherwise.

I found myself a cheerleader.

Watching a 24 year old Ugandan Champion Halimah Nakaayi, scoop her biggest success so far as a gold medalist in the 800m at the 2019 World Athletics Championships filled me with so much joy not just for patriotic reasons but also motivational ones.

My emotional memory on victory is a faint one and it's for this reason that I'll share my thoughts. Have you ever wanted something so much, so bad and then time lapsed just before it landed in your hands? But it stayed so close like that shimmery yellow mango dangling low in a tree and a beat in your heart tells you, "....you could still get it." Then your hopes subtly die of hiccups.

The anxiety,  disappointment, anger, shame and sometimes depression just at the thought of never getting such an opportunity again or the fear that the same misfortune would invite itself again and you were inclined to feign fate. Most of our victories have died alongside our hopes

Eventually you make it, but all there is on your emotional mind is disappointment that you no longer have any feels left to celebrate your success. Running a race and winning it when all the cheerleaders have already laid their gear down can be a very draining victory. You forget to reward your efforts and celebrate the moment because probably it no longer means the same as it did during your earlier trials! But then it is in that moment that you realize that you have indeed run a good race, and made it till the end, regardless.

What you didn't notice is that "silent" voice in your heart, convincing your mind to withstand all waves around you, to keep moving on even when all your energies are gone.

What you didn't notice is that you became your own cheerleader. Inner celebration is a discipline and I don't mean this wave of parte after parte after parte! I mean that stamp on your chest that reminds you of all your failures hard enough to counter that with a shout of praise when victory finally arrives.

A pendulum oscillates in two direction with equal energies at equal speeds, one side should never frustrate the other. Let all your victories and failures increase your energy to grow, to increase your momentum and to make you a better person. Sometimes when the world around you goes to sleep, you have to encourage yourself to be that person you still dream about like David always did.

Mr.Google sir!!

It's been a long time coming but here we are my dear friend. Like so many other relationships, ours has not been an exception to the ups and downs. Initially it seemed like a one sided relationship with you offering me your services in exchange for just my consent. You availed yourself for me to search in whichever way I deemed fit as long as my pockets permitted so. 

You gave me a world without borders, a person without body, built my imagination beyond measure, turned my 4-walled room into a global village and before I could tell I was willingly offering you my world and turning my diary into a theater stage with pages turning like they were curtains rolling up for a fresh performance every single day just before crafting the darkest of my secrets into a museum.

Little did I know that every time I thought I was searching you, you were instead searching me. I thought I was signing on privacy policies but instead I was signing on surveillance policies. I thought I had the entire world to imagine and yet all you did was to tame my imagination, my conscience and my thoughts. You blindfolded me with a love bug I haven't been able to reciprocate and at the moment I fear I fell for all the traps you lured me into. 

You have walked after me faster than my shadow and in sync with my footprints.
You know all my friends and whatever they know about me more than I could ever imagine.
You know all my thoughts and also keep record of all the versions without any edit. It's painful to think of all the times you have watched me struggle to spell words like weird, entrepreneurship and you keep a record of such embarrassment I have caused my English teachers.

In my earlier wild google search, I found pictures I took a number of years ago, where i took them and with whom which left my gut demons unsettled. All my dirty linen was still intact from past relationships to all the memories I have struggled to forget overtime. Do you ever forget anything between us?

I beg to be forgotten however selective it maybe in this era where passwords, phone numbers, locations, health records, keys, personal data, etc are no longer for us to cram. I change my mind overtime yet not even auto-correct which seemed to help me turned out to work against my dynamics. Today I fear to hold conversations around you because I have realized that the walls you built between us have ears. They have eyes that don't just work like cameras but rather X-rays into my spirit. Worse still is that you have capitalized on this our relationship for so long and it's high time we revised the terms and conditions. Each time I look into your eyes hoping to find that love that first drew me in, all I see is surveillance. 

Am I just too paranoid?

I have been forced to wonder, where I would be if God kept records of all my shortcomings, waiting somewhere for that opportune moment to use it all against me, as well as going on to coerce people out there to side with him at my detriment whenever it is convenient for him. But God is love and love keeps no record of wrong.

Mr. Google Sir, I seek an opportunity for us to reconcile with each other.

I showed up, and showed off

At the speed of light I dashed into the washrooms, this time round for number 3. My Saturday classes start at exactly 9:00 am but we all must be in class by 8:50 am that even a minute later will cost you a 20,000ugx as fine. The problem here is that by Friday the previous day, all that my brain thinks about is parte after parte after parte. An interruption to this for a morning class is such a heavy weight. Since I stay miles away from the venue I often use a "SafeBoda" for safety and convenience. But this one Saturday, I missed the clock ticking for a light meal I intended for breakfast.

I intimated to the SafeBoda rider, Lutaaya, that my time was fast spent but as you know you can't have your cake and also eat it, he didn't give a damn. He is one of those guys devoted to all the traffic rules including speed limit. I hated that I was selfishly asking him to go against the values he signed up for. Anyway, his integrity drew me back to my senses. He took his time but I managed to arrive just in time, 3 minutes to 8:50.

With a pacing beat of heart, I feared I was evidence of all the morning rush and fury in my head. Aptly, I sneaked into the washrooms for a touch up and to my amusement I run into other ladies patching up their looks. I burst into laughter to calm my panic and one of them carrying the weight of mind like I did, whispered to me, "ekitooke kiffa nsalira". According to my judgement she could be in her 50s and the other in her 40s. Listening to them say that you should never do yourself a disservice by not looking your best at any given time spoke to my already whirling spirit.

