Whether the weather withers

Withers of all might, in the darkest of nights,

Upon no night, shall my cling give way.

O way, way, damn that word way!

Way, you will not weigh me away!

Way, away with you way!

I, hath borne what must be bore before,

Thus, I can carry through the blood, the thirst, the war,

And, this cold cold I can take much more.

For

Whether, the weather withers,

Withers of all might, in the darkest of nights,

Upon no night, shall my cling give way.

You can take, break,

You can block, mock

You can give, thieve

You can…

I shan’t give you way

It’s as if I can feel every inch of my own inadequacy-

It’s like-

Tsk-

Like an itch that can’t be scratched

A thirst that won’t be filled

A string that’s pulled too hard

Like

The pain of waking up from a very, very, very beautiful dream that you realize can’t be attained.

It’s as if I can feel every inch of my own inadequacy-

My mind races down the lane- the long list of everything,

my head,

my friends,

our magazines,

religions,

my expectations

say I must be-

In this moment- I am not!

I hold my head up.

Spread that smile as spread on bread.

My insides shrink.

I realize the climb was not on a mountain- it was upon a tread mill…

I am stuck.

It’s as if I can feel every inch of my own inadequacy-

I run to hide- but on my back this hide doesn’t cover much.

My peeping flesh can see it’s;

claws digging in-

it’s green, red and blue melting flesh burning through my bones-

it’s dangling eye balls balling with the esteem of my very being.

The monster will not leave.

My panting, whooping dry cough and buckets of sweat is heaven to this ice coldness

And so I will close my eyes

I will squeeze and squeeze until I can hear a better voice.

For,

When I finally get it- there is no sweeter release than finally scratching a stubborn itch

Nothing fresher than a drop of water on a prolonged thirst

And,

This tread mill- will make the mountain climb quicker

After all, this monster is as feeble as a bruised reed

For this is only a feeling…..

(Fine art by Mark Johnson)

As of 21st May.

And so Uganda’s house of thought sat…

Uganda’s house of thought decided to discuss teenage pregnancy…

The majority females that sat in this Uganda house of thought suggested vehemently that; every girl who got pregnant in school especially primary, must be chased out of school-😳😳😳

When asked to give rationale to support this “solution” these “thinkers” said,

“the presence of pregnant girls in schools will encourage more sex”😳😳😳😳

And there- their “thought process” was complete- any challenger from now on will be the begotten child of the permissive spirit of promiscuity-😭- such a prophet will be stoned with bitter rocks wrapped in the pretext of the preservation of cultural morality!

On the other hand- the women and men of “grand thoughts” ( the ones in the Uganda house of thought) will be paid handsomely for this deeply “insightful remedy”

By and by, only the girl child will be expected to leave school- “because the girl child made herself pregnant”

By the by- to these great minds sexual feelings and desires are stirred mostly by the seeing of pregnant girls -not by hormones or no sex education… so it makes complete sense- see no pregnant girls- have no sexual desires- have no sex- have no in-school pregnancies. Watch out world 🌎 – Uganda’s house of thought 🇺🇬 might have just found out the secret to ending all untimely sexual activity among our young populations.

Now, you’d be a fool to think that this can’t work. But don’t ask me how it will work- for I cannot think as greatly as these fellas. However, I am imagining that the coercive power in this “insightful remedy” will be fear- think about it- when we chase pregnant girls out of school- the other girls will be too scared to engage sexually with the very charming boys before them. Also, the causation equation hasn’t come to me yet- but this action is somewhat supposed to deter boys from wooing the girls even when they know they can get away with it. Quintessentially we will arrive at a point x-a place where both girl and boy are way too coy to toy with each other and voila- the calculation is perfect- no more teenage pregnancies

I mean it’s true that this “insightful remedy” and coercive power isn’t really a new trend- actually, it is how most Ugandan families have treated and reacted to teenage mothers-yet still in-school pregnancies persist at an alarming rate- but maybe doing what is failing will work because it has come from the divine utterance of “Uganda’s house of thought”

And while at this- we should trash the stats as well. I mean if nearly a quarter of Ugandan girls aged 15-18 get pregnant each year- it’s no biggie that these typically Primary six to senior four leavers are put out of school as punishment for daring to be fertile women. Also this abomination of early pregnancy has no other root cause than bad behavior- every girl that gives herself in for sex has no real solid other experiential pressures apart from their inability to control their sex drive- and of course the boy is just a victim to this cantankerous spirit of jezebel- so punish the girl- reward the boy with less crowded classrooms.

Oh also statistically less than 30% of the girls that are pushed out of school due to early pregnancies will go back to school. But that is not important- school has just made our women too big headed to control- so hey it’s a plus.😭😭😭

Wow Ugandan house of thought- if this is the kind of solution you are vomiting on us; I suggest you stop using our taxes in enforcing gender mainstreaming because clearly this one act is going to set the whole mission of women empowerment ten fold tracks further behind.

And my dear Ugandans we can’t afford to simply jest at wild proposals like these- we deserve better thinking and thinkers.

