Just ...

Its all about love

2009-11-10T08:17:00.000+03:00

I tried my hand at writing emotional poetry and now I've given emotional prose a try. Check it out - been in love?

God's Promise of restoration

2009-11-09T14:50:00.001+03:00

The Day of the Lord

The prophet Joel prophesied about a terrible day - the day of the Lord - and even though it seems like a long time ago and for a different generation. When you read Joel 2 you cannot fail to see us - today's generation right there.

Joel 2 (King James Version)

1 Blow ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain: let all the inhabitants of the land tremble: for the day of the LORD cometh, for it is nigh at hand;
2 A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains: a great people and a strong; there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the years of many generations.
3 A fire devoureth before them; and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them.
4 The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses; and as horsemen, so shall they run.
5 Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battle array.
6 Before their face the people shall be much pained: all faces shall gather blackness.
7 They shall run like mighty men; they shall climb the wall like men of war; and they shall march every one on his ways, and they shall not break their ranks:
8 Neither shall one thrust another; they shall walk every one in his path: and when they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded.
9 They shall run to and fro in the city; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up upon the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like a thief.
10 The earth shall quake before them; the heavens shall tremble: the sun and the moon shall be dark, and the stars shall withdraw their shining:
11 And the LORD shall utter his voice before his army: for his camp is very great: for he is strong that executeth his word: for the day of the LORD is great and very terrible; and who can abide it?

God is so merciful, so full of grace and love. He promised to always make a way out for us when we are in trouble. All we have to do is turn back to Him.
Joel continues:

12 Therefore also now, saith the LORD, turn ye even to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning:

13 And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the LORD your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil.
14 Who knoweth if he will return and repent, and leave a blessing behind him; even a meat offering and a drink offering unto the LORD your God?
15 Blow the trumpet in Zion, sanctify a fast, call a solemn assembly:
16 Gather the people, sanctify the congregation, assemble the elders, gather the children, and those that suck the breasts: let the bridegroom go forth of his chamber, and the bride out of her closet.
17 Let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, Spare thy people, O LORD, and give not thine heritage to reproach, that the heathen should rule over them: wherefore should they say among the people, Where is their God?
18 Then will the LORD be jealous for his land, and pity his people.

We HAVE to turn to Him and He promises never to let us down. What is wonderful about our God is that He restores all that we have lost and more. Much, much more than we ever expected or dreamed.
Joel says it all:

19 Yea, the LORD will answer and say unto his people, Behold, I will send you corn, and wine, and oil, and ye shall be satisfied therewith: and I will no more make you a reproach among the heathen:

20 But I will remove far off from you the northern army, and will drive him into a land barren and desolate, with his face toward the east sea, and his hinder part toward the utmost sea, and his stink shall come up, and his ill savour shall come up, because he hath done great things.
21 Fear not, O land; be glad and rejoice: for the LORD will do great things.
22 Be not afraid, ye beasts of the field: for the pastures of the wilderness do spring, for the tree beareth her fruit, the fig tree and the vine do yield their strength.
23 Be glad then, ye children of Zion, and rejoice in the LORD your God: for he hath given you the former rain moderately, and he will cause to come down for you the rain, the former rain, and the latter rain in the first month.
24 And the floors shall be full of wheat, and the vats shall overflow with wine and oil.
25 And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you.
26 And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you: and my people shall never be ashamed.
27 And ye shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I am the LORD your God, and none else: and my people shall never be ashamed.

What a blessing! And He continues;

28 And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions:

29 And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit.
30 And I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke.
31 The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and terrible day of the LORD come.
32 And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be delivered: for in mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be deliverance, as the LORD hath said, and in the remnant whom the LORD shall call.

Now is the time to call upon the name LORD ...

from deep within

2009-10-15T13:23:00.003+03:00

The water was calm and blue on the lake
And the wind whispered softly in its wake
The sound of rippling waves chattering endlessly
As the dipping sun caressed it wistfully
The aura stirred a whiff of romantic anticipation
A heart beat of warm tender yet agonizing expectation

The trees stood tall and straight around the lake
A towering shield a castle wall rock cake
Their shelter crumbling failing unnoticed
A passion slips stealthily through unvoiced
In the depth of the lake, at its centre, its core
Rhythmic tremors like the earth drums rapport

The turbulence begins a rumbling in the deep
The calm turns to turmoil and a charm slowly sweep
Emotions try to surface, so strong and so sure
No attempt can contain their breach of the demure
Bubbling, a volcano, an eruption presumed
Sensations once dormant, can now be consumed

Fear spreads its venom in a sly mulish way
Anxiety, apprehension, and anguish display
Nature won’t be stopped, the explosion begins
Its intensity and sound a million violins
Its pleasure an ecstasy, rapturous colours delight
Pure love, intense, delicate bursts of passion bite

A calm returns to the innocent still blue lake
Soft pleasure, content, satisfaction in its wake
The winds gentle touch an intimate embrace
A comfort, an affectionate warm loving place
A mutual pinnacle of euphoria coy and demure
The ardour remains profound and secure

©2009 Christina Sempebwa

from the heart

2009-09-25T15:42:00.002+03:00

Song of Solomon 6:1

Where has your lover gone,

most beautiful of women?

Which way did your lover turn,

that we may look for him with you?

Filling out questionnaires

2009-09-09T13:03:00.003+03:00

I don’t generally like filling out questionnaires but when I read this one I thought it might tell me something new about myself and I wanted to take a break from work. So here goes...

1. What time did you get up this morning?
5.30am
2. How do you like your steak?
Well done
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Hair Spray
4. What is your favorite TV show?
NCIS
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
By the sea or lake or a river – near water away from the city
6. What did you have for breakfast?
A mug of coffee
7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Chinese
8. What foods do you dislike?
Sea food – gives me hives
9. Favorite Place to Eat?
At home
10. Favorite dressing?
mmm…
11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
Red, fast and comfortable car
12. What are your favorite clothes?
Jeans – dress, skirts, trousers
14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
½ full
15. Where would you want to retire?
In the country side
16. Favorite time of day?
Morning
17. Where were you born?
Namirembe
18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
Cricket
19. What is your favorite radio program?
BBC Network Africa
20. What is your favorite music genre?
Classical (piano) & African gospel especially from South Africa
21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
Nobody
22. Bird watcher?
Yes
23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Morning
24. Do you have any pets?
No
25. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share?
Will soon be moving to my own house
26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Teacher, Secretary, Doctor, Vet Doctor …
27. What is your best childhood memory?
Singing Peter Rabbit with my Dad on the piano after lunch before going back for afternoon school
28. Are you a cat or dog person?
Dog
29. Are you in relationship right now?
No
30. Always wear your seat belt?
Always
31. Been in a car accident?
Yes
32. Any pet peeves?
Not really
33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
Vegetarian with extra cheese
34. Favorite Flower?
White carnations
35. Favorite ice cream?
Pistachio
36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
Don’t have one
37. How many times did you fail your driver’s test?
None
38. From whom did you get your last email?
Quarantine Summary
39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
Siblings and Lesanza Girls
40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
Yeah, but can’t tell
41. Like your job?
A lot!
42. Broccoli?
Yes please
43. What would be your favorite vacation?
The Bahamas with my girls
44. Last person(s) you went out to dinner with?
My boss
45. What are you listening to right now?
Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5 Emperor
46. What is your favorite color?
Purple
47. How many tattoos do you have?
None
48. What’s you favorite animal?
It’s a tie between an Elephant and a Dolphin
49. What time did you finish this quiz?
12.21pm
50. Coffee Drinker?
Yes

An encounter ...

2009-08-21T10:22:00.005+03:00

I sent out a cry for help and it was answered. This is sort of how it went down…

Never Alone

In the depth of my misery
In the cloudy fog of pain
A quiet yet firm voice spoke

In the heart of my remorse
In the hollow pit of emptiness
The words were strong and clear

“I am here
I have always been here
Will you let me help?”

In surrender to my Lord
A calm stillness overshadowed
the hurt, the anguish, the agony

The constricted chest
Still tight
The hollow tummy
Still empty
The broken heart
Still in pieces
The cloudy mind
Still foggy
The torn soul
Still ripped

Beyond all is the spirit
Alive, strong, and whole
In His hands, His control
Have faith, just believe

©2009 Christina Sempebwa

Deep expressions...

2009-08-19T11:29:00.009+03:00

I fell off the deep end and it's as if I have never learnt to swim! I have heard that you never forget this sort of thing so I don't know for the life of me why I can't seem to stay afloat. I am sending out a prayer for help ...

Help me Lord

There's a constriction in my chest
However much I try to relax it
It just becomes tighter and tighter

There is a pit in my tummy
However much I try to fill it
It just grows deeper and deeper

There is a hole in my heart
However much I try to mend it
It just gets bigger and bigger

There is a cloud over my mind
However much I try to clear it
It just becomes thicker and thicker

There is a tear on my soul
However much I try to repair it
It just spreads out more and more

Dear Lord, I pray
Please help me!

An expression ...

2009-08-13T16:45:00.002+03:00

Most of the time I write for children, but this below is an attempt at writing something deep, emotional and from the heart. My usual genre was hard to by pass so along the way there are new words and words that don't make sense at face value. I encourage you to look below the surface and see if this says anything at all to you.

Aboard the Banenbrown

My life was calm and organized
With a firm solid simple routine
Then out of the blue it bamugalised
Crept over me, a smothering smoky screen
My heart completely turned upside down
Righting occasionally then plummeting again
My emotions threatened me to drown
The pain, the pleasure, should I complain?

All it took was a word
A sentence, a phrase, quite absurd
Rational thinking became pretty blurred
Hidden feelings surfaced, up all stirred
A promise, a touch, a look
And a tingling will gradually spread
Like a river or soft flowing brook
Taking all coherence, asparagus thread

I’m sinking, what shall I do?
Crazy passions weigh me down
Seek pleasure, pursue cordon bleu?
Or lucidly dismount the banenbrown?
My cloudy head can’t think
My heart is in control
My blood’s turned purplish pink
My sanity? marsupial mole

©2009 Christina Sempebwa

Don't settle for just anything

2009-05-15T10:34:00.008+03:00

Someone sent me and a number of others around the city, these photos and the captions with an encouraging message to all women not to settle for just anything, but to know that God has the best for you if you will only be patient.

First Lady Michelle Obama’s First Boyfriend Speaks Out

A man named David Upchurch is now telling media sources about his stint as First Lady Michelle Obama’s first boyfriend. The then 18-year-old Mrs. O was escorted by him to her Whitney Young High School prom in Chicago (above pic). They grew up together, were neighbors in the Chi, and David now lives in Colorado Springs , CO .

He says the reason they broke up is because he didn’t have his life together and he was “a screw up”. He says: “I always knew Michelle was special and would make a difference in the world.” I guess the First Lady wasn’t taking any ish even back then. Seven years later she met a law student named Barack Obama. And the rest is history. Love it.

I was very impressed with how things had gone so well for Michelle. She certainly made the right choices. I was however very amused by a comment from one of the people on the circulation list. I'm sure she won't mind me sharing it here.

"Kati ex ali mukusitula buveera."
What an under statement!

The Doctor's waiting room

2009-04-14T12:39:00.004+03:00

I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room with my ten year old daughter. She was restless, feverish and worried about getting a 'prick'. To distract her from her illness and the doctor, we made up this sort of meaningless but fun poem. By the time we were writing the third verse, she had settled down, was contributing enthusiastically and genuinely enjoying herself. The thing is that you can go on and on and on. Luckily for us we were called in to the doctor’s room and had to stop. I hope it will brighten your day. Don't look for any meaning from it, just enjoy the rhyming nonsense.