"Why would they care about their look at their age?" I thought to myself. Then I remembered the wise words of a good friend on erotic capital, a 4th type of capital after economic, cultural and social which tickled my brain abit. Brought to life by Catherin Hakim, erotic capital is one of the kind that every individual is lucky to own naturally even when artificially it can be acquired. Ever passedby a guy and you clearly see effort in what he appears like regardless of the results, that's it, best emulated as a lawyer's capital; the dresscode, the language, the humor and charm all wrapped in cloak of wisdom.

In this feminist world of "bukowu" this beauty bias won't hurt anyone. It's such an adorable thing to find that some people still care about what they look like, smell like and it's sad we have alienated these by referring to them as slay queens/kings for an effort we are forfeiting. As we work on what our brains look like, our wallets, and social circles, let's not forget that image.

Next time I passby you looking like a snack and smelling like candy, remember I have attended my classes. Yes, I am coming for your attention. I'll leave this to the wishes though, that everyday I appear like I am trying to impressing that Prince charming, polish my accent like 24/7 is time for that interview to heaven. That when am gone, you'll remember that each time I had an opportunity, I showed up and showed off.

Arrival-ism in the Downtown.

I bought a pair of crimson red shoes (mu'china) from a street in Kampala's Downtown at only thirteen thousand Uganda shillings. I had been wearing one of my favorite Stilettos but shortly they became an inconvenience in this part of the city because of the many angry people down there pushing me left, right and center as it always is the norm. I only needed any shoes for comfort temporarily and these seemed to serve the purpose.

One month down the road, I was stunned by the fact that these shoes had not even amassed a slight amount of dust nor mad on these streets of ours in their unkempt nature. Only then did I notice just how much care I took while walking as though I was treading on eggshells. My "usual" shoes which I take time to select suggested strength and longevity by their pricing that's often higher which is why I walked so carelessly in them even when I kept a tidy soul. By comparison it seemed like my "mu'china" was stronger than my Aldos original shoe.

The magic may not be about the material of my shoes but rather my managerial techniques. I expected the former to be weak and temporary that I gave them my best behavior unlike the later where my expectations were high that I sluggishly cut their lifespan short.

For many Ugandans, we speak of "government etuyambe" where our expectations are so high that anything below it's belt calls for a state outcry. A couple of weeks ago, while having a chat with a colleague from Djibouti before the atmosphere was hijacked into a party, she mentioned that in her country there is a sizable number of refugees that were settled in one of their ruined towns from Yemen and within no time, this place had been developed into a great city. Then I remembered a conversation with one good Local Council leader from Amuru District, Northern Uganda who expressed his sentiments about refugees settled in a camp in his district who are seemingly developing at a higher rate than his locals in the area. Let's not forget the kind of atrocious acts being committed by South Africans against the many other Africans in this part of the country. (Xenophobia)

I understand refugees get a lot of external aid to better themselves as well as good guidance from the host community but why is it that they demonstrate higher commitment for their works than most locals. 

Should I imagine that locals suffer from an expectancy syndrome? That they expect things to be done for them, with a certain sense of entitlement than it is the case for refugees. Let's look at the so called legitimate children against the illegitimate ones or even street children against the "formally" raised ones. In a place where you have to fend for yourself without much expectation from your surrounding, you seek aid from within. And trust me I have seen God come through for such moments and such people.

Our expectations shouldn't corrupt our responsibility but rather, as the theory goes, they should keep us motivated with valence. Also, comfort zones should be temporary lest we suffer the arrival-ism syndrome and these birds will gladly grasp away the grain. The same manners we exhibit while visiting a Very Important Person should stick with us in our own homes just like my hard core shoes deserve the same kind of treatment as my mu'china.

Let's live on the edge, for when we become of age, our lives will be worth every breath.

To love the unlovable (Love at second sight!)

Should LOVE be a choice? Or rather, one of those rights enshrined in the Bill of Rights? Like food, safety, shelter, education, clothing, and all other things that satisfy and nourish the flesh, love should be treated as such, just as we treat someone's conscience,  privacy, health, liberty, movement and innocence. 

I believe that we all have a right to love and be loved. Everyone (classified as good and bad people) deserves to be loved. We all yearn for some good loving, but are less bothered by how to love back. What's worse is that we actually feel justified to only love the people that love us first or those we think deserve to be loved according to our worldly (societal) standards. And now with the aid of Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp love emoticons, loving has been given a different face.😍❤

A few months ago, I went on a soul search. My own soul, is what came first to mind, and no sooner had I dived into the search, than I realised how crappy my soul had become that I couldn't stand me. The message I saught after was embedded in the mess I found within. I understood why scriptures like "Love your neighbour as you love yourself" only sounded good at a distance. Then 1st Corinthians 13 happened.

How could I have loved anyone as I loved myself if I didn't love me first and yet loving me also had no manuscript. To learn to love me meant to clone myself over a casestudy viewing and learning to bear with all my actions, thoughts, successes, failures, past, present and future. Brethren, this felt like pouring iodine onto a fresh cut. To come face to face with my naked soul was extremely terrifying that only the clothing of God's grace could calm the situation. 

I noticed that there is this guy who sees this soul in its wretched self and rugged clothes every single micro second but loves me unconditionally that he would leave his riches in glory to lay himself down over and over again for me to have life in its abundance.

He whispered to me, "You are more than what you think you are. You are an example of his exceeding grace, a workmanship, master piece, a prize worth boosting over." Now I can say that all good and perfect gifts are from God. He loved me, and in me he planted a garden with loads of fruits, passions, gifts and desires to deliver unto his people. To love him back became automatic that in response to Christ's love, loving all I had a hard time loving became so easy.