I know teenage pregnancies is a problem we are facing- I know abortion especially in our cultural context is a no go zone- but a pro-life country can cook up better solutions than chasing the girl child from school- Don’t you think so???

Yours Always-

Amanda from Uganda 🇺🇬

It’s 01:02 am and I’m still wide awake. I should be snoring- as you should if you are reading this at such an odd hour- but as you are probably feeling; my mind too can’t shush- it is dancing from one thought to the next like a wild roller coaster- I can’t stop it- so I let it roam.

Finally my mind pauses at “Father’s Day”- I chuckle…those are very empty words for me. I try to form them out with my lips in the dark. Maybe they will make more sense. Nope… none at all- I can’t remember my father…all I know about him is his energy and oratory power…everyone at home says I took after him- and the Local council chairperson of Mugosu (my village) lauds him for his persuasive and very charismatic orations. Of course I only hear of all this- I know nothing of it really. So- ya the term father remains pretty alien to me

Then I scroll down memory lane again-maybe a new found sense of celebration for this day will be discovered there

I chuckle again- in this small dark room, I realize that for the longest time- the word father only formed from the lips of rich very loved kids; (at least that is what I thought then). You know what- I actually feared the sound of it because for the most part of my childhood my playmates said it to threaten me when I won too many times during our very rough wrestling games. Which, meant I was hitting them more than they were hitting me ( which was not the agreement at the start of the games) so they needed their father’s protection.

So especially if we are referring to biological fathers- I have nothing much to say- oh don’t get me wrong I have loads of imaginations- mostly because that’s how my mind suppresses painful regretful memories. But that is not what the celebration of Father’s Day is about! Right?

So for me Father’s Day ( in the spirit of celebration) brings to mind my mischievous step-grandfather. His handsome 50 year old face glowed with all the love I needed. Everything else, he made irrelevant.

Tata Bwogi Byron as we called him- loved me as much as he loved his liquor bottle. Whenever he was not in the company of the other men…it was my company he wanted- I was like his second bottle. Everywhere he sat- I sat and leaned into his feet- and he let me! He even sometimes let go of his waragi glass and embraced me.

Tata Bwogi Byron loved me- I know this because in all his shortcomings he never forgot me. You see when the spirit would hit his head- He’d go under his thin mattress- draw out his coin collection and allow me to ask for whatever I wanted- sometimes I would ask for sweets, chicken, soda and other times after my sisters whispered in my ears I’d ask for a dress- the next market day he would go out and come back with a polythene bag loaded with second hand dresses of all sizes and shapes and colors- at my age of 5 he’d even get me bras and tell me I’d grow into them🤣😂🤣😂

My tata Bwogi Byron loved me- he taught me his passions. For instance when he was really sober- he’d let me into his tiny carpentry shop. Right on my grandmother’s verander. Oh he was sooo proud of his art- an art that frustrated my grandma as it didn’t bring much food in- but that didn’t wear his pride down. And so on those bright sober days my grandpa would let me in- teach me how to hold a hammer and hit down stubborn nails. He also introduced me to WWE- hahahahaha my grandma and I sat and watched the action as he mistranslated the words for us- but we never knew, he spoke more English than my grandma and the 5 year old me combined – hehehehe….did I also mention that he made watching Power rangers compulsory for my big brother and I? Hahahahaha to- date that is probably the best rule ever!

I think that when we speak of celebrating Father’s Day- too many of us jump to looking for perfect score daddies- but is there any?

My daddy ( tata Bwogi Byron) as you have met him was so imperfect but so perfect too- so perfect in loving me even in and through his imperfections-

so the winning score here isn’t perfect “A” s but rather imperfect “A” s- meaning that you are still able to teach, love and grow your children even with the saddling hurdle of your human-ness! Our imperfections should never be an excuse for being less than our children deserve!

So this is how my tata Bwogi story ends.

In September 2008 he passed on due to a chronic cough he contracted from his drinking friends. The night of his death- I was tucked away in my bed ( in boarding school) I saw him walk into my room, to my bed, and he bid me farewell. Some say it was a dream- I don’t know but the very next day my big sister came to school and told me that tata Bwogi Byron had taken his last breath the previous night.

I celebrate him today- for he was so brave in loving me even when his weakness was so visible- he never hid- never ran- never heard the mockery- he just loved us as best as he knew how!

As you Rest In Peace tata Bwogi Byron- Know that we still celebrate you!!!!

My God is big,

He is greater than all pain

My God is big

He is sweeter than all gain

When I am broken

His touch makes me whole

As I am forgotten

From his mind and grace I still will never fall

My God is big

His word moves mountains

My God is big

His presence melts all stains

My God is bigger than love

In him all things I have.

Trembling hands

Cupped

Over quivering lips-

A cloud of thick tears

Cupped

Over desperate eyes

smile

Cupped

Over inverted smiles

Expectations

Cupped

Over limitations

Hurt

Cupped

Over Heart.

Handi-

Cupped-

Hope.

Courtesy of Mostinside.com