Fun with Colours

My favourite colour is blue
How I feel when I have the flu
Head light as a fly
Temperature high
What’s going on? I don’t have a clue

Red can be an angry colour
On the walls of Aunt Bee’s parlour
The room is so hot
From her potion pot
It’s nothing like a fancy gala

Purple is the colour of calm
Like the wind blowing on my palm
Whispers of peace
Chocolate puzzle piece
Sunsets on a vegetable farm

When I think of the colour yellow
I don’t imagine anything mellow
But something bright
And filled with light
An award winning practical fellow

I really like the colour pink
Nothing to do with the kitchen sink
Soft party frills
Oganza spills
And a fashionably fresh fruit drink

Green stands for natural and earthy
The trees, grass and things murky
Not enviousness
Or sly jealousness
But all things fun, free and quirky

Black draws the darkest of all
Bold and bland as a brick wall
Stands proud and clear
Both front and rear
Like the face of our own city hall

©2009 Christina Sempebwa

A Butterfly & A Child

2009-03-12T16:21:00.001+03:00

A butterfly transforms

Like the life of a child

It blossoms into beauty

Like an adolescent will do

A butterfly is fragile

Like the life of a child

It’s delicate, soft, but firm

Like a teenager will be

A butterfly will fly away

Free to see the world

Like a child will explore

Eventually, cautious and wise?

Playing in the Rain

2009-03-06T10:46:00.003+03:00

When I look back to my childhood, there are many things I remember that were fun. High on my list was being out in the rain and playing. Not in a storm mind you, but I it was so much fun playing in a drizzle that went on and on. Of course there were always consequenses afterwards. I watched my children playing in the rain one day and it brought back such memories.

Playing in the Rain

Playing in the rain is fun,
Especially when it drizzles.
At times we even see the sun,
We hope we won’t get sniffles!

On special days the sun shines high,
It’s called a monkey’s wedding.
A rainbow streaks across the sky,
Fabulous colours displaying!

We splash around in muddy pools,
Our rubbers spread the puddles.
With shampoo mud and other tools,
We make such dirty bundles!

What fun we have out in the rain!
The raindrops splash our faces
We try to catch them again and again
They’re everywhere in all the places!

What a treat! How exciting to play in the rain,
Especially in a drizzle,
All too soon it begins to wane,
What a sight we are! What a frizzle!

© 2004 Christina Sempebwa

More on Kiteng's Adventures

2009-03-03T09:54:00.001+03:00

You know how nerve wrecking it is going though an interview process. All that preparation, making sure you are wearing the right clothes, researching the organization before hand, wiping sweaty hands and going to the toilet a hundred times before the actual interview… I know that for some people it’s just another ‘thing’ to do today and no big deal, but for most people it is an ordeal that they consider of great importance. Kiteng shares an interview experience at her new school.

An Interview

Ddamba had persuaded me to join the Drama club at school and now here I was sitting in the drama room waiting for Mr. Mvulandimbula to discuss my membership. I fidgeted on the chair looking at the clock on the wall. It was only ten past three and the bus didn’t come until four, I thought. Maybe I should go to the library and do my homework. I don’t have to join the drama club today. I could always come back tomorrow or next week or even next term.

“Kiteng, thank you for keeping time,” Mr Mvulandimbula’s soft baritone interrupted my thoughts. “I do apologise for being late myself.”

“I haven’t waited long sir.”

“Very good, so where did you say you come from, Kiteng?”

“Mene, in Lokomotit District sir,” I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat, hoping that it would be over soon.

“You are very far away from home Kiteng, how long have you lived in the city?”

“It will be exactly one month tomorrow sir,” my heart fell and I stared at my shoes. Well there go my chances of joining the drama club, I thought. Who would want a village bum in the club? I knew I shouldn’t try to join any club so soon on joining the school. It was all Ddamba’s fault.

“I spent a week with a family at Sokotit Trading Centre a long time ago,” Mr Mvulandimbula said. “It is a very remote, but beautiful place. Is Mene near Sokotit?”

“Oh yes sir!” I said looking up at Mr Mvulandimbula. I would never have thought that a teacher at this school would know anything about my home let alone been so close to it. “We get the bus to the city from Sokotit, sir.”

“Why did your family move to the city, Kiteng? People from your home area tend to be very conservative and do not normally travel away.”

“Mother and I moved here because of her work, sir. She works for International Organisation that helps people, sir.”

“What about your father, brothers and sisters, did they remain in Mene?”

“My father died when I was a baby, sir,” I returned my gaze to the floor in front of me. I have never been comfortable talking about family especially to a stranger like Mr Mvulandimbula. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Kiteng, but don’t you have any other relatives?”

“My grandma lives near our house in Mene and Uncle Tilakit, Mama’s brother lives with her, sir,” I said quietly, intently studying the pattern of the wooden tiles on the floor. I had not noticed how systematic they were, I thought. Someone had taken a lot of time laying them out.

“Kiteng, my dear, you don’t have to say ‘sir’ every time you answer a question, alright?”

“Yes sir, I mean yes.”

“Have you made any friends since you joined the school?”

“Yes sir, I mean yes,” I was glad that Mr Mvulandimbula had changed the subject. Now perhaps we can talk about joining the Drama Club. “There is Ddamba from my class. He says that I will be able to make more friends in the Drama Club.”

“Is that why you want to join the club, to make friends?”

“Yes sir,” I looked away from the floor tiles and back at Mr Mvulandimbula. “Ddamba is also a member of the club.”

“Have you ever acted in a play before, Kiteng?”

“Yes sir, I was an angel in a Christmas play at my Missionary School in Mene.”

“That is very good, Kiteng! Did you enjoy acting in the Christmas play?”

“Oh yes, sir. I wore a long white dress, white stockings and large white cardboard wings.”

“Do you still have the costume?”

“No sir, the Nuns keep all the costumes.”

“Are you Catholic, Kiteng?” Mr Mvulandimbula sat up straight and his eyes lit up. “I’m Catholic too. We have a very active youth club at the cathedral. I’m sure I could help you join them. You would be able to make a lot of friends there. Although some of them may not be from this school. Uhm, what were we talking about?”

“Sir, I am not Catholic,” I said quickly hoping that this would not dash my hopes of joining the drama club. “I just went to a Missionary School in Mene.”

“Oh I see,” Mr Mvulandimbula sat back nodding his head as if he had suddenly understood something. “Well that’s alright. Do you like your new school?”

“It’s very big, sir and there are so many children here.”

“Have you tried to talk to the other children, make friends?” Mr Mvulandimbula pushed back his chair and crossed his legs.

“No sir, I am quite happy to have Ddamba as a friend.”

“Uhm, did you have only one friend in your Missionary School in Mene?”

“No sir, I had very many friends, but we had all grown up together.”

“Kiteng, are you afraid that you are different from the other children?” Mr Mvulandimbula uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

I let my eyes drop back to the floor and shifted uncomfortably on my seat. Mr Mvulandimbula was getting too close to the truth and I really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yes sir, I am different,” I said quietly not looking up.

“Are you different from Ddamba?” Mr Mvulandimbula insisted.

“Yes Sir, but Ddamba accepts me as I am.”

“Do you think that Ddamba is different from the other children?”

“No sir, he is like the others, but he treats me like his friend,” I looked up at Mr Mvulandimbula, wondering were he was going with this.

“Have you given the other children a chance to treat you like a friend?”

I was silent wondering what to say. The truth was that I hadn’t made any effort to be friendly or find out anything about the children in my class.

“Not really, sir.”

“Why is that, Kiteng?”

“Sir, I was afraid that they would laugh at me because I come from a small village and my English is not perfect like theirs.”

There I had said it. I am just a village girl and I certainly do not fit in this city school.

“Kiteng, have any of the children been teasing you?” Mr Mvulandimbula leaned forward again and looked me straight in the eyes.

“No sir,” I looked away. I most certainly did not want to be a snitch as well as everything else.

Mr Mvulandimbula looked at me quietly for a moment before he continued.

“Would you like to get to know the other children in your class, Kiteng?”

“Yes sir.”

“The opening activity for the Drama Club is an exercise in which we interact with each other with the aim of breaking the barriers among the group and getting to know each other better. Will you be able to participate in such an activity?”

“Yes sir, I will try.”

Maybe it was good idea to join the Drama Club after all. I thought.

“Welcome to the Drama Club, Kiteng,” Mr Mvulandimbula stood up. “I shall see you next week and don’t worry about making friends, it will all work out eventually. Just keep an open mind and give the other children a chance.”

“Thank you, sir,” I stood up as well.
Mr Mvulandimbula left after handing me a pamphlet about the club. I walked out of the room relieved, excited and a little bit apprehensive about being in this club. At least I had a week before the first meeting. Hopefully I would be more settled in the school by then.

Kiteng's Adventures continue

2009-02-27T08:47:00.004+03:00

Have you ever been invited to a party that you really wanted to go to but wasn’t sure if you would fit in and you didn’t really have a dress to wear? It one of those times when you want to go but are glad you are not invited because you don’t have the right outfit for the occasion. Does this even make sense? Never mind, Kiteng is sharing what she went through when she had her first birthday party invitation.

Invitation to a Party

“A party, a party Kiteng!” exclaimed Ddamba running up to me and waving a pink envelope in front of my nose. I was already making my way to the bus after the long school day and I wasn’t in the mood for games.

“What is so special about this party Ddamba,” I asked. “Surely you’ve been invited to parties before?” I had never seen Ddamba so excited.

“This is your invitation Kiteng, I’ve been invited too,” he thrust the small envelope into my hands. My heart missed a beat. I was invited to a party! No one had invited me to their party since I joined the school about 3 months ago.

“Go on, open it,” Ddamba prompted, as we sat down in the hot noisy bus.

I tore open the envelope excitedly, a little bit apprehensive and pulled out a small pink card. My heart sank, the invitation was from Mpulani! She was the richest and most popular girl in class or so she made herself out to be.

“Mpulani’s parties are usually fantastic everyone wants to go!” Ddamba’s eager voice broke into my thoughts. “Why are you not excited Kiteng? Not everyone in class was invited.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her, or that I think she is proud or anything, she just isn’t one of my friends,” I thought aloud. “We did the seed germination project together, and she was my partner in the badminton tournament we won last month. Oh and we are in the same dance group in the drama club, but that’s all.” I was really thinking about how delicate and expensive she always looked. I regarded her with respect, fear and a touch of envy. Certainly I was not in her ‘league' and would be terribly out of place at her party.

“Kiteng, to do all that together you must be friends!” Ddamba protested. “Anyway, I know for a fact that she likes you, that is why she invited you to her party.”

“I can’t go, I do not have a party dress, besides I have never been to a birthday party, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Even as I spoke, I knew my arguments were lame and unconvincing, except the one about the dress. I stood up as the bus approached my corner and Ddamba followed. I tried to ignore the puzzled look on his face.

The cool late afternoon breeze felt comforting on my shoulders as we walked to my house and the smell of freshly baked bread and scones that greeted us was reassuring.

“Mama must be home early,” I thought aloud again, but to my great surprise, it was grandmother who was clad in an apron standing by the kitchen stove! For a moment all my fears about the party were forgotton and I ran to hug grandmother.