Lying naked on the floor, illusioned, ashamed,  disappointed, angry, destroyed, condemned, insecure, betrayed, persecuted gave me a new vision of what could possibly be beyond the horizons. Love needs no qualifier but if it ever does, it should be that we were loved first.

When no one felt deserving, Grace became our qualifier. 

In the words of Leo Tolstoy, "Everything I know, I know because of love." Live and act in love, give that "streetchild" a big hug, kiss that prisoner's forehead goodbye, tell your neighbour that you love them and pat yourself on the back everyday regardless and before you correct every wrong out there, do it in love. 

#Natukunda (He Loves Us)

I Live In My Gift Box!

This morning I woke up to a box neatly wrapped and placed outside my door. Being raised in an optimistic society, my first instinct was that it must be something spectacular considering the kind of wrapping it had. Well, my imagination went so wild from who could have dropped it to what must be in it but shortly it was zeroed down to the beautiful wraps. I started to fantasize about the texture and prints of the wraps like I was in a daydream. These wraps had an African fabric touch, a spec of something chic and golden that I was so sure this person knows my heart inside out to the extent that I felt this wrap was tailor-made for me. 

Without notice, I eventually became more attached to it forgetting the actual "gift" it carried. When I normalized out of my daydream, I delicately removed the wraps and perfectly stored them in my "jewel box." I can't even count all the gift boxes and wrappers I have kept with me because they glittered more than the gold that in fact they became an actual representation of the gift itself. Sometimes, due to their glittering nature, like a child, I am tempted to find them more worthy..... Don't judge me! As they lay in this jewel box, they are nothing but trash and sooner than later, long forgotten for they already served their purpose.

At the end of the day I reflected on words from a special friend of mine. She said, "our bodies are a hard ware of the spirit in us which ideally is a soft ware of our being/ physical structures." This reminded me of my wrappers. Most of us are often caught up nourishing our bodies and never to give a damn about our spiritual being, that we relate with others basing on what they look like, spend the rest on our lives concerned about the kind of food we eat, the clothes we wear and so on while leaving our soft ware to the fitting of society and never making it a first priority.

Nature has allowed us to live in the moment and let life unfold itself. A week ago I was taught that living is in a single breath and that life has been designed as a gift to us with our individual name tags worth treasuring every single second of our existence but not so much to the extent that we get absorbed in it and forget to live. 

Sometimes, our parents, siblings, friends or neighbors may get the kind of gifts we wished for or dreamed of, but fact remains, their gifts are theirs and ours are ours. Everyone gets exactly what they need and can afford. God won't give us more than we can contain. But if my neighbor was handed a video play station he didn't know how to use, it's prudent that I share my skills, the best way I know how, hoping that his game won't stay idle in the gift box forever. However, the giver of this life won't hand unto us a gift he knows we can't figure out, or one that we may loathe because even if he is a mystery God, he is a good father and  always faithful.

He Could Be Your Lucky Star💫

I have been careless a couple of times which luckily gave me an opportunity to learn and unlearn certain aspects about life. Firstly, my passport literally strolled out of my backpack in a foreign country with all the currency I possessed in life as well as my yellow fever card. A month later, I left my phone in the comfort of a public taxi where I was seated as I headed home after a busy and stressful day (like most of us have). On both of these days, I came face to face with my lucky star.

"In a world full of conspiracies, suspicions, dishonesty and unkind hearts, how can a man be all the good I have always wished for" my fast-pacing heart paused in wonder. In the first case, a gentleman called Chris(not real name) literally put all that was on his agenda on a standstill to look for me through all means possible until I recovered my property intact. When he broke the good news to me I was rather confused than excited because I actually had no idea how a passport in the innermost pocket of my bag had sneaked out leaving all my other useless belongings in it. In the second case, I noticed I had lost my phone at the point when I needed it to order for a safeboda home. The lady at the grocery store heard my despair and she reached out to me. After narrating my dilemma, she offered me her phone to ring mine. Honestly, I was hoping for a miracle that my phone rings from somewhere in the vicinity. Alas, a gentleman picked my call and asked me to meet him somewhere assuring me that he would gladly give me my phone. He was a taxi driver and according to my society  these men are always mean, abusive, vulgar, and often associated to crimes of any sorts.

I have never expressed so much faith in the human race like I did in that moment amidst the confusion and all conspiracy stories that entertained my beating heart. The lady at the grocery store immediately asked that I go after my phone claiming that that gentleman wouldn't have picked up if he intended harm. In fact, she had so much faith that she gave me her own phone to go after mine. I literally shed a tear, not because of my phone but at this lady's kindness without a second thought. It was about 8:30pm when I quickly rushed out in her faith and found the taxi man exactly where he asked me to. He handed my phone back, told me another passenger had come across it when I left the taxi and given it to him. Did I say I shed a tear earlier, now I completely sobbed in gratitude. These were so far three different stars shining bright in my dimming night.

I attempted to give him the money I was left with that evening as a sign of gratitude and he rejected it with a certain kind of grace and warmth in his voice. On my way back, I nearly run into cars and everything moving against my direction.

Later, I thought to myself how we have become so used to unkindness, bitterness and all the bad things that have robbed humanity of its face. A bit of my heart felt that these angelic behaviours were certainly not human-like. This altruistic behaviour really got me by surprise. And then I felt guilty of why I always have to expect the worst of people but I haven't known much better. Kampala is a place that suggests that everyone is always upto something usually corrosive. Probably, these amazing people have been sent from heaven to restore my faith in humanity and I challenge myself to be a clear reflection of the same. You too, could be an advocate for kindness regardless of how life has treated you.

One random act of kindness, could bless and change the world with a happier person at a time. Fortunately or unfortunately the kind ones don't always come in cloaks and veils, it could be that neighbour of yours in a taxi with bad breath, he could be your lucky star.

