Oh Uganda!

I want to speak of our hope.

I want to boast of your beauty.

I want to dis-approve their negative stereotype.

I want to speak of our sun so bright-

Our soils so rich,

I want to defend our pearl of Africa’s crown.

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But-

how can I sing such a sweet song in this sea of bitterness

How can I celebrate my mother Africa-

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When Our children are neglected by parent and state.

When Our rural lands know nothing of a  liberty from extreme poverty.

When our women-

Bruised in the face,

Body aches so intense,

Bent back,

Bonny baby on her back-

hoe in hand-

She tilts,

she’s burns

as

she breaks

Yet still

she cannot secure enough-

for her child to eat,

or her man to be pleased,

for her child to be safe

or herself – to be a decent human being.

want to- once again  make the world jealous my African-ness

As I tell of my heritage and cultural belongingness

As I boast of my  grandmother’s kindness

As I sing of my joyous extended families

As I speak of my respectful- ordered but classless societies

I want to defend our pearl of Africa’s crown

How can I celebrate mother Africa-

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When our men no longer hold the pride of a hunter.

When they are no longer marked with the wit of the fox-

nor the tact and creativity of one that has cut a buffalo’s head.

How can I sing such a sweet song in this sea of bitterness

When our circumcised men are as coward as those that have never faced the knife!

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HOW!???!

When our leaders cheat her people with big words, empty promises, big- nothing- acts as the crazy wide eyed, pale faced banished witch doctors did!

 

When Our children line up on the high end roads…

Only 5 years old

Scattered brown strands of hair

sad face

pot belly

bonny begging hand

But we turn the other side as we pleasure ourselves in a convenient a blame game.

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Our youths line the roads for prostitution-

We speak a little about it.

Yet in the other hand we nudge a cheap note into their hands-

And as we have done too often- we exploit the young, innocent and needy.

I want to show off our drumming,

our singing,

Our dancing,

Our resilience, efforts and progress

I want to show off our history as our story and not as an account of White imperialism

I want to converse about  

Our unique climate and  biodiversity

Our strong spirituality and unbreakable solidarity

Oh Uganda, I know we cannot be perfect

but I know we can be better

Better for our children

so they can sing the sweet songs of who we really are!

With love,

-Amanda From Uganda-

The Saintly and Un-Saintly

A saintly life is only for the sent,

Not for the me that cannot lent,

Not for the Me that can relent.

A saintly life is only for the bright,

Not for the Me that fate hasn’t deemed as part of that plight.

For a saint;

must march straight,

love and speak right…

He mustn’t stain a thing,

nor harbor any hate-

But-

As my body shrinks- as my heart expands, as I realize my place in this demonic world system of oppression- How can I be a saint?

How can I love You when You have what I want?

How, when You mercilessly and thoughtlessly take what is mine, what I need!

How, when my mind is marred with the pains of loss,

With the cross of rejection- and the charity of pity

See, I too want to live saintly

But I cannot get myself to forgive and feel less- when my whole being is stolen away by You!

I cannot pretend that all these…feelings aren’t there

I dread You as much as I hate You-

I’d kill- had You not over dosed me with this,

…your saintly pill…

Clearly You are a better person-

For in your treason-

You can forge a beautiful smile.

As You cast me in prison-

You can sooth me over with kind empty words.

In this portion of your poison-

there is an addictive sweetness-

Clearly You are a better person

For You are a saint

So unlike the rest of us You have mastered the art of wickedness, wretchedness and all forms of selfishness with a tint of righteousness-

Yes, Saintly man!

You are a better person- But underneath your egg shell careful walks and acts we all know that you are only a saint because you are exactly what the Devil is:

A hypocrite that is as bad as I

And I- I- I  am a fool,

For I saw it all too late!

#WordsBeautifulWords

via Daily Prompt: Saintly

( Previously posted on my old blog: Fanatic Seeker)

—

My eyes itch

My body is tired

I feel drowsy

But this demon

Will not let me be.

She pokes at me

Teases me with only a snippet of herself

And before I can fully settle into the majestic castle of her dream land

I am jerked awake.

My eyes are heavy

They are red pepper red

They feel strained

But this demon

Will not let me be

It’s almost 4 am

But the more I want her

The more she teases and runs

I want sleep

I can’t sleep

So, I want sleep more

But this demon

Will not let me be

So,

Let me stare in the air.

Let me hope that as the winds of her rejection blow o’er me-

Her surfeiting appetite will sicken and so die

Then in peaceful rest I too will so lie.

YOU for ME

Part 2

When the cold is gone-

When the open sky becomes as clear as glass.

… … …

When my goosebumps become a heat rush-

When my contrite spirit births a defiance.

… … …

When whispers cease-

When lullabies end.

… … …

When your fingers grow numb from caressing my ears.

And my ears become numb to your touch-

… … …

Do not leave me.

For…

The cold will return-

The sky will grow dark again-

My goosebumps shall erect once more-

And my spirit will still long for you.

And…

In the absence of my need for you-

You will remain my need!

Then…

I will surely know that you are for me!

So…

Do not leave me.

Part 3

When you are for me

I will not be for you

But- Do not leave or live without me

When I am for you

You will not be for me

But

I will not leave or live without you

Hear- Wind of Change

Dear wind of change,

Come again-

Come so heavy-

Prune us again

Make right your flaws

We need you today.

Dear wind of change,

Your children no longer listen to us-

Your children have betrayed us-

Your children have abandoned the freshness which you taught them-

Your children terrorize us for their own ends.