“When did you come, Grandma? How was the journey? How is my friend Akilla? Are you well?” The questions just came tumbling out. Grandmother laughed hugging me back. She drew chairs for us at the kitchen table.

“One thing at a time Kiteng,” she said pouring tea and freshly baked scones for us.

I introduced Ddamba to her and continued to ask her more questions about Mene Village and her journey. Ddamba was full of questions too. He had never been out of the city and never tired of hearing about the countryside. Soon it was time for Ddamba to leave and I walked him to the corner. He brought up Mpulani’s party again, taking great lengths to persuade me that it would be fun. I finally agreed to go with him and returned home worrying about what I would wear and how I would fit in with Mpulani and her friends.

At dinner that night I could not stop thinking about Mpulani’s party. Whatever was I going to do?

“What’s the matter, Kiteng?” Mama asked. “You are so quiet and you haven’t touched your food.”

I pulled out the pink envelope and handed it to her.

“This is wonderful, Kiteng has been invited to a party!” Mama eagerly passed the invitation to grandmother. “We shall go shopping tomorrow for a party dress and a present for your friend.”

“Thank you Mama,” I answered quietly feeling a little bit relieved, but still not convinced that I would fit in with Mpulani and her friends. At least I would have a dress for the party, I thought.

I turned in early that night and lying in bed, I tried to get rid of the image of Mpulani’s party. An uneasy feeling about the party kept nagging at me. I finally convinced myself to tell Ddamba the next day that I would not be able to go.

It wasn’t until we were walking to the bus at the end of the school day, that I had a chance to talk to Ddamba about Mpulani’s party and my decision. Ddamba was shattered.

“I've already told Mpulani that we would be going together, you can’t back out now!” he responded angrily. “What’s wrong with you?”

I was adamant and he was stubborn. This was our first real disagreement and I felt miserable. I had upset my best friend and he was not even trying to understand my position. We remained silent for the rest of the bus trip and the walk to my house. I couldn’t understand why he had to walk home with me when he was so obviously annoyed at me.

I went straight to my room after seeing how grandma was, leaving Ddamba with her in the kitchen eating scones. There spread out on my bed was the most beautiful ocean blue party dress I had ever seen! I stared at it in astonishment. Ddamba and grandmother had followed me and were peering over my shoulders.

“Wow!” Ddamba exclaimed quietly under his breath, but I heard him.

I had to admit though that the dress was gorgeous and so were the matching shoes next to it. Any girl would be pleased to wear them to an occasion. I was positively thrilled at the thought of wearing the stunning dress even though it would be at Mpulani’s party!

Mama came in and joined us at the door. “Well,” she asked. “Do you like it?”

I rushed up to her and hugged her tightly, “Thank you mama, its exquisite!”

Ddamba and I sat down on the small veranda at the front of the house, watching the world go by.
“I still feel uneasy about going to the party,” I told him. “I don’t have a present for Mpulani and frankly I am worried about how I will fit in with her friends, I am just a village girl.” There I had finally said it.

“Don’t worry about fitting in, Kiteng,” he said. “It will be just like being at school, except this time we shall be at Mpulani’s house and all dressed up. I'll be there with you all the time. And there is nothing wrong with being ‘a village girl’. I like you just the way you are!”

Just then, grandmother walked out to the veranda carrying a small bundle similar to the one that I had carried when I first came to city.

“Are you leaving already grandmother?” I asked quickly, feeling rather let down that I had been at school throughout her visit.

“No dear, this is a surprise for you from Akilla’s mother,” she said laying the bundle on my laps. “She made them especially for you and perhaps one of your friends.”

Oh my God! My jaw dropped as I stared at the lovely handmade Lokomotit leather slippers in my hands. I had forgotton how dainty and elegant their beadwork was.

“They are a perfect gift for Mpulani,” I said quietly, stroking them and turning them over, finding it hard to believe that I had such a magnificent and unique gift for Mpulani.

“Oh thank you grandma,” I jumped up and hugged her. I was beginning to feel excited about the party now that I had such a gorgeous dress and elegant slippers for a present! I looked forward to seeing Mpulani’s face when she opened her gift.

Turning to Ddamba, I smiled shaking my head at him. “I’m so glad you insisted I go to Mpulani’s party, I am really looking forward to it now!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The party was fantastic and everyone loved my dress. Mpulani was thrilled with her present and there were lots of games, food and fun. Mpulani’s house was enormous and elegant! I wonder how they manage to live in such a huge house! Mpulani is really a friendly girl and so are her friends. I was a little bit ashamed that I had judged them because of what they looked like and had not really taken the time to know them. Mpulani and I are best of friends now and Ddamba is my best friend too. Mama says that it is okay to have more than one best friend.

Kiteng's Adventures

2009-02-20T09:46:00.005+03:00

Ever had to change school in the middle of term? It is somewhat daunting when you are the only new person, everyone knows everyone else and they all have friends. Imagine how much harder it is when you come from a completely different community. Here is how Kiteng handled it.

A New School

“Hurry up Kiteng, you must not miss the school bus!” Mama called to me.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” I stood in front of the mirror smoothing back my braided hair trying to get used to the girl looking back at me. I was wearing my brand new school uniform, a smart gray skirt, white blouse, deep green, tie and blazer that sported the school emblem. I had to wear white knee length socks and black shoes. It was very smart and very far removed from the simple bright yellow free hanging dress that I wore at my missionary school back in the village. Nobody wore shoes and socks there.

I hardly touched my breakfast as I thought about how I would fit in with the children at Mazimba Academy, my new school. Would they know straight away that I was from the village? Would I be able to speak English properly like the city folks do? I was so nervous I really hoped I would not trip over and fall in my new shoes or embarrass myself in some way.

“Come along,” Mama said and took my hand as we walked to Baker’s Corner where I would wait for the school bus. How I longed for the familiar mornings in the village getting ready for school. I used to throw on my yellow uniform, after fetching water from the well, and pick up a snack from Grandma before setting off for school. I never had a school bag, just a small plastic bag where I carried my exercise book, a pen and pencil, and the snack that grandma had prepared for me. Akilla, my best friend, would be waiting by the large fig tree at the end of her road and we would walk to school together.

Akilla must be walking to school all by herself I thought a sense of loss creeping over me. My eyes filled with tears and I blinked them away quickly. I really mustn’t cry, I thought willing the tightness in my chest to go away.

“Don’t worry, Kiteng, you will make new friends too.” Mama said as though she had read my thoughts. She her arm around me and pulling me close up against her for a quick hug. “Akilla will always be your friend, and you will see her when we go to Mene to visit Grandma.”

“I know Mama, I just feel nervous about going to this big city school.” I said as we stopped at Baker’s Corner. “Mama, everyone will see me as the village girl. How will I fit in? Why can’t I go home to Mene. My missionary school there was very good.”

“Don’t worry, Kiteng,” Mama said again gently patting my head. “You are a bright friendly girl, of course you will fit in. Mazimba Academy is one of the best schools in the country. You are very fortunate to be going there.” Mama sounded a little bit impatient. “Just be your self and try to relax. It probably won’t be very different from St Mary Mene.”

The school bus drove up at that moment and Mama said her good byes and walked off to the regular bus stop.

As she walked away, I wondered if she had ever had to begin a new school like this. She didn’t seem to understand how hard it was for me. I boarded the bus trying to be as confident and relaxed as Mama expected me to be. I sat down at a window seat and looked around. I was the only person to board the bus at Baker’s Corner and all the children seemed to be looking at me and whispering to each other. They all seemed to know each other and I was the only one who sat alone. I looked out of the window wondering how I would make it through the day.

“Is this seat taken?”

Looking up I found my self staring at the bright smiling face of a boy who had just boarded the bus at the stop next to Baker’s Corner. His large eyes smiled at me and I couldn’t help staring at his untidy stubby hair. That would never be allowed at St Mary Mene.

“No” I replied in a quiet voice, looking away. “I mean the seat is not taken.” I felt flustered and uncomfortable under his steady gaze.

“My name is Ddamba, I am in Class 5.” He said as he sat down next to me. “You are new aren’t you? What Class are you in?”

“I am in Class 5 too.” I answered his last question first turning round to face him.

“This is my first day in Mazimba Academy. My name is Kiteng.”

“Welcome to Mzimba!” Ddamba still had that large bright smile. “It’s a great school. I’m sure you will like it. Everyone does. I will show you around and introduce you to everyone.”

I began to relax as Ddamba told me all about the school. Looking around the bus now, the children were all talking to each other and no one seemed to be paying any attention to me.

The bus turned into the school gates and my heart sank. Ddamba’s voice droned on but my mind could no longer grasp what he was saying. I was appalled at the sight of so many children! Even the buildings looked bigger, and more foreboding than they did on the day of the interview. I sat still in my seat, waiting for the children to alight. Ddamba had stood up as soon as the bus stopped and was already walking off towards the main building.

Oh why hadn’t I gone with him? I thought in despair. I slowly rose from my seat and moved towards the bus doors.

“Hurry up slow coach!” It was Ddamba he had come back for me!

I hurried to join him and we walked towards the school main building. At the large entrance I took a deep breath and set myself to face my first day at the new posh looking city school.

“God, please help me,” I whispered a quick prayer as we entered the building.

Kiteng's Adventures

2009-02-16T09:12:00.003+03:00

Traveling in a country bus in Africa is an experience not to be missed in life. Kiteng shares her journey.

Journey to the City continued

It was dark as we left the house and began the 3 hours walk to the Sokotit Trading Centre. I stayed close to Mama pulling my worn out sweater close around me to keep out the cold wind. I was excited to be going to live in the city, and also sad to be leaving everything that was familiar to me. The excitement was greater though as we left home. I had never been outside at this time and I held onto Uncle Tilakit’s hand tightly feeling safe because it was so big. Grandma had insisted that he come with us to keep us safe on the long walk and wait until the bus left. I opened my small bag of groundnuts that Grandma had given me and we munched on them as we walked away from home. They tasted good but dry, making me thirsty. Mama gave me some fresh banana juice that she had prepared for the journey. The night was quiet except for the loud crunching of groundnuts. When we reached the corner, I stopped and looked back and took a deep breath, taking in all the familiar smells that I was leaving behind.

“Come on Kiteng, we need to get to Sokotit before sunrise, the bus leaves soon after sunrise,” Mama’s eyes shone brightly in the dim light.

My feet were sore and my legs tired when we finally arrived at Sokotit Trading Centre. The sun was just beginning to rise and the colours in the ski were beautiful. It had been a long journey across a fast moving river in a canoe that smelt of rotting fish, and a trek at the edge of a thick forest. There was a short cut through the forest, but Mama said it was not safe. I was glad that we had not taken the short cut. I had heard many scary stories about this forest.
Sokotit Trading Centre had three shops and a tearoom and it was the place where everyone going to the city went to catch the bus.

There was the bus parked next to the tearoom and people had already begun boarding. Mama hurried into the tearoom and bought our tickets from the driver. As we entered the bus I thought everyone could hear the loud thumping of my heart beat. This was my first bus ride. I had been to Sokotit once before with Uncle Tilakit when we escorted Mama on her last visit. The bus was very big and the seats looked soft and comfortable. That time I had stood by the side and waved to Mama. Now it was only Uncle Tilakit who would stand on the side and I would be with Mama in the bus waving to him. I smiled to myself feeling very happy that Mama had decided to take me to the city with her. We chose seats near the back, with me at the window so I could see the different places that we passed through. I made myself comfortable and waited for the bus to fill up and begin the journey.