Mind your Mind

The world to me is as far as my eyes can go, as far as my mind can stretch me and probably as far as I'll ever go. This sounds like an excuse for my ignorance but who should tell me better!? Teacher Betty? Albert Einstein? or this computer right at my desk?

As a child, the spot where the tallest mountain touched the sky is where I perceived the world to end and the sky as represented by the clouds was the ceiling that in fact I thought separated earth from heaven. As I grew older, television and books expanded my imagination and knowledge of what the world really was. I also found the minds of others quite fascinating, a habit I associate with in my adulthood.

Accidentally sliding into the mind of a boda boda rider, a street dweller, a child, a farmer, a lady of the night, or any other stranger sometimes makes me want to stay. When it comes to family and friends, these have permission to opine and we take their minds for granted but now I recognise how they have shaped mine. I owe them my judgement.

Each time I think about my country which I am proud to say I have traversed mainly for political and social reasons, it aches my heart to imagine myself living here for majority of my life when the world is out there with plenty of space to accommodate me and mine. I genuinely love Uganda, Kampala to be specific and my entire neighbourhood but I must say that the nomad in me has got to be freed. I cannot help but wonder what lies beyond the skyline.

Rather than a battlefield with scuffles everywhere waiting on survival for the fittest, I see it as a playground with wonderment, adventure and happiness that calls out the childish spirit in me every single day I am blessed to live again. In the past few year I have been able to travel from villages to towns, cities, countries and continents for various reasons. One thing that I'd never forget is finding a kindred spirit in a stranger. The joy, excitement, curiosity, amazement and all the good feelings that came along to give me a sense of home. Sharing stories and different perspectives about life became a new craving my poor soul never had the luxury to dream about.

Slowly by slowly I began to desire more and more of the travelling like I had been overdosed with that dopamine. By the end of 2018, all my savings were bitten by that travel bug. It started with curiosity but ended up as a necessity. Each time my mind felt like crashing I only wished to escape it through geographical borders. It is only until later that I realised that wherever I went my heavy mind was the first thing I packed. I realised travelling was instead doing me more harm than good because wherever I went I never wished to come back. In fact coming back to normal got me agitated and literally depressed that I blamed colonialism for all the geographical demarcations I have had to deal with as a prisoner of these lands that generously gave me life.

I am training my spirit to have no mental nor geographical borders, like an eagle will soar so high through seasons and all calamities. When the Psalmist says "Who satisfies your years with good things, so that your youth is renewed like the eagle" I confide in that assurance. In the meantime home is where my heart is and I am steadily learning to dance in the rain with all its mud, joys, flaws (or flows) and anything in between. Travel won't heal my mental discontentment and neither will it heal yours; calling it a vacation won't change a thing either. I am only trying to mind my mind, you too can mind yours.

Digital quagmire

Lately, I have been having an emotional cloud away from the crowd which resulted into a bit of mental constipation and eventually failure to process my thoughts into words. I tried reading my favourite books, daily articles as well as listening to various inspirational audios hoping these would jumpstart this writer's dying heart but none of these would help.

I knew I had so much on my mind to write about, but it just wouldn't crystallize into any of the words you see right here. My heart skipped a beat each time I realised, that one second grew into a minute, a day, a week and finally months just gazing at a digital blank page. I lost my breath to these writing hiccups. Was it my craving for perfection or the many distractions around me or fear or maybe just procrastination that weighed in heavy as what they call a writer’s block? Or maybe my emotional compass just lost direction.

Overtime, I thought to myself, why the pressure to perform? What's the worst that could happen and why exactly writing even just a page was so important to me? I guess it's never too late to re-evaluate our commitments without seeming like we are cracking up reasons to abscond. I must say, this has taught me to breathe, focus on my breath and from it, to draw the true meaning to life, lest I sink in this fast pacing world.

It's very easy to develop a routine and perceive it as a short-cut to a happy life; Or view commitments as though they carry an assurance of happy returns. Well this is true for many but only to an extent. In the wake of tragic news last week, I started to question what if today was my last day? Would my inability to bequeath any properties allow my words to constitute my will? Why is it that we feel assured that leaving our homes in the morning guarantees us a safe return, that going to sleep in the night automatically cracks us up alive for the next day. Viewing life with such big lenses gave me a sense of satisfaction in the now moments and I am truly grateful just for being alive right now. I hope you too are.

One question that lingers on my mind a lot since then is what if tomorrow you wake up with only the things you are thankful for today? These questions have truly unclogged my emotions that I am finally able to latch onto this platform again. Your case might be different, probably work starts to slack or relations suck; I hope life's grand questions of what should matter most keep you on your feet. You don’t have to wait for the fog to clear, take that step anyway.

In my e-Motions

Some days are sunny and others rainy, with much more significance in the moments in between. The sunny days are full of hype, excitement, anxiety, extra energies and adrenaline rush. They are happy days, the extreme of which might sky rocket with wild fires. The rainy days on the other hand are foggy, slippery, extremely emotional, calming, isolating and sometimes depressing. It always feels like I am walking up mountains and down the valleys not to mention the camping sites I have to go through, so dynamic. But the moments at the camping sites help me to discern, evaluate and eventually aggregate my existence. For all I can say, these are due to some creepy invisible tiny little things moving down my body(read throat) called e-motions.