We need you today.

Dear wind of change,

Today is more sour than yesterday.

Today our own milk us.

They brutally kill your Sankara spirit

As they dance over the corpse of your Lumumba

They say your Mandela cannot live without selling us out

And your Nkrumah will die because of ill motivated white rumor

We need you today.

Dear wind of change,

Raise from your grave

Because for you-your great grand children crave

Raise the dust higher than the tapping feet of the Larakaraka dancers

Shake us- show us the havoc of our own greed

We need you today

Dear wind of change

I heard the elders will convene today-

They will meet under the Arusha tree- and later in the Addis Ababa temples

They will not have me seat among them because I speak the language of the old

My ideas stink of your stench-

They say they love them- but in practice we are their foe

Hati katukore bati

Come-to us-again

Come-on your great grandchildren-so heavy

Come prune us-like once you did

Make right their flaws through us

We need you today!

Why I won’t let my fish go!

So,

I won’t hide- I won’t enshroud

I am one of those- The ones that; Pre-social media tax ( aka OTT),

Scrolled and crawled the internet for a really good VPN

Yes,

I am that adamant, unswerveing, obdurant social media user that refuses to hand the government another zinch of my hard-earned shillings

See,

I will not let another fish escape from my thread-bear, tattered khaki pant pockets

Just to furnish the other boys’ extravaganza

I said

I will not let another fish escape from my thread-bear, tattered khaki pant pockets

Just to acessorize their sea of deceitful political songs

I repeat

I will not let another fish escape from my thread-bear, tattered khaki pant pockets,

Just to;

strengthen your security

In the face of gross national insecurity

To;

feed your mouth

As;

famine and drought cracks mine- month after month

To;

pay your medical bills

As;

I am sedated on death pills

To;

prep, educate your offspring

As;

mine seat in chairless classless Schools

As they;

read in bookless, teacherless, less informed schools

As we;

clatter in roofless homes

And break unable to dream in this great land

Maybe for once-

Your big great mansions

Your mighty untaxed bussinesses

Your monstrous salary

And never ending allowences

Should think of filling the “gap”

For as I said,

I am that adamant, unswerveing, obdurant social media user that refuses to hand the government another zinch of my hard-earned shillings

Yes

I will not let another fish escape from my thread-bear, tattered khaki pant pockets

Just to furnish this obscene extravaganza.

Yours always,

Amanda from Uganda

#SocialMediaTax #OTT #VPN #FairTaxation #Artiel #MTN #Africell #FreeInternet

My Lioness

She can’t get her to shut up

Her screams are excruciating-

She bounces her

She only kicks the more

She braves the dark cold night of the 1997 wet season-

But the other only screams the louder

Nothing pleases the tinny toddler she holds.

Its now right about 5am-

She’s been doing this for the last 4 hours

She needs her rest!

But it is clear that the child’s gibberish is a lamentation to their dead parents

So as she

Vomits all feeds

Cries herself to a wild fever

She must;

hold her-

Forget her own sorrow-

And learn to love her mother’s child where she is not!

Ntale– the lioness

Will not go to school tomorrow

She will not play with the other 13 year olds

Nor will she be allowed the errors of a growing child

Ntale– the lioness

Will not giggle with cute boys

She will not play house

Nor can she be petty as all teens enjoy

Ntale– the lioness

Will have to be the arms of love

She will have to hold herself under the nimbus cloud of unmeasured expectations

She will be an abrupt- unprepared mother to her sisters

Now

Ntale – the lioness

Must tell them the story of their parents

She must be louder and more persuasive

Than all the rest

The ones that spoke of them as

Unfortunate

Cursed

The ones that stigmatized them

Calling their mother

A mad woman

Their father

An outcast

And their union

An abomination

The ones that

saw them as only AIDS

Ntale– the lioness

Smiles

Teaches

Loves

Ntale– the lioness

Has empowered the children of the “cursed”

With her unshaken strength and character

With her graceful demeanor

She preaches life

9th March

The day is ending!

Almost every writer I know has long scribbled their thoughts-

Days like these are perfect to get your voice heard!

I want to be heard too- but I guess I just have a way with writing last- or having the words form out too late.

So although women’s day has concluded-

I hope that you can spare a second to just read my thoughts.

Today-

I am seated in an old, dilapidated mini van. I am cramped into this 14 seater vehicle with 20 other people. Everyone is in everyone’s space- nonetheless she bears us.

Nobody makes a fuss.

No one minds.

We all say nothing.

This is the story of public transportation in a Ugandan matatu.

For we will not arrive without the wealth of her selflessness.

Today-

I am seated in an old, dilapidated mini van. She slowly- very painfully mounts the hills, deeps into a gazillion of pool sized potholes- as she braves it all, the croaky sound of her engine speaks but the tales of over-use, misuse and sheer exhaustion.

Nobody makes a fuss.

No one minds.

We all say nothing.

So still she drags us along with the baggage of our ruthless, inhumane expectations and demands.

I am seated in an old, dilapidated mini van. But,

The skin of her seat is bear scraped metal covered in dirt, dust, and rust-

It’s clear that the years of corrosion have penetrated her admirable resilience.

And although her ceaseless hope embodies a great perseverance- even a toddler’s eye she can no longer fool.

She is human.

But,

Nobody makes a fuss.

No one minds.

We all say nothing.

We choose not to see it.

She will serve us- but we won’t serve her…

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