Finally, the engine started and people began pushing to make their way into the bus with all sorts of luggage. Two large women pushed and shoved, making their way right to the back of the bus. They were carrying large baskets of dried fish. I was glad that I was sitting by the window.

The bus slowly pulled out onto the road at last we were on our way. I looked outside and waved to Uncle Tilakit who had a great big grin on his face, almost as if he was happy to see us go. I wiped a tear from my eyes, I was really moving to the city, I thought. It was actually happening. Mama put her arms around me pulling me against her chest.

“You are going to love living in the city, Kiteng,” she said softly. “This is our chance to be together after all this time.”

“I know, Mama, but I am going to miss being with Grandma and my friends,” I whispered. “May be it would be better for us to stay in Mene. We could just visit the folks in the city and come back.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you will love the city. We shall do so many fun things together and you will go to a big city school. Isn’t it all so exciting?”

“Yes!” I said my spirit lifting as I wandered what all those fun things we were going to do would be.

It was a bumpy and dusty journey with so many stops and people kept getting in at each new stop. At one stop I was asked to stand up so that a grown up, an important person from the trading centre we had just stopped at, could sit down. I was relieved when Mama refused, but she compromised by squeezing into my seat with me so that the important man could have her seat. It was almost midday now and the sun was very hot. The bus was extremely full although it continued to stop to pick up people. My excitement had all gone and I was feeling very tried, uncomfortable and very hungry. We had eaten up all the roasted groundnuts and Mama gave me the last of the banana juice then I rested my head back on her breast and closed my eyes.
I must have dosed off, because Mama was shaking me and saying we had arrived. The bus was still moving and when I looked outside, I could saw tall buildings, nice big brick houses, people walking around on the side of the road, and cars moving along the smooth roads. As I watched the city people getting on with their lives, I wondered if I would ever fit in.

The bus was slowing down and turning into the bus station. Our journey was almost over! My excitement had returned and I couldn’t wait to get off the bus. As soon as it stopped people began pushing each other trying to get out.

“It would be best for us to wait until most people have left, Kiteng,” Mama said when I attempted to stand up.

I settled back by the window and watched people collecting their luggage from the bus conductor. There were people boarding the bus next to ours. Its’ engine was running and there was a lot of shoving and pushing just as I had seen at Sokotit. It was comforting, to know that the city people were no different from us at least when it came to boarding a bus. At last Mama said we could get off the bus and she led the way carrying our belongings. I breathed deeply taking in the city area for the first time. Mama took my hand and we walked out of the bus station into the city.

Kiteng's Adventures

2009-02-09T16:02:00.002+03:00

Kiteng is the little girl who listens to Grandma's stories about the Kingdom of Zindana. She has her own adventures with her friends that I have been writing for a number of years now and I'm still not finished. I haven't even managed to write the chapters in order. So here I will just post tit bits of Kiteng's Adventures.

JOURNEY TO THE CITY

“Wait up, Kiteng!”

I turned to see Akilla running towards me. She looked as excited as I felt. We held hands and hurried on to school.

“Hi Akilla! I waited for you forever at the fig tree. What happened to you?”

“Hey Kiteng,” Akilla squeezed my hand and smiled at me. “I had some extra chore to do this moring. My big sister is going to the city tomorrow and she just had to have all sorts of things done for her this morning.”

“Why couldn’t you do the chores when you get home after the concert?”

“Exactly what I asked her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. They had to be done before I left for school!”

We walked through the school gate and headed for the Drama Room. We were going to spend most of the today practicing the school play. The end of year concert was always exciting, and this year it was a Christmas Play. Akilla and I were both angels, we had the most gorgeous white gowns I had ever seen. They had white cardboard wings and glitter halos pinned to shinning silver crowns.

“I don’t remember ever being this excited about a concert before, Akilla. It must be because my mother will be here from the city. She has never attended any of the school functions before. I do so hope she will not be disappointed in me.”

“I hope so too Kiteng. She’s been away for so long I don’t remember what she’s like!”

I was brought up by my Grandma in Mene Village where we lived with his son, my Uncle Tilakit. Grandma had told me that my father died in a car accident when I was 2 years old. Mother had been devastated and unable to cope with a baby in her grief. She brought me to the village to live with Grandma promising to come and get me once she had sorted herself out. She had gone to stay with her Uncle in the city, and he had arranged for her to go for further studies overseas. Grandma said that apart from the money she sent and the letters she wrote, we did not see her again until last year when I was turning seven.

Mother showed up unexpectedly on my birthday with a gift. Grandma and I had been overjoyed to see her, but our excitement was short lived, when Mother had to leave again the next day. She explained that she had returned from overseas and had to look for work in the city. She promised that she would return to take me once she was settled down. Since then she had visited occasionally, but never for long and never during the school term. This time she said she would stay for Christmas and that I would be returning to the city with her.

“Are you looking forward to going to live in the city, Kiteng?” Akilla interrupted my thoughts.

“I suppose so. I shall miss Grandma terribly, and you, my friends at school, Uncle Tilakit, not to mention the village. To tell you the truth Akilla, I wish I was only going for a visit. Who is going to look after Grandma?”

“Don’t worry Kiteng, I will check on her every day. I’m going to miss you too, you know. Will you write to me?”

“Of course I will, all the time.”

“Look there’s Sister Margo calling us. It must be time to dress up. Come on Akilla, we must hurry.”

The end of year production marked the end of term, and the beginning of the holidays. Everyone in the village attended it. Our missionary school had a reputation for putting on very entertaining shows. The concert was like a dream, perfect. I really felt like an angel in all that light and glitter! I wasn’t nervous when I was on stage as the light made it impossible to see anyone in the audience. Sister Margo was so pleased with our performance, that she allowed everyone to take their costumes home with a promise to bring them to school on Monday.

I was exhausted when we finally reached home, that I went straight to bed. Grandma made me a cup of warm hot chocolate that Mother had brought and I sipped it in bed before I fell asleep.

Mother stayed for the entire Christmas holidays and the New Years day. Grandma made a fuss of her and me saying that she had too since we would be leaving soon.

The day before we were set to leave, Akilla and I sat on a mat by Grandma’s kitchen shelling groundnuts.

“I’m really excited about going to the city,” I said to my friend. “I want to go, but I also wanted to stay.”

“Do you remember when Sister Margo said that people are afraid of change,” Akilla said thoughtful. “I didn’t really understand her until now.”

“What do you mean? Does that have anything to do with my going to live in the city?”

“It does too, Kiteng,” Akilla rubbed her big toe in the soil making circles. “You are just like she said. You want to go but you also want to stay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, going is a change and staying means there is no change.”

“Yeah, you’re right! You sound very clever, Akilla.”

“Not really. I just remember things like that. I am so going to miss you, Kiteng.”
“Me too Akilla. Whate ever will I do?”

“We’ll write to each all the time and visit each other too.”

“Yeah.”

We fell silent, only the sound of the cracking groundnut shells could be heard. I was glad that we were able to spend the evening together. I hardly slept that night thinking that I would not wake up in time and that Mama would leave me behind. Not that she had said she would leave me. It was my over active imagination that conjured up these fears. A gentle tap on the shoulders was all it took to wake me up early the next morning.

For Victor and Clare

2008-11-21T13:45:00.001+03:00

TWO SHALL BE ONE

I’m not really fond of arithmetic
But one thing I know is true
That math’s is always, well systematic
Except when God takes you through

Lend me your ears and I’ll explain
It’s really quite simple to me
Two plus two equals four, that’s plain
But not so with God, you see

Settle down in your seats, we may be a while
I’ll expound on this ‘adding’ thing
The words of my Lord, well they make me smile
They make me just want to sing

There’s ‘three in one’, that’s the Trinity
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
And ‘the two shall be one’, that’s Divinity
Clare and Victor a unit

The truth is I’d like you all to know
That divine summations rock!
The two are joined, become one as they go
Not separate, oh no, a block

“And two shall be one,” the Bible says
It’s really a spiritual thing
Their lives will blend in God’s divine ways
Their vows are sealed with a ring

The mercy of God, amazing!
His grace sufficient for all
His love beyond our understanding!
He picks up all who fall

For Clare and Victor and all us here
To witness this special day
The Lord comes first, last, before ‘ere’
That’s the holy way

To God be Glory and Majesty
Now and forever more
To Him be praise and honour
For all eternity!

© 2008 Christina Sempebwa

Bananas

2008-11-06T17:10:00.006+03:00

I know you love bananas
I can’t imagine why
Those yellow ridge bandanas
Rubber rough pancake pie
Their sweet in hot savannas
Melt into African rye

I know you love bananas
And that’s precisely why
I’ve bought some Tropicana’s
Of the fleshy sticky buy
And a tang of treacle cabanas
To evoke a delirious high

© 2008 Christina Sempebwa

Initiation

2008-10-29T15:52:00.002+03:00

By Eky Ntulo

The rock felt hard, cold and rough as Nzuu sat there quietly trying to steady his nerves. He remembered his grandmother’s caution not to rush, but to be careful, patient, wait for the right calls, and listen for the ancestor’s guidance. He thought about her now. Her wise old face had been warm, but expressionless as she gave him her blessing and prayed for the ancestor’s favour over him during the initiation. That was why he was here. To take the test that will turn him into a man. How he wished that he were still a young boy, playing with his friends as they looked after the cows. All they had to worry about then were hungry lions, leopards and other wild animals that might threaten the herd! This was the big day that all boys eagerly looked forward to, yet equally anxiously dreaded. Nzuu must prove to the clan that he was now a man!

It was early evening the sun would soon be setting over the hills. Nzuu had often sat on this rock with his friends and watched the sunset. Somehow everything looked different today, almost as if the world knew about his initiation. Everybody in his village knew that today was his day. He had been preparing for it since the last moon. Two of his best friends had already faced their test and had passed. They were now men and had stopped hanging around with the “boys”. They seem different somehow when he talked with them. He couldn’t say exactly what had changed in them. They wouldn’t tell him anything about their tests and they were supposed to be his friends! Did he really want to be like them? Did he even have a choice in this matter?

Nzuu’s heart missed a beat as he heard the first call. He stood up quickly forgetting his grandmother’s advice. He was about to face his first challenge! Should he turn back, he wondered as his heart began to pound. He could always take the test next year or some other time. His grandmother would understand as she always did. He turned round and realized that it was too late. The challenge was right before him. He had only one option, to move forward and face it. He seemed to be aware of every part of his body as he began to climb the steep rock in front of him. An old man sat on the ledge holding a beautifully carved walking stick. He too was from the Gyeera Clan. Nzuu could tell from the markings carved into his walking stick and the similar markings on his face. Stumbling, Nzuu made it to the ledge where the old man was sitting. The old man got up as Nzuu approached him. Their eyes met and locked. Nzuu could not tear his eyes away from the old man. He was afraid of what the old man was about to do. The best thing was to keep his eyes on him. He seemed familiar to Nzuu, though he could not remember where he had seen him before.

“I am Lunga,” the old man said. “I am your first challenge.”

His voice was deep and loud in the quiet evening. It echoed in the mountain air making Nzuu jump. For some absurd reason, he had not expected the old man to speak. Nzuu remained quiet. For the life of him, he could not imagine what sort of challenge the old man could present. He began to calm down as he realised how easy it would be to win a race or fight against the old man. His calm was short lived as Lunga lifted his stick motioning for Nzuu to sit on another ledge that protruded out of the rock over the cliff. It did not look safe at all. Could Nzuu trust this old man? Was he really part of his initiation ritual or was he just some mad man playing out a fantasy? Nzuu hesitated as the doubts flooded his mind. The fear and anxiety returned. Who was this old man? Who was Lunga?