Rationality is not an element emotions respect. In the wake of reason, I find that I have done exactly what I have over and over again warned my conscience against. From experience, I have learnt that they(emotions) co-exist, that happiness is hardly absolute and neither is sadness; that they are so dynamic regarding state and intensity depending on what life has to offer, one minute I am oozing positive vibes and the next I  feel like I just got stung by a wasp. Sometimes I strongly feel love and hate simultaneously, pleasure and anger, contentment and guilt that to make sense out of this is to get lost in such confusion. But like they say, the beast you feed grows, so the magic is in striking a balance. One of my favourite biology topics was adolescence which brought to my realisation the bodily and emotional changes as one adults. Unfortunately, I imagined after that stage the body and its e-motions would stabilise and be more predictable. But all I can predict now is their unpredictability.

At a certain point in time, I used to beat myself about such state of being that sub-consciously arrested me out of my reason. I even thought that I am innately an evil person waiting on my surrounding to stimulate that beast in my veins. I consciously started to distance myself everytime the clouds weighed heavy with darkness until one day when this friend of mine at campus described a lady he was pursuing on a date as being so dynamic which immediately resonated with a being I wasn't sure was mine anymore. Many people refer to this as a mood-swing with the intention of insulting whoever demonstrates it, but I would rather look at it as one of the truest compliments any woman should get in her days. Ever since then, I have learnt to constantly be awake to my surrounding and more conscious of my interpersonal interactions in an attempt to inform my behaviour because I believe that emotions, like emoticons are infectious.

Learning to suppress or contain some of these wild feelings which emulate the fullness of my womanhood has certainly been the toughest self-taught lesson but it has dearly elevated my tolerance and maybe that's what some call emotional intelligence. Like creative thinking, debate, swimming, communication and any other skills, maybe emotional balancing/intelligence should be crafted as a life skill, specifically for these menstrual circulating emotions. But if not maybe that's where the point of living is, in being extra at the climax of our feelings. Where is the fun in being ambitive? Wear all your personalities if you may.

I fell In Love With My Oppressor

Growing up in the village, it was kind of normal sharing a home, a meal and clothes with a certain species of rodents, rats. No place was ever too far for them to reach, so we came to peace with having them in our spaces; dining rooms, bedrooms, kitchens and even gardens. They were such self-imposed pets. One traumatizing experience I remember, was waking up in the morning to a bitten foot heel. I never witnessed a thing that caused that but I remember my grandmother telling me what had happened. "A rat has a very extraordinary way of biting a sole; it blows you subtly, sweetly, softly and slowly as it bites to the extent that you are not sure if what you feel is a pain or rather a piece of pleasure," she narrated.

There is a certain pain that can be twisted and intermixed with scanty pleasurable bites that will weaken your knees as it does to your feelings in oppression. Many years later, this experience is still engraved on my emotional memory that my body twitches at the sight of rats.

Crushed and ripped of all my rectitude, I fell in love with what oppressed me and anything that caused me pain because I was caught up licking the sugar-coat off of every painful pinch with a glimmer of hope. I knew I was slightly drifting into my own creation of a mess, giving in to the laziness, anger, anxiety, perfectionism, chaos and competition but I was often torn between the gravity of the signs and symptoms pain brought along. Trying to defend my weaknesses consciously, made me realize that I subconsciously had an strange addiction to pain, not that I loved it but because I thought couldn't live without it. It's easy to think of addictions such as alcohol, social media, sex and drugs, but rarely see pain as one. This pain started to feel like home that it consumed and oppressed me to bits, the lack of which stirred a whirling desire in me. And as they say, oppressed people oppress others which sometimes is not even in the spirit of vengeance for their corrupted selves but because out of the abundance of the heart pours our emotions. It is even more painful to be our own oppressor.

For a while, I never understood why most planned markets in Kampala such as Wandegeya take ages to fill-up and function as intended yet so many vendors circumvent them. Sometimes resettling the slum-dwellers to opulent areas even if they were free of charge or shifting a street vendor to an affordable, well furnished place may not be their best choice. Some of them are used to the rush hours that enable them to sell more to the street passersby and in such spaces, they can easily exercise their bargaining power (freedom). These might seem like bad conditions that the market construction seeks to heal but maybe not because the reverse may come with responsibilities that some people may not be willing to take on. There are instances where some children have been rescued from the streets but still they try to find their ways back to where they have grown to find a feeling of home. These could be rare occasions, but none the less, they happen. Some bad situations can make you emotionally numb that all you desires is just more of the same. One of my favorite Luganda sayings is, "amazzi gakulukutira gyegaali gakulukutidde" which directly translates into "water will always flow in its familiar course."

I believe that it would be better to enlighten these people well enough that themselves choose the lifestyle they desire and deserve because God has blessed us all with free will to the good and bad things. We are destroyed for lack of knowledge about the things of God. Looking at John chapter 5, Jesus asked a thirty eight year old impotent man that had been lying next to the pool called Bethesda where others found healing but he was unable to help himself into it, if he willed to be made whole. Basically anyone would have thought that as obvious, but Jesus demanded a will from this diseased man and so it was done. This shows that sometimes freedom and the will of the people however important does not guarantee us the best nor the life we deserve if misused.

One uncommon aspect however is that sometimes the devil may hand us roses (as opposed to thorns) so beautiful like that scotching sun before it rains; the kind that will blind us from the perfect gifts that God may have in stock for us; the kind that will make us hesitate to seek that justice that deep in our hearts we know we deserve; the kind that will keep us comfortable in that mediocre seat even when we know we are destined for greatness; the kind that will cushion our beds perfectly that we'll literally sleep our way through our dreams; the kind that will caress us gently enough that we'll forget the symptoms of our pain because the signs are gone.

We have all experienced and reacted to oppression in different forms that our outlook may differ. But as we grow into advocates for social transformation, may God break our hearts for what breaks his that our compassion to those we attempt to help see the light never fades simply because they don't will for what we find worthy and may we will for what God wills for our lives always.

