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.