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.