My Ex-moments

The customer experience

Getting lost in a crowd feels so mysterious like a secret kept in the public. Accustomed to taking evening walks,I found myself down the street in the calmness of the sun where I could easily fuse into my head and feel unnoticeable in the crowd. There is so much peace in solitude especially in the middle of the chaos on the streets with the lights flashing in, cars hooting, boda bodas rushing and vendors pulling everyone from everywhere.  On this particular evening, as I approached a kiosk along Makerere Hill Road in a bid to purchase airtime, this one lady excitedly wooed me to her corner and she didn't mind showing it at a distance. I made my request known to her and the airtime was sent directly to my mobile phone. All was well until I gave her a 50 thousand note to deduct 10 thousand (Uganda shillings). She first ignored me for a minute but to her realization, I wasn't going anywhere especially after I had fulfilled my part of the bargain. "If I knew, she bubbled, I would not have bothered to give you my airtime." I honestly was bewildered by this young lady's statement but well, I imagined she must have had a stressful day, like any young person trying to make ends meet in this tough Kampala. It took me about 30 minutes to leave her presence in an attempt to get my change. I left her fuming as if a piece of her heart had been crushed. But as I disappeared in oblivion, many incidents reflected back in question.

Is Customer Care a Nicety or a Necessity in business? 

Do people even care about the Customer Experience?

Many a times we hold people dear, so much until we get what we want from them. There are these small small habits people grow into or out of that break or make an entire business. We all have those "ex-moments" that probably draw us back into the arms of the people we have transacted with before, starting with how they treated us when we mattered most to them, to their actions and the words they said or didn't say when it was all over. Sometimes it's not enough that the products are user-friendly, cheaper, luxurious, or with good quality. Our experiences will take us back to some place for less quality just because the attendant made us feel like we mattered. It's good that we get to be welcomed nicely but what sticks with us is how we feel when that goodbye knocks at the door.

Human beings have a natural yearning for the VIP treatment that digs more into their details. I remember in the early days of my leadership, the hardest thing to practice was to treat people after being elected as fragile and affectionate as I treated them during my campaign. In my defense, I thought to myself, "who campaigns after an election anyway?". However, this always left me restless, guilty, and sometimes I felt manipulative. Upon the realization of this emptiness, I worked even harder to put myself in a better accountable state, with reasons (excuses) to go back to the people who had trusted me with their vote. It could be the same case in a dating relationship where the roses and other pleasantries may never see another day after marriage. We are innately selfish I may say, always going after our personal needs first yet it's very hard to serve if we don't appreciate what's in it for the other person.

The very first time I got born anew, it felt like I had made it to heaven literally. My heart was at peace instantly, the storm around me was calmed, family was amazing, friends receptive, school was all perfect, to mention but a few. However, the more I got deeper in relationship with God the more I saw things shift as though the world was literally waging war against me. I remember it was so appropriate, at the time, to quote the words, "this world is not my home, I am just passing through." It felt like God had set me up so high only to expose my insecurities and then drop me. The shame came crushing in, the anger, bitterness and confusion that I started to question my decision. I remember thinking to myself, that I was safer loving God at a distance, to keep myself from all the disappointments.

We have built walls of expectations around us that disappointments take pleasure in wrecking down. Being expectant is good, it feeds our optimistic selves but it also limits our experiences in life. When we get to the end of the tunnel and realize that the light we saw at a distance was  in the arms of the last person we may have wanted to see, may we have the grace to be grateful and trust in the process. May we learn to handle our disappointments with content. May each moment we live in our term of service get the same energies like that last campaign day. May each day of our marriage have a one night stand impact. May that wondering soul find peace in the goodness of the Lord, because He may seem unfair but always faithful and just.

A Walk Down The Memory Lane

Today, I was humbled and extremely honored to go back to the school that made me who I am, to give back the heart that nurtured me. As a proud woman standing with a significant other on such a day to celebrate the women, I was reminded of the road ahead.

I joined Kings College Budo in 2007 until 2012. It was a journey less treaded by people of my kind. I was a simple girl from a less privileged family, where most people I knew attended UPE schools down in Rukungiri district, Western Uganda.  I attended a developing school with a resemblance of a missionary organization at the time. I remember my father, a Kampala resident, visiting me one time at school and asking what my choice for high school would be.  All I had known were schools like Bweranyangi, Mary Hill, Immaculate Heart and a few more from my local area. However, he later suggested that I was a Budo-material because I had an excellent academic record up until my primary seven.  This was a pivotal moment for me, reshaping my notion of what was possible. Later as I filled in my choices, my headmaster asked why Budo, and all I could think of was why not. He said it’s a boys’ school, highly segregative in terms of tribe, class, gender, and the list went on. But I persisted terming that ambiguous.

My first year experience involved a lot of learning, unlearning and re-learning just about everything without forgetting where I had come from. It was at this time that I started to clearly understand what it meant for me to be WOMAN.  I realized the boys in my class had a certain shed of confidence you could not compare to. They courageously stood along stone walks and escorted us with hisses, disses, unsolicited comments, insults and other sorts of abusiveness whenever we by passed them making us shrink on several occasions. I could relate this primitive behavior to that of the stage boda boda men. A single girl dreaded these moments, especially if you thought you weren’t as pretty yet the habit had become normal. This  made the lioness in us hunger for more.

As time went on, I began to realize how privileged I was to be in a school like Budo where possibilities and potential were unlimited.  I dreamt of the world beyond, which later landed me in one of the best private schools in America, Brooks School, for an exchange program representing this  prestigious school. From this experience, I learnt how small the world was, with similar experiences and yet diverse. Girls in America were experiencing an almost equal amount of discrimination but with efforts to dismantle the norm. As these energies sparked within my soul, I immediately felt the need to do more. I remember coming back home with my mind all made up, unlike my face, to contest for head prefect but each time I confessed my desires, I was told that I was just a girl. Trolling through the girl population(1/3 ) which then resonated to potential, I coiled into the next place as deputy head prefect.