The answer seemed to place itself in Nzuu’s head. Lunga was the first elder of the Gyeera Clan. He was supposed to be dead! The words shouted themselves in Nzuu’s mind. His head began to pound and he wiped his sweating hands down his side. He was in the presence of an ancestor! As these thoughts raced through his head, he realized that Lunga could hear them too. Nzuu struggled to get himself together. Was he dead too? What is happening here? No one had said anything to him about dead people! Well ancestors had been mentioned all the time, but it had not occurred to him that they would actually show up as part of his initiation!

Nzuu reached out unconsciously to touch Lunga but quickly withdrew his hand as he felt burning like fire on his fingers. Lunga motioned again to the ledge. As Nzuu moved nervously towards the ledge, he remembered his grandmother’s caution. There was no way out of this; he had to face the challenge. Apprehension and fear made him tense. He was sweating in the cool evening mountain breeze. Would he make it through the test? Would ever become a man?

Some things that really, really ...

2008-10-27T09:44:00.003+03:00

Some things that I really, really bother me:
1. People smoking in public especially at a restaurant even if it is outdoor.
2. People shouting at, abusing, and / or physically punishing a child. (all I see is an adult vetting their personal frustrations on an innocent, maybe naughty, child)
3. People shouting at me or speaking in a disrespectful, patronizing manner to me or anyone else. (Surely this is a sign of low self esteem on the part of the person shouting)
4. Men who pee by the road side or anywhere in the open. (I loved the way the Kenyan Police would handle this with a simple ‘maliza twende’)
5. People who write ‘Am’ instead of ‘I am’. (What is happening to the English language? Perhaps this is Ugandan English, like the ‘salon – salooni’ thing, and I should accept it?)
6. Having dinner late and going to bed on a full stomach.
7. Sugar in my tea or coffee. (yuk!)
8. Seeing my name written with a double ‘S’
9. People who think they have a right to ‘eat’ (read: commit fraud) where they work and they do it in the name of the ‘boss’ who knows nothing about it. (sente zo’mukulu!)10. The skin of tomatoes curled up and floating in my soup, sauce or on my ‘katogo’
11. Violence of any kind!

Some things that I really, really love
1. Listening to children reciting poetry
2. The sound of children singing, especially praises to God
3. Watching science fiction movies that do not contain violence
4. Singing in a choir
5. Reading novels (science fiction, African folk lore, African history, romance, mystery and adventure)
6. The sound of babies gurgling away in their own special language
7. Playing computer games especially word and puzzle games
8. Watching international cricket on my own (so nobody is offended when I shout SHOT, HOWZAT, or stand up for a century)
9. Worshiping and praising God Almighty
10. The peace that comes when you hand over a difficult situation to the Lord and really let go. You know without a doubt that He is in control
11. The joy that comes with beating a deadline

Traditions, Culture, Rites and Rituals

2008-10-15T11:05:00.009+03:00

By Eky Ntulo

“Ntasi, wake up,” Zuba shook her younger sister’s shoulder. “We must leave now if we are to make it to Lubigi before sunrise.”

Ntasi jumped up from the mat where the five girls had been sleeping and looked around the unfamiliar room. Zuba was waking the other girls. They had spent the night in the ‘Tanzi’, the betrothal hut. Realisation flooded her mind and bubble rumbled in her tummy as her excitement grew, mixed with fear. It was her passage to marriage ceremony. She must complete the traditional ‘Mpatanzi’ rituals that prepare her for marriage. Looking around she saw that everyone was awake. Zuba handed her a beautiful pale periwinkle coloured robe. A shiver run down Ntasi’s spine as the soft bluish purplish fabric covered her. The traditional colour of purity, she thought in awe. Only a bride wears this colour and only at her ‘mpatanzi’. She carefully placed a single ‘Vinca’ flower in her hair and breathed in deeply letting her breath out slowly in an effort to calm racing heart. She looked quickly at the vase of ‘vinca’ flowers that her mother would find in the morning. It signified that the rituals had begun.

“Come on,” Zuba took Ntasi’s hand and they joined the others already outside. “We must hurry.”

Even in the dark of the night, Ntasi could see the lovely colourful robes that her friends were wearing. Everything was happening so fast and she felt as if it was happening to someone else, like she was dreaming it all.

It was a steep, rough climb to the Lubigi Falls especially as the girls tried hard not to spoil their delicate robes or scratch themselves. The bride and her companions must be found without blemish. Ntasi had climbed to the Lubigi many times before but never in the dark. She led the way now and was surprised at how easily her bare feet found the familiar path. They made it in no time at all and the girls quickly disrobed and raced each other into the pool by the falls. They had to be in the water before sunrise. Screams and shouts filled the quiet mountain air as one by one the girls jumped into the icy cold water. Ntasi’s tension began to ease as her body adjusted to the water and the girls began to play.

A rainbow appeared over the falls as the sun rose and the cloudy spray of water around the falls took on a bluish purplish hue. The girls fell silent and watched the exquisite display in awe. Ntasi felt her stomach muscles tighten and a flutter began inside. The ancient spirit of purity had arrived and mpatanzi rituals could now truly begin.

What was going to happen next? Ntasi wondered. None of them had ever participated in mpatanzi before. No one knew what happened at daybreak.

“Listen to me everyone,” Zuba’s voice was sharp as it cut into the silence. “The waterfall rite must begin now. Mother told me what to do.”

Ntasi stared at her sister, hearing her words, but powerless to respond. Her heart thumped in her chest and her hands shook. There was no turning back now, she thought, a shiver running down her spine. The strong handsome face of Ndita, flashed before her and an icy calm took over her body. She was ready, she could do this, she told herself, clearing her mind to hear what Zuba was saying.

International Conference - Canada

2008-05-29T02:39:00.002+03:00

I have been dreading leaving my children for two whole weeks to attend this International Conference organised by my employers. I had even thought that perhaps I could find a way of getting out of it. Well, I left the darling girls, crying buckets I must say, on Monday morning (May 26) and boarded my BA flight to London where I expected to connect to Toronto. It was traumatic parting for me as well because I normally don't leave the girls behind on my field trips, but this couldn't be helped.

I chose to fly BA because I believe the British are very organised and time concious and their flight times presented the shortest flying time and the most convenient for me. Imagine my dismay when we were delayed for 3 hours on the tarmac in Entebbe after boarding the plane on time, I might add.

First it was an extra bag.
"The computer in Johannesburg has indicated that the plane has an extra unidentified bag on board which must be located and taken off the plane," the Captain informed us politely. "This will only take 10 minutes and we shall be on our way."

We waited for about 20 minutes and then spoke to us again.
"We have not yet located the bag, but please bare with us, we may be another 10 minutes. We are very sorry about this delay."

He was very good at keeping us informed about what was going on. After waiting for another 20 minutes, the intercom came on again and we all shuffled hopefully in our seats.
"I'm afraid we have not yet found the extra bag. There is a plane behind us that is ready to leave, so we are going to move aside so that it can take off. Kindly remain in your seats with your seat belt firmly fastened."

After another 20 or so minutes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we shall have to return to the terminal and remove all the bags inorder to locate the extra bag," the Captain said in his calm 'I'm totally in control' voice. "This will take about 30 minutes."

So we taxied back to the terminal and waited. There were lots of murmurs around and everyone waited expectantly.

It must have been at least an hour later.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Captain announced. "The extra bag has been located and we are now ready for take off."

The

My Mother

2008-05-16T09:42:00.002+03:00

I wrote this poem for my mother on mother's day. She turned 85 this month and we are so blessed to have her.

My Mother

My mother is
and has always been
a tower of strength for me

My mother is
and has always been
a fountain of love for me

My mother is
and has always been
a treasure of wisdom for me

My mother is
and has always been
a cushion of comfort for me

My mother is
and will always be
a very special person to me

My mother!

©2008 Christina Sempebwa

A MERCEDES WITH NO FUEL?

2008-04-16T10:23:00.002+03:00

A tall man in a smart dark blue designer suit stepped out of a sleek modern Mercedes Benz. The car was dark blue matching perfectly with his three piece suit and its UAJ plate number told us that it was new, brand new. The man stepped carefully on the road, his shiny black Prada shoes reflecting the light of the midday sun.

It was the perfect picture, almost too perfect, like on of those commercials that end up having nothing to do with the car, the suit, the shoes or the man. But there was something terribly wrong with this perfect picture. Why had the man stopped on the roundabout? Why was he coming out of his car in such an awkward place?

Could it be possible that he had run out of fuel? A Mercedes Benz with no fuel! Now there is an oxymoron!

AN ISLAND ADVENTURE

2008-04-09T17:05:00.003+03:00

by Eky Ntulo

The sun bore down heavily on Kamu’s bald head and bear shoulders. He pulled out his now grubby handkerchief and wiped it gently over his head trying to keep from rubbing the gritty sand into his scalp. Looking down he noticed that his shadow was very short and he tried to quicken his short steps struggling against the warm soft sand that wanted to swallow him up. The sack full of Nkulasa fruits slowed him down, but trudged on determinedly.

No wonder the island people wore those funny wide flat shoes, Kamu thought shaking his head. What a fool he felt now for having joined in the laughing and teasing whenever an islander came to the mainland.

This was Kamu’s first trip to island to pick Nkulasa fruit. His uncle had told him that if he did not start contributing to the family upkeep, he would have to find another relative to live with. Kamu was in class five even though he was twelve years old. His parents died when he was young and he had been tossed from one relative to another until Uncle Bulagi, his father’s youngest brother, had taken him in and put him in school. That was four years ago. Life was very pleasant living with Uncle Bulagi until recently when he married a second wife. Everything changed for everyone, but especially for Kamu as the new wife, for some unknown reason loathed him.

“I must hurry,” Kamu whispered to himself, shaking his head to concentrate on navigating the sand. “I can do this!”

Talking to himself was the only way he could keeping himself sane, what with the heat wave, the sinking sand and the wicked new wife … If only that was all there was to worry about, he thought. Whatever would he do if he missed the ferry and had to spend the night on the island?

A cold icy figure ran down his spine making him shiver in spite of the intense heat. All those stories about the terrible things that happened to people who missed the ferry just did not bear talking about. They weren’t really true, he told himself. After all he did not know anyone who had been taken away by the natives and never seen again. And if they never came back, who told the story? Besides the natives were the most gentle, polite and soft spoken people he knew!

Kamu hurried down the sandy beach as the ferry’s horn echoed loudly. It was sounded twice to let everyone know that it was the last ferry. He had made it, he thought walking confidently to join the crowd of people trying to board the ferry all at once.

I will wait for the shoving and struggling to stop, Kamu thought, resting his sack on the sand and looked around. His eyes strayed to a market stall displaying wild fruit and as if on cue, a strong gust of wind filled the air with a strong sweet aroma of ripe, begging to be eaten, fruits. Kamu’s tummy grumbled and he swallowed, surprised that there was any saliva in his dry mouth. He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the market stall back to the ferry. He was shocked to find that there were no more people boarding and the ferry was pulling up its ramp.

