Browsing Date



A Career, A Child

December 13, 2016 • By

African Child courtesy of Nicole Zeug


A long not so long time ago, it was primary, secondary, university, work, marriage, wedding and then children. Thank God but blame him too for the surprises since this has greatly changed. Nowadays, a sigh, nowadays, another sigh, nowadays it is relatively different. It is shorter and more ‘shameful’. Boys and girls alike do it this way; primary, secondary, university, child, university, child, work and almost no marriage.

Somehow we have been plunged into a generation that refuses to stand up for its actions brought about by the technology created by that same generation. In one home, there is a parent spraying all sorts of words she can remember from ill-baked vocabulary to criticise why she conceived at such a tender age. This same parent has equipped her home with a 52Inch screen she hardly monitors. Her child is then lectured by flashes of pornography and mentored by porn stars. The inevitable happens. One good round of protected sex leads to more rounds of unprotected sex and sweet leads to seed.

However, as all these things happen around us, one thing for certain is there is no greater feeling that comes from carrying your own child in your arms, no matter what age you gave birth at, society will sting, will call you all sorts of hideous names but society would secretly wish to share in your joy.

The moment you welcome a new child into this world, trust what may, your world will stumble. For a man, if he stays that is, the troubles are avoidable, he can choose to sleep in the living room away from a night’s noise but for a woman, the term childbearing comes into play; she has to deal with a crying child, the poo and the pee, trying to smile when deep down you are dying to have a nap of just two minutes and come to terms with the fact that, the once flamboyant firm breasts will lose shape and so shall her body.

As all these things whirl around you, that child you now hold deserves a decent life and this means you have to get on your feet and work. If you are lucky enough, the person who put the child inside you in the first place stays, if you are not, he sprints at the first opportunity.

Hope to continue 

Image Credit: Nicole Zeug


Rise of Besigye – A fictional narrative

September 10, 2016 • By


There was a strange feeling that night like a familiar ghostly memory one hated. Uganda had its access to social media cut-off, many internet users felt there was nothing else to do on the internet.  It was in the year 2016, elections had just been concluded and results swiftly announced after with so many missing parts especially the calculations that would leave a grade I child feeling bright.

The ruling party, National Resistance Movement was again declared victorious, a declaration many expected but a result few agreed with or even celebrated. A big win margin it was, and opposition flag bearer Kizza Besigye watching on TV from his house seated in a brown leather low armrest couch sighed in disbelief. It was his fourth attempt yet the results somehow still fouled him.

That evening, a day before the announcement of final results, Besigye after a hectic day went to bed nearly victorious. He was winning. He won while awake and lost as soon as his heavy eyelids gave in to sleep. If he needed to win, he had to stay awake, but there was only one problem, he was only one Besigye who needed to rest.

Every election period, the election results showed up to mock Besigye, they would come so close but end up being snatched by another lover leaving him stranded and crestfallen.

The following morning when Besigye woke up, previous day tally seemed to have changed sides to the NRM Camp like a disloyal servant. One man believed to be at the centre of this controversy was Eng. Dr. Kiggundu, the electoral chairperson. He stood at about 4 and a half feet tall, possessed a timeworn wrinkled face with full blown dull eyes, and spoke with an extremely weak voice – the same voice that would decide Uganda’s next president.

There was something unkempt about him, he appeared arrogantly untrustworthy which was made worse by his decision to speak less often and if he did, he spoke few words like a guilty suspect… be continued

Photo: Besigye campaigning in Jinja courtesy of News Week

Fiction, Prose

A University Graduate

August 8, 2016 • By

A young man dressed up in brand new cloths for the first time in his adult life set out to join Gulu University in the year 2012. He carried with him a calculator, half a sack of rice, confidence and blessings of the village. He sat on a boda – boda and crossed his arms like many rich people do when aboard such machines. Gulu he was told, was like London; tarmac all over right to people’s door steps, this town never slept because it did not tire, vehicles were as many as the people and beautiful buildings erected everywhere.

Several people gathered for the send-off; his parents held themselves and sobbed silently like they were witnessing his abduction. They had heard stories of iron bar men and prostitutes who could toy with their sons’ good looks. The local village councilor, a big bellied poorly built mayor partisan to any opportunity that arose stroked his mustache in awe. Many were happy for he would return with first hand stories from Gulu. The small engine roared to life, jerked forward and he waved to the confused looking crowd. It would be a new chapter in his life.

3 years later dressed in a black academic subfusc/gown with a square cap seated on his head, it was time to leave the district where alcohol is more common than water, where girls spread their legs for food and boys still think sagged pants has any meaning, where tarmac is just small stones pilled on or besides each other like lazy lovers lying by a pool not some hidden treasure, a city where no same story is actually the same, and go back to the little confinement that birthed him.

Opira had acquired a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration. It would be the first degree within his clan or village, the first across the many hills he has to travel through to get home. He was happy to have accomplished something the village mayor and chairman of Anaka only romanced over the radio.……………..