The trajectory of my life began then as a feminist; I began to realize that equal treatment should not be a privilege but a right. Girls/ women all over the world are facing some of these stereotypes as though being female comes with a cost attachment.
Today on international women’s day, I want to thank all those who went before us in ensuring that the world is a safer space for raising and educating a girl child. Let us honor them by shifting our language and consciousness away from gender and towards opportunity. Let’s honor our parents’ sacrifices by putting away barriers to education and affording us a place at the high table; a place where a young woman will unapologetically stand to express her opinions that shunning these shall be only on account of quality and not just because she is a girl; a place for learning, changing, making mistakes, laughing, deciding, questioning and also growing into whomever we want without fear of what the next person thinks.

I remember our home economic classes full of girls and just a handful of boys. Majority of the boys opted for subjects like electricity and electronics, additional math and the likes, subconsciously terming women chivalry. Persisting barriers to women’s full equality and empowerment redefine and stigmatize men’s role in the domestic perspective. To liberate women, we need to liberate men and for this I thank all the male feminists out there.

Overtime, we have become global citizens with the internet penetrating borders. If we live in a world where men occupy the majority of the positions of power, we need men to believe in the necessity of change. How will we be more tomorrow than we are today if women who are the majority in the world signifying their potential, are left behind in quality decision making, economic sectors, education systems, and political leadership. Beyond the differences of men and women, we need each other to grow our familes, communities, nations and to grow globally. There is cause for hope. Bringing up change cannot solely be the responsibility of those who need it most, we must have the support of those in the highest positions of power in order to achieve parity.

We all need to be loud speakers to the voices less heard, making dents, changing the paradigms and not afraid of being the first where necessary. Changing the trajectory of how girls see themselves in the world, beyond what our cultures have labelled us is now our mandate. I encourage us to live from our hearts and give from what you have been given.  The reward is in the lives we will be able to meet, touch, influence and impact.

Happy womens day,
Gakyali Mabaga

The heART piece

Two weeks ago, I walked into an art gallery in the company of a good friend only to be welcomed by so many shades of colour, shapes, patterns, ticklish scents, paints, brushes all over the floor etc. Asked what I thought about these peices, my mind was crowded. Looking at this artwork, the attraction projected, the energies radiated, the melodies of its curving, the sounds of its sight, it was unfathomable. I realised then that what I actually needed was a moment of silence to draw a deep breath, and align my thoughts.

Art is a mirror of our souls after all, that its perception, cognition and characteristics drew me in. The heart in the art piece.

Everyone definitely has a different interpretation of art with our hearts as the lenses. Sub-consciously or consciously, we read our opinions, beliefs, past and projections into these pieces and even stretch forth to fill in the blanks spaces. We attach different emotions to these and that informs us of how dear to hold them, which gives us a subjective aesthetic experience. I could relate this to our childhood experiences of "walinga". However, the maker has already sketched his own thoughts and heart out until it is wonderfully and beautifully made.

In this gallery, I stumbled across some painting before completion that was honestly quite a mess. I couldn't appreciate it as much as the painter talked and praised it probably because he had an actual master plan or imagination or vision for that matter, about which I was clueless. It was just a work in progress, subject to many alterations, additions and subtractions where the painter deemed it fit. But because I could see how magnificent his previous work was, I had no doubt it was going to be even greater. These painters have capacity to shape generations just by putting brushes to canvas, walls, streets, rocks, bodies etc to reflect many motivational, emotional and cognitive qualities. For instance, much of our African identity (culture) has been passed down to generations through art, dance and music. While words and stories may ghost around, they can be amended but images once put together may fade but they stick with us bearing our still souls.

Earlier in the day, I had a small chat with one of the best artists Uganda has been gifted with. The emotions in his expression about what he does and the source of his inspirations was just humbling. I acknowledged how much little or no importance we attach to the influence of art in our society. For most of us it's just about the beauty it brings to our spaces, we forget the stories it tells, the inspiration, the energy it transfers, and the minds it shapes; no wonder some places are adopting art as a therapy.

Spinning back to the painter, she/he has the master piece because they are the vision bearers. Jeremiah 29:11, one of my favourite verses of the Bible says that "I alone, knows the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you." Until our deaths, God is not yet done with us. I remind us to live in complete obedience with His plans for He has the bigger picture. And guess what! NO eye has seen, NO ear has heard nor a mind conceived what the Lord is yet to do in you.

So when I say you'll have me raw and unapologetic with all my stray paints and itchy edges, embodied in a beautiful mess, i am not just salvaging around but I know the maker of my being. I am a work in progress, trusting the process and owing no one a perfect me. We all have an image to portray and a story to tell. May it all be worthwhile hoping that one day, it will be an image embroidered in someone's survival guide as our legacy.

The Script(ure)

A few weeks ago, as I conversed with a couple of colleagues over a savoury meal, one question stayed up in the air. What's the plan, now that we have reached the considerable stages of our education system and are merely employed? Should we keep accumulating documents so that we are more competent in the work arena? Should it be okay that the ladder upstairs only aligns us into marriage, childbearing and then committing our entire future devoted to balance the family and work spaces?

As children, we were coerced into getting role models, mentors and sometimes counsellors to help us stay on the staircase. These played an important role but now that we are of age and are expected to be in charge of our own lives, what next? Have we grown up or we are simply growing old?