Stunned, Kamu stood there as if his feet were stuck in the sand. None of his senses seemed to be working. It was almost as if the sweet smell of the wild fruits had bewitched him and now he could not move, the ferry was leaving and he was going to be taken away by the natives! He thought in horror. Looking back at the market stall, Kamu noticed the pleasant smiling faces of the women, calling out to him to buy some fruit. Their eyes seemed to glitter in the midday heat and their smiles were a little bit strained. Kamu turned back to the ferry where a man was shouting to him to run and jump on the ferry before it was too late.

“Get your mind off the wild fruit,” the man’s voice float across the beach. “Run, come on hurry up, before it’s too late!”

His last words echoed in Kamu’s mind, bring him sharply back to reality. He had to leave the island or else. The stories came rushing back into his mind setting him free from his frozen state.

Kamu ran towards the ferry, his heart beating so fast he thought it would burst through his chest. The words ‘too late’ were reeling over and over in his mind spurring him on. As he stepped up to the wooden ferry landing, he could vaguely hear the women still calling him to buy fruit. His mouth was dry now and even as he tried to swallow there was nothing. The ferry was pulling away. The man was still shouting and holding out his hand.

“Jump boy, Jump!”

Kamu breathed deeply holding his breath as he raised his hands in front of him and leapt forward. It was one of those timeless moments but he felt his feet slip off the side of the ferry and he heard the agonizing cry of a desperate animal.

This was the end of his short life, Kamu thought as he fell to the water. If the ferry’s turbines didn’t get him, the islanders would. He held his breath waiting expecting to hit the water at any minute. Then he felt a sharp pain run through his arms almost pulling them out of their sockets. This was the beginning of a painful death, he prepared himself, trying to grab onto something, anything. His hands closed on something rough and wet and clung to it a glimmer of hope creeping into his mind. He still had not hit the water and his whole body was still intact.

“Heave yourself upwards as we pull,” a now familiar voice shouted. “Don’t let go of rope.”

Kamu didn’t know where the strength came from, but with all that he could muscle, he heaved upwards as his arms were pull and the next thing he knew he was in the ferry speeding away to the mainland. Everyone in the ferry cheered and clapped. Well everyone except the shouting man, who told him off.

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to look at the fruit market when you are boarding the ferry?” he said in a scolding but relieved voice. “That market is a trap to keep you on the island.”

“You mean the rumours are true?” Kamu asked in a shaky voice.

“What rumours?” his rescuer asked. “Once you begin eating those fruits, you won’t want to stop and the ferry will leave you. Don’t you know that the ferry doesn’t wait for people? It leaves exactly on the hour.”

“This is my first trip to island sir,” Kamu said his voice still shaky. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Hmmm,” the man said almost to himself. “Children should not be allowed on the island without supervision. I shall take this up with the authorities.” At Kamu’s chaste fallen face, he added, “You can come along again if you promise to stick with me. That is a very good sack of Nkulasa fruit you picked.” The man pointed to Kamu’s sack.

Kamu had forgotten all about his sack. Relief washed over him as humbly thanked the man for saving his sack as well. He sat down next his sack and reflected on what had just gone down. If that man had not saved him it didn’t bear thinking about where he would be now.

“I am Zigochi,” the man came and sat next to Kamu. “You will be alright if you stick with me. Now tell me about yourself.”

Kamu had heard of the great Zigochi who owned the ferry and most of the business that came from the island. There wasn’t much to tell, Kamu thought as he told his brief life story. “So I am going sell this Nkulasa fruit so that I can stay in school,” Kamu concluded his tale a broad hopeful smile lit his face. “I can go to the island every Sunday and sell the fruit during the week.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Zigochi said encouragingly. “Look, if you can pick a sack like this one every weekend, I will buy it off you for…” He closed his eyes briefly then looked straight into Kamu’s eyes. “You seem to be a very hard working boy, I will pay for all your school needs on the condition that you let me have the sack for 10 Miches and you promise to only go to island under my care and supervision.”

Kamu’s jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Why did this rich man want to help him?

“Look, I want to help you because you remind me of me when I was your age,” Zigochi said kindly. “I know you are Bulagi’s nephew.”

Kamu opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out but his mind continued to work thoughts racing through. The sack of Nkulasa was only worth 6 or at most 7 Miches, why did he want to give me more? How would he explain the extra Miches to uncle? “You can take 6 Miches home and I will start a saving fund for you with the rest of the money,” Zigochi continued as if he had read Kamu’s mind. “Don’t worry, everything will work out fine. Just remember to remain faithful to yourself.”
“Thank you, sir,” was all Kamu could say as the man walked away.

Kamu leaned back resting his head on his sack and closed his eyes. Did he really have a saviour in Mr. Zigochi or had he dreamed it all?

THE END

Thinking about mummy

2008-02-13T16:54:00.003+03:00

I used to write poems for fun but of late, I find that when I am upset about something, my hand finds a pencil and a poem emerges. Sometimes I write about what’s upsetting me, but other times, I just write down whatever comes into my mind. Below is a sample of what I have written.

When mummy

When mummy is tough
My life becomes rough
I want to be good
Not hide in a hood

When mummy’s not tough
We have a good laugh
I don’t want to stop
I’ll laugh till I drop

©2008 Christina Sempebwa

My mum

My mum, in a sum
Can be so full of fun
As bright as the sun
With time for everyone

My mum, in a sum
Can so angry become
As loud as a drum
When I’ve done something dumb

My mum, in a sum
Can be so overcome
As sweet as blue gum
There’s really no rule of thumb

©2008 Christina Sempebwa

Strolling along

2008-01-09T10:32:00.000+03:00

I had stayed up late one night watching a documentary on ‘swarms’. You know locusts, bees and other such insects that like to live in such large numbers at such close proximity. The next morning I woke up with these words running through my mind, “I was walking alone in the park one day …” and I grabbed a notebook to jot them down. I continued to building up this poem over a couple of months and as I wrote it, I wondered if that documentary had any influence on what I was writing. Sometimes I thought it might, but at others times I wasn’t so sure. I don’t want to spoil it by telling what it’s all about, but I do hope that you enjoy reading it.

A STROLL IN THE PARK

I was strolling alone in the park one day
Along a beautiful, bright and brisky way
When I stopped to rest by an old pine tree
And there it was hanging high and free

I looked up to investigate, what could it be?
It was brown and round like a ball you see
Yet long and thick and heavy and full.
Swaying gently it begged me silently to pull

To free it from the tree was really not my choice
But it beseeched me and pleaded in a soft humming voice
Its cries grew louder and more urgent the longer I stared
Could I touch it with my hand? I wondered if I dared

It looked perfect hanging there almost ready to burst
I plucked up my courage, it felt strange at first
The rough skin was soft, I was surprised to find
Not as I expected, not what I had in mind

I pulled and I tugged but it stayed put on the tree
I began to wonder if it really wanted to be free
Then with one last effort using both hands to pry
I gave it all I had this was my very last try

I fell back on my bottom it was free at last
What a triumph, I had done it! But then it burst
I was amazed, disappointed after all I had done
But there was no time to brood, I had to get up and run

I was surrounded by humming and buzzing you see
The mystery revealed was there for all to see
I’m in trouble, I thought scrambling to my feet, I ran
Find a pool, a pond, or even a watering-can

What an adventure, what a day, I was soaked to the skin
“They’ve gone, I’m safe,” I said with a smug foolish grin
A narrow escape, from the big buzzing mass
And onto the next adventure with great poise and class

©2007 Christina Sempebwa

Preparing for guests in Africa

2007-10-24T12:57:00.000+03:00

So much has been going on in Kampala, my hometown. All in the attempt to prepare for the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting that will be held here next month. Parts of our city look really good, but where I live and work its business as usual. This is still the rainy season and much of the city experiences flooding. It is such a contrast from the dry season when the city is just plain dusty! I don't know which I prefer, the dust or the mud and floods. I wish it could be somewhere in the middle. This is a poem that describes my hometown during the dry season.

My Home Town

I once lived in a city that was dusty
It was pretty and modern, but musty
No rubbish bins
Not even tins
Sometimes it could be so very nasty!

Now dusty is the capital of Ugantic
Its traffic jams are ever so frantic
No courtesy
Some heresy
And vehicles that should really be antique!

I love this dusty city of my childhood
And my country so often misunderstood
Such friendliness
Even in distress
There are some who are always so very good

But my country is plagued with a disease
Its potentials devoured by bourgeoisie
Mansions to behold
Just out of my hold
And an influx of foreign expertise

There is hope for our dear fusty land
It’s in our reach, right in our command
Grab our prize
Improvise
Come on then rise up and take a stand

That’s all from my dear dusty town
Come visit, we shall not close down
Malls full of goods
Taxis with hoods
And floods so be sure not to drown

When it Rains

2007-09-21T09:55:00.000+03:00

These days it doesn’t just rain, its torrential! The city is flooding, the villages are flooding and well if you don’t take time to look at the other side of the coin, the situation is rather depressing. I wrote a poem a few years ago, reflecting what my children and I like to do when it rains. I think this is a good time to share it.

When it Rains

I love to sleep in when it rains,
My bed is so snug in a storm,
The splash of the rain,
On the window pane,
As I snuggle in bed it’s so warm.

The thunder so loud in the storm,
Flashes of lightening streaks,
Raindrops I hear,
All crystal clear,
Like a musical drama it speaks.

The sound of the storm slowly dies,
Nature’s orchestra comes to a close
The patter pat goes,
The wind still blows,
It’s time to get up I suppose.

© Christina Sempebwa 2004

My cat and the rat

2007-09-13T11:13:00.000+03:00

I sat with my cat,
and put on my hat.
I looked for Coach Pat,
to give me a bat.

He was chasing a rat.
It ran under the mat.
Oh it was fat!
The rat, not Coach Pat.

“Chase him dear cat,
the rat, not Coach Pat.
It’s under the mat,
where I had sat.”

“Come on” said Coach Pat
“Use your bat,
help chase the rat,
it’s under the mat!”

I looked at my bat,
and the mat now flat.
Where was the rat?
And where was my cat?

“They’ve gone” said Coach Pat,
“The rat and your cat.
Play ball with your bat.
I’ll watch from the mat.”

© Christina Sempebwa 2004

A TALL TALE...

2007-08-27T17:21:00.000+03:00

I met this incredible man at a workshop I attended recently. He told me a chilling story about how he escaped death, here in Uganda! It was like one of those thriller movies people like to watch. You know, when you can't breath properly and your heart is beating abnormally fast as you watch to see if the 'hero' will make it out of the impossible situation alive... I don't watch them anymore. The tension is just too much for me and I have nightmares with me in the middle of the chilling adventure!

Anyway, after hearing this man's story, I was inspired to write a short story for children with an adventurous edge and a hint of danger. So here we go, using my pen name Eky Ntulo...

A CLOSE CALL
By Eky Ntulo

It was my first time on a train I could hardly contain my excitement. I took a seat by the window and watched the bustle of people.

“Hi, I’m Jingo,” said a tall lanky boy standing next to me. “Is this your first time on the train?”

“I’m Benji,” I said staring back at him. He looked much older than me and I felt good talking to him. I sat up straight trying to look more than my 9 years. “Mother and I are going to Kasese.”

“Well, don’t you worry about anything,” Jingo said. “I will take care of you.”

Jingo sat down, pointing out the different people boarding the train. “That’s the conductor over there,” he said pointing towards a short man in a smart uniform. “There’s my mother, the one loading the big sack of goods.”