"Discipline, foresight and bourgeois willingness to delay gratification, are traits developed over time, through adults prodding and example..."writes Kay Hymowitz in her book Marriage and Caste in America. She argues persuasively that the life script of education, work and childbearing has been a powerful guide towards a rewarding life. Everyone is looking forward to a reward such as success, wealth and happiness.

The writer and activist, Maya Angelou, put it this way. "I am convinced that most people do not grow up, we marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old." It is suffice to note that I have completely nothing against marriage.

In reality we are a totalsome of what we eat, see, hear, touch and smell without forgetting the other senses of balance, pressure, temperature, pain and motion. These senses are nurtured in whichever environments we grow, by our parents or guardians, teachers and friends with no exception made to the movies we watch, music we listen to and the books we read. Henceforth, they culminate into our direct and indirect manuals and thus our subconscious life scripts.

My mid-twentienties have paused quite a big challenge beyond what I was warned about. At the end of my fourth year at law school, I undertook so many sleepless nights baffled by this puzzle. So many people my age seemed to have it all figured out; finish law school, go to Law Development Centre, do your masters, get employed in a prominent law firm, get married and blah blah blahhh. I was only certain that that's not what my happy future needed but had no idea how I was going to disentangle myself out of this script. Easier said than done, they say.

Wondering about, I learned to lean in more into nature, constantly listen to my heart and all that kept resounding was what the scripture says. I decided to surround myself with people that bring out not just the good in me but also the God in me. To choose the will of God as a way of life is a hard paper to this my generation. There are trends, media and peers wrapped as the job market ready to claim our future regardless of our different cultural and religious affiliations.
They regulates our thoughts, and we have chosen them for our next "big thing" because we trust the script. Truth is that the script delivers but partially as many young people have been faithful to it but they have been disappointed; quite an angst experience.

Proverbs 3:5-6, "trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not on thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths". Another very interesting chapter is Psalms: 119:105, " Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."  The harvest is truly plenteous, but the Labourers are few, saith the Lord. There are many opportunities around us but maybe we are surrounded by so much darkness, we can't see them; we have internalized and crammed the ordinary life script but know so little about the scripture. Where could we ever go wrong with scripture directing our future?

To Whom It May Concern

Following my past blog, I get the impression that this fragile topic is of much more concern than I thought. Lots of amen were said in approval but a few colleagues put across some vital points which I intend to address first. For instance a one "Malaika" not the real name, reached out to me worried that washing our dirty linen in this virtual space could create mud to be slinged against us in the future, whether its in our immediate sects, work places or even political spheres. I totally agree without intending to shoot myself in the foot; there should be some kind of house-keeping.

It's great to know what to say but even greater to know when to say it and to whom it may concern. Much as we are talking about being authentic and emotionally expressive, we need wisdom and a deeper understanding of the audience.

Focusing on "specific events" such as heartbreaks, childhood memories, conflict, anxiety, depression, failure and trauma because that's what most people expected is not what matters.  The focus would rather be about your responses, your feelings beyond the incidents, the connections and relationships built; the links between the past and the present happenings to future projections.

Draw the bigger picture exploring the changes in the thoughts, behaviour and feelings. With this analeptic power of writing, carefully chosen words can ease pain both with the writer and consumer and the reverse is true. Remember that the tongue is a double edged sword and so much can be unravelled when pen meets paper. Don't set your own emotional trap.

Engaging in past pains may further hurt rather than heal us. We have seen victims of rape traumatised when summoned as witnesses confessing that they are living through such painful moments twice thereby compounding emotional issues. One needs to be very courageous and more adept at expressing and experiencing their emotions healthily. I have seen Joyce Meyer and Oprah Winfred talk about their bitter childhood but with grace and that you don't just build in a day, be patient with yourself.

I know that for most of us, about this time of the year, all the air smells like roses, but let's not pollute it with emotions we can not bear. Take time off to build that self-awareness, self-compassion and self-command as well as identifying the most appropriate medium of expression. However, there can always be channels of expression when one intends it to be therapeutic. Prayer, meditation and accountability partners have always been helpful to me. In other words call upon God before anyone else and He'll always see you through. Seek secondary help from "listeners" and like minded people with good intentions depending on a case by case.

Expressive writing may be a skill we need to interest ourselves with in order to have a positive society-building and yet authentic communication.
All in all, for whatever you write, ensure that if it were read to you 100 years later, it would still put a glow in your heart but also have the freedom to grow and change opinions.

Radical authenticity

To become deeply comfortable and at ease with honest communication is one thing that has escaped our societies. Most of us have given in to societies persuasive culture of lies, deceit, ommissions and judgement.

Radical authenticity provides tools to enable one let go of one's own judgement, embrace love and the truth at whatever cost and to let go of the worries about other people's judgement. As the bible says, speak the truth and it shall set you free. There is so much freedom in self expression.

In this era of Snapchat, Instagram and Facebook, we wear so many masks and have become imprisoned by our own audiences. Applying cosmetics to our stories has killed the authenticity of many tellers. We have become comfortable portraying ourselves as watered down versions of who we really are and lost the truth in just so many white lies.  Who is watching out for our hidden emotions, broken souls and anything messy the world doesn't want to hear about?

We are fond of sharing our ups and not downs, always fronting the success story with no dents or corners. There is power in sharing our insecurities, vulnerabilities, worries, disappointments and weaknesses. That kind of bravery builds relationships, friendships, communities, ideas and our own selves. Could it be that we all have trust issues? That we would rather leave some parts of the story under the pillow?

In the following segments of my blog, I'll be joining the rest of writers challenging the platitudes about authenticity and being mindful of all our conversation with honesty and condor. I hope to inspire more people to not only speak their minds but also write their hearts.