“Do you often travel by train?” I asked watching Jingo’s mother order some men to carry her big sack into the train. She was older than my mother and looked like she was used to taking charge of things. I could not imagine father beating her or Jingo for that matter. A lump grew in my throat and I quickly blinked away the tears. The reason why we were taking this trip in the first place loomed up before me. Father had gone too far this time. I could still feel the sting of the whip on my back. I had rushed in to save my mother and received some of the lashes. If the neigbours hadn’t come to our rescue, I swear he would have killed her.

“Are you alright?” Jingo asked. “You look a bit pale.”

I normally don’t pour my heart out to someone I had just met, but I guess the situation was a little bit overwhelming. Rubbing my short stubby hair, I told him what had happened. “We had to leave home,” I finished. “Mother has some relatives in the Rwenzori Mountains.”

“Well, looks like you are one tough cookie,” Jingo said patting my back. “Like I said, I will take care of you.”

Mother walked in to take her seat.

“Mother, this is my friend, Jingo,” I said. “He’s traveling with his mother too.”

“Nice to meet you, Jingo,” mother said sitting down. Since the beatings started, mother had become very frail and worn out.

“Mother, Jingo has offered to show me round the train. Please may I go?”

“I’ll take good care of him, ma’am,” Jingo said.

“Alright, but don’t be gone for too long,” mother seemed to be relaxing now that the train was moving.

We explored the entire train and when I went to check on mother, she was stretched out on the seat, fast asleep.

At around noon we stopped in the dinner carriage. The smell of food made my tummy rumble.

“Would you like a soda,” Jingo asked sitting down at one of the tables.

“I don’t have any money,” I answered.

“Not to worry,” Jingo gestured to a waiter. “That guy there owes me a couple of sodas.”

Wow, I thought. My admiration for Jingo was growing by the minute. A heavy set man with thick unruly hair joined us as we sipped our sodas. I could tell that he was a friend of Jingo’s from the way they greeted each other. He whispered something to Jingo.

“I’ll be right back, Benji,” Jingo stood up and left.

The heavy set man stared at me in an uncanny manner, making me feel nervous.

“So, my boy,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. “Are you traveling alone?”

“Of course not,” I answered, wondering what sort of adult thought that a child as young as me would travel alone. “I’m with my mother.”

“Well, you had better say goodbye to her,” the hoarse voice took on a creepy tone. “You will not be seeing her again.”

“What do you mean?” I asked fear running down my spine like a cold icy finger.

“You will see, my boy, you will see,” his voice was distinctly evil. His eyes narrowed into a thin line and he tapped my cheek with a grubby finger and then left.

I sat glued to my seat. Where was Jingo? I thought. Was mother alright? Perhaps father had followed us to the train and was going to force us to go back home. The thought was too horrifying. I can’t just sit here and let him beat her up again, I thought. Spurred into action, I jumped up from my seat and hurried back to my carriage.

I was about to burst through the door, when I heard voices inside. I pushed the door ajar quietly and listened.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you that Benji has been taken ill,” Jingo was saying. “He is receiving treatment in the first aid booth.”

“Oh, poor Benji,” mother said. “I must go to him at once.”

“No, ma’am,” Jingo quickly interjected. “He is resting. I will take you to him later. He is really fine, probably just something he ate.”

I heard Jingo make as if to leave and hurried to the end of the corridor looking for somewhere to hide. I had to think quickly, so I just opened the door of the wagon and stepped down on to the steps. I closed the door behind me and hooked my arms to the railing. The wind was strong as the train whizzed along and I had to hang on for my dear life.

After a few minutes I returned to the carriage door. My heart was racing as I entered. Mother was sitting on the bench staring sightless in front of her.

“Mother,” I said kneeling down beside her. There is something very wrong going on,”

“Oh, Benji, you’re alright. I was just coming to see you.”

“Mother, I haven’t been sick,” I tried to explain. “I think Jingo and his friends are working for father.”

“What are you talking about, Benji? Your father doesn’t know where we are.”

Just then, the door of the carriage opened and Jingo’s mother walked in. My heart missed a beat. We are finished, I thought.

“Please, Maama Jingo,” I pleaded. “Please let us go.”

“What are you talking about?” the large woman said. “I am not Jingo’s mother.” She came up to mother and sat down beside her.

“I saw your son talking to that boy, Jingo,” she whispered. “He has some very bad friends. I just came to warn you.”

I stared at the woman in shock. Everything Jingo said to me was a lie. But why did he do that?

“There is a group odd looking men in the carriage next to mine,” the woman continued. “I overheard that boy, Jingo tell them that he had found the perfect subject for their needs.”

“He means me,” I said, breathing fast, my hands sweating. “They are planning to take me.”

“I just came to warn you,” the woman said getting up. “Don’t trust the conductor or the police. Don’t trust anyone!”

“You had better act quickly,” she said as she hurried off.

I feeling of panic started rising inside me. How can we hide from these people on a train?

“Benji, what was that woman talking about?” mother asked frowning.

“Mother, we have to hide,” I tried to explain. “Jingo has some people who want me.”

“Don’t worry, Benji, I cannot allow anyone to take you,” mother said standing up. “We shall alight at the next station and take the bus. This is your father’s work. I wonder how he knew we were on this train.”

“Mother, we have to hide now,” I said anxiously. “We can’t wait until the next station.”

“But there is no where to hide on the train,” mother spread her hands.

I took a deep breath then I remembered where I had hidden earlier. “Come on mother, hurry.”

We tiptoed out of the carriage to the door of the wagon.

“Stand on the steps and hold onto the railing, mother,” I said earnestly. “Hurry up someone is coming.”

Mother turned round and stepped out on to the lower step of the wagon. I followed her, closing the door behind me. Mother’s body shielded me from the wind and bushes. I could see how her back was suffering and could not stop myself from thinking about the many times I had seen father whip her. This was probably less painful. In that moment, I vowed that if we made it alive, I would always protect my mother and when I grow up, I will be a lawyer who makes sure that fathers stop beating mothers and children.

After what seemed like forever, the train slowed down and stopped. We jumped off quickly and holding hands, we disappeared into the nearby bushes. What a close call!

THE END

ASLEEP IN A TREE

2007-07-12T09:47:00.000+03:00

You’ll never believe what happened to me
When I fell asleep in the old fig tree

Curled up in a hammock, high and free
A sailor, riding waves far out at sea

I had this dream, it was weird you see
I was in my boat and I wanted to wee

But there was no toilet unfortunately
In the small boat, big enough for me

All around there was sea, sea and sea
So I thought it would be fine to bend over and pee

I scanned the area and there was only me
Not a boat in sight only water around me

Perhaps everyone was inside having tea
But I couldn’t think of drinking at this time you see

So I bent over the boat ever so carefully
Now remember I was dreaming and up in a tree

At that precise moment I woke up you see
And found myself swinging in the old fig tree

The hammock was swaying precariously
And I fell to ground unceremoniously

There is no one about, I thought thankfully
So I rushed into the house, to the bathroom to wee

I returned feeling good, relieved and free
The pressure was gone and I was awake, you see

Well be ready my friend if you sleep in a tree
For a great new adventure that your dream may be

My advice to you is take it graciously
But don’t be surprised if it turns out unexpectedly

© 2007 Christina Sempebwa

An African City Experience

2007-05-21T09:15:00.000+03:00

“Mulindwa! Why do you look so sad?” Katuntunu sat down on the bench next to him. “I came all the way from the village to see you.”
“My friend, life is just too hard!” Mulindwa shook his head.
“In the village, you are known for all that money you send to your folks. Surely things cannot be that bad?” Katuntunu leaned back against the wall of the small shop owned by Mulindwa’s landlord in Makerere Kikoni.
“Everything was going so well for me,” Mulindwa stared at the ground between his bare feet. “I had worked so hard, for so long and I was almost there…”
“Eh! This sounds serious,” Katuntunu sat up straight and put a hand on Mulindwa’s shoulders. “What happened?”
Mulindwa turned and looked at his friend. His eyes clouded with tears. He blinked quickly turning to look at the ground again.
“It started like any other day,” he said quietly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “If only I had known, I would have stayed at home.”
“What happened?” Katuntunu gently squeezed Mulindwa’s shoulder.
“I reached my work place before seven in the morning and began setting up for the day,” Mulindwa sat up and looked at his friend.
“You have an office?” Katuntunu’s eyes opened wide.
“My small telephone kiosk,” Mulindwa said impatiently, frowning. “I take everything home at the end of each day and set up again in the morning.”
“Of course,” Katuntunu nodded.
“I lost everything!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu frowned.
“I was displaying my phones and airtime cards, when I heard a commotion coming from the main road,” Mulindwa sat up straight. “It was University students demonstrating about something.”
“I thought your kiosk was on the lower road,” Katuntunu interjected.
“It is,” Mulindwa stood up then sat down again. “I watched from my kiosk and even sold an airtime card to one student.”
“Get to the part where you loose everything!”
“It was not long before the demonstration became rowdy! I tried to pack up and lock my kiosk, but the students were too fast for me. They took everything, even the little money I had made that morning!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu stood up. “Are you sure it was students? Maybe thieves were taking advantage of the demonstration.”
“My friend, I knew them,” Mulindwa jumped up, spreading his hands in despair. “They were students, moreover my best customers! They even looted the doughnut lady down the road. They took all her doughnuts, flour and even the charcoal!”
“Eh!” Katuntunu seemed at loss for words. “At least you escaped with your life!”
“They were in a hurry to loot someone else,” Mulindwa shook his head. “Luckily I have some savings in my room which I can use to start again. But I am very discouraged. What if they demonstrate again?”
“You keep your savings in your room?” Katuntunu stepped back. “I thought all you city folks use the bank.”
“I was going to open an account, but my neighbour advised me to wait. He promised to take me to the bank at the end of the month.”
“Is that the one who went to the village? Why did you show him your savings?”
“He is my friend.”
“Show me where you keep your savings,” Katuntunu said drawing Mulindwa to the rented rooms at the back of the shop.
Mulindwa reached under his bed, pulling out an old rusty tin.
“I have 300,000 shillings in here,” he said proudly.
They sat on the bed and Mulindwa popped open the tin. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. The tin was empty! THE END

Trudy Moody Gets Groovy

2007-03-02T10:30:00.000+03:00

My name is Trudy
I’m sometimes moody

But not so today
I’m happy to say

I’m skipping along
Singing a song

I reach for the sky
I wish I could fly

Jumping up and down
In my dressing gown

Stars sparkling out bright
Fill my bedroom with light

Oh what a display
A stunning bouquet

What a beautiful sight
It brings such delight

On a day such as this
Filled with much bliss

I’m dying to say
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!

© Christina Sempebwa 2007

My bed is a special place

2006-12-01T17:19:00.000+03:00

I am taking a break from 'Rags to Riches', but will return to it real soon. Since I am taking break, here is something I wrote for my daughter, trying to convince her that her bed is a very special place.

I LOVE MY BED
"It's time for bed,"
Mama says at nine.
My body responds to such a sign.
I love my bed so safe and sound,
such a warm gentle surround.
Mama tucks me in my cozy cocoon
and hums a soft, sweet lullaby tune.
I close my eyes; she dims the light,
and sends me off into the night.
I drift to sleep
in my sheltered place.
It is my castle, my special space.
And as I sleep, I dream some dreams,
they feel so real, so real it seems.
But I am safe in my peaceful sleep,
in my bed, my sanctuary deep.
When day break comes
with morning glow,
I feel rested, relaxed you know.
"Mama," I call and sit up and wait.
She helps me up, so I won't be late.
I leave my bed,
my soft, safe place,
and step into her warm embrace.
© 2004 by Christina Sempebwa

Rags to Riches? continues

2006-11-23T12:34:00.001+03:00

2. The Boss

I had been in the city for a whole month now and my savings were beginning to dwindle. My chances of finding work looked very bleak. Mugaga’s land of opportunity was no where to be seen. There were so many strong men competing for the jobs and even though I went out everyday to construction sites, markets and even the bus and taxi park, a job continued to elude me. Mugaga was not helping either. He worked at night and spent most of the day sleeping! He offered to introduce me to his boss, but said I should wait until there was an opening for someone like me.

It must be difficult being a guard, I thought. When did Mugaga get time to be with his friends? Come to think of it, I had not met any of the friends Mugaga always talked about when he visited the village.

Then it happened! One Friday morning I felt especially light headed as I walked to a construction site near the University. It was in the air, the light morning breeze complemented by the warmth of the rising sun. I was going to get a job today! Even the song of the early birds was a testament to the fact.

A very large hostel was under construction and the guard had informed me the day before that they were hiring labourers. I was one of the first to arrive at the site and the guard of yesterday pointed out the boss. I walked over to where the boss was sitting reading a newspaper.

“Excuse me sir,” I spoke softly, kneeling down at a respectable distance from his feet. “I have come about the job of labourer.”

At that moment a large burly man came out from behind some building materials and joined the boss.

“Gwe, genda, genda! (You, go away!),” he shouted on seeing me, waving his large hand. He was the sort of person that gave credibility to the theory that we descended from apes!

“Leave him,” I heard the boss say as I scramble to my feet preparing to run to the gate. I quickly dropped to my knees again.

“He thinks he can be a labourer!” The boss told the ape man and they laughed.

“Young man, do you know anything about gardening?” the boss stood up and walked over to me.

“Yes sir,” I answered, my head bowed in humble respect. Just the way my grandfather had taught me to address an elder.

“I had my own garden in the village, sir,” I added trying to be a little more like the city folk who talked whether they were spoken to or not.

“You are hired!” the boss said with a sweep of his hands. “You will set up flower gardens over there.” He pointed to an area in front of the large building. “Bosa will show you what to do and give you the tools you need.”

“Thank you sir,” was all I could mumble in response. My heart leapt with joy as I rubbed my sweating palms on the seat of my trousers. I had a job!

“You will work everyday except Sunday and I will pay you 5,000 shillings a week,” the boss said. “You can begin right away.” With that, he walked off leaving me with Bosa.

I could not believe my luck. 5,000 shillings a week! It had taken me months to save that sort of money in the village!

“Are you going to kneel there all day smiling to yourself?” the harsh voice of Bosa, the ape man, brought me back to reality. “Come on son, there is work to do. What is your name?”

“Samu sir,” I scrambled to feet and hurried after him. “I am very hardworking sir.”

“We shall see about that, Samu,” Bosa said as he opened a shed and pulled out some clothing. “This is what you will wear to work. Now hurry up and change. You will find me at the site.” Bosa walked off leaving me holding brand new overalls and a pair of gumboots.

I had never ever owned anything new! All my cloths were either gifts from rich cousins or second hand clothes from our market. I pulled the overall to my face, savouring the sweet smell of new kaki clothing.

Bosa was already digging up at the site when I joined him. I grabbed a hoe and went straight to work. The smell of wet soil was very familiar and for a moment there I felt a tinge of nostalgia. Banished thoughts of the simple, safe and predictable village life threatened to surface. Only for a moment, then I pushed them to the back of my mind and concentrated on the task at hand.

To be continued.

Rags to Riches?

2006-11-08T18:18:00.000+03:00

1. The City

It was with a sense of immense achievement that I stepped off the bus and set my worn away sandals on the streets of Kampala City. At the age of eighteen, I felt pretty much an adult. I had been saving since I had to drop out of school six years ago. I remember grandfather’s words when he dropped the bombshell, as if it were yesterday.

“You have studied enough, my son,” grandfather told me when I showed him my Primary 4 report card that year. “It is now time to let your younger brother’s also go to school.”

May be my report had been so discouraging or so good that he felt I had learnt enough … Whatever it was, I dropped out of school and began my long journey to freedom, life and money. Lots and lots of money! That is what my naïve young ambitious mind told me. All I had to do was save enough money to go to the City and then I would find some real work, earn lots of money and become rich.

And so I began saving as much as I could from the hard labour I provided to neighbours, schools, and pretty much anyone who needed a strong bodied young man. I had a tough, old metal can that must have once housed powder milk or something. The lid fit firmly and I had my own special hiding place which I cannot divulge even now in case I need to use it again. Whenever I had collected enough I would go to the shop and exchange my small change for a larger note. Of course I have felt discouraged at times, but I was determined to become someone useful in society. I needed to become rich!

Now here I was, six years down road actually in Kampala! I took a deep breath of the city air, looking around. Unfortunately for me, the bus was just moving off and I drew in a lungful of exhaust fumes! Coughing uncomfortably I looked around for Mr. Mugaga (not his real name, but what everyone in the village called him). Mugaga was the richest man in my village. He was my mentor and my inspiration. I cannot remember how many time he told me the story of how he began with nothing, came to the City and made his riches. We would all sit at his feet and listen over and over again to his stories of life in Kampala City.

I looked around now at what I could see of Kampala City. The sun was going down making the sky turn a purple grey colour mixing with all the car fumes and dust. There were people everywhere all busy going somewhere or trying to sell something. In all my life I had never seen so many people in one place! The noise was quite a shock to my remote village system. Someone grabbed my arm and my heart began to race as I turned round.

“Mr Mugaga, you are here!” Relief washed over me like a warm drink on a cold night.

“Welcome to Kampala, Samu,” Mugaga gave me a quick hug. “How is everyone in the village?”

We exchanged greetings as he led me across the street into a taxi park. It was difficult to talk as we had to dodge people, taxis, boda bodas and cyclists. I held my small bundle of belongs close to my heart. I didn’t have much, but I did have my special rusty old can.

We were soon seated in a taxi and heading to Kikoni where Mugaga lived. I looked out the window at all the buildings we passed trying to take it all in, even in the fading evening light. I admired the shops full of merchandise and people. I envied the people. They lived here and knew their way around. Everything was normal and familiar to them. My heavy heart lighted as I realized that soon, I would be one of them.

When we finally arrived at Mugaga’s house, I was a surprised. It was not what I had been expecting at all. Mugaga had the biggest house in our village, and he was the first person to have a mabati roof (iron sheet roof). I had only admired Mugaga’s house from a distance, but I knew we all knew that it was full of all sorts of riches. The word in the village was that Mugaga’s house had four large rooms! Now here I was looking at a muzigo (one roomed house) in a large kikomera (walled enclosure) full of mizigo (plural of muzigo).

“This is where I stay in the city,” Mugaga said as he opened the door. He must have read the expression on my face, because he continued to explain. “I save all my money for the house in the village. There is no point in building a big house here when my home is in the village.”

I couldn’t accept his explanation and there and then I decided that when I was rich, I would build a home in the city and one in the village. I tried to shrug off the deep sense of disappointment that threatened to overwhelm me. My mentor had let me down.

It had been a long day for me and after supper, which Mugaga bought from somewhere, I went straight to sleep on a mat, excited, expectant and exhilarated about this new journey I was making from rags to riches. As I dropped off to sleep, a thought lingered in my mind. Imagine they buy the food already cooked in the city! Will I ever adjust to this modern way of living?

To be continued.

Meet a Celebrity

2006-10-19T11:10:00.000+03:00

I listened carefully as the Customer Service Manager politely explained why I had an extra bank charge on my account.

"Madam, you are only allowed an overdraft of 100,000," Damian said. "If your account is overdrawn beyond this, you incur additional charges."

A youngish man approached the desk and sat down next to me.

Great, I thought in disgust. Now I had to discuss my feeble account in the presence of this stranger! I gave him an 'excuse me I'm not done yet' look and turned back to Damian. Imagine my surprise when I found Damain on his feet, hands stretched out to greet the stranger!

"Hello, you are most welcome," Damian said his face all lit up like he had just seen Santa Claus. "How can I be of service?"

I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, are we finished?" I asked raising my eyebrows.

"Oh, don't you know who this is?" Damian gestured towards the stranger.

I took a good look at the man seated next to me. He was smartly dressed in a white sailor-like outfit. He could look very decent if he had a hair cut, I thought to myself. Turning back to Damian I said, "no, should I know him?"

Damian laughed nervously. "This is Chameleon, surely you have heard about him?"

I held out my hand to Chameleon and we shook hands. What a strange name, I thought.

"Are you a DJ in one of the popular FM stations?" I asked politely.

Chameleon stared back at me shaking his head.

Damian hurriedly jumped in, still laughing nervously. "Excuse me please," he said to Chameleon, leading me away from the table.

"That is a very famous musician!" he said earnestly. "Surely you have heard of him."

The blank expression on my face must have convinced him that I was a totally useless case.

"Madam, that will be all," he said. "Please make sure that you do not over draw your account and you will not see those charges again."

"Alright, thank you for explaining all this," I said. "And thanks for introducing the Lizard. I will look out for his music." I raised my voice so that the Lizard would hear me and not feel too bad that I hadn't recognised him.

"Chameleon," Damian whispered. "His name is Chameleon!"

"Oh," I murmured realising my mistake. "Well, I'll be on my way."

As I strolled out of the bank, I couldn't resist looking back at the Lizard, I mean, Chameleon who was staring at me like I was an alien. I gave him a small wave and a big smile as if to say, don't worry, I will never forget who you are.

Unfortunately, I did forget all about him until he started fighting with Bobi Wine or was it Bebe Cool? (I know it was in the papers everyday. I guess I just skimmed those pages.) One problem though, I don't remember what he looks like, but at least I recognise the name and I know what he does.

A popular restaurant

2006-09-26T14:59:00.000+03:00

There I was sitting quietly at a popular restaurant in downtown Kampala, minding my own business, when a friendly looking waitress came up to me, like they normally do at such places, to take my order, or so I thought.

"Excuse me Madam, but you cannot sit here unless you order something to eat or drink for more than five thousand!"

I looked up at her in surpise. This was not what I had expected to hear. I am rather slow in responding in such situations and didn't know what to say. She however, was not short of words.

"I have noticed you here before. Sitting for hours with your friends only drinking a soda and water."

I found my voice at last. But not much else. "Excuse me?" was all I could come up with. The waitress however was just getting into her element.

"Yes, I served you last time you were here and all you had was a coke and mineral water."

I felt my heart beginning to beat faster and my breathing becoming more difficult. I fought to control my emotions as they changed from shock to indignation and then anger.

"You must be mistaking me for someone else," I spoke quietly but firmly. Could it be the brightly coloured kitengi I was wearing that she didn't like or was this the way they welcomed their customers in this resturant?

"It is you," the waitress insisted. "You were even wearing a brown sweater."

I had had enough! The kettle boiled over and I don't think it is wise to write down everything I said next. Briefly it went something like this: "##$%*!?% $#!!#&*$$4 #*&%!"

"You know it is my boss who told me to come and tell you," the waitress said slowly backing away.

I sat there wondering why she had picked on me. I didn't leave even though I was tempted to. Instead I ordered a soda and mineral water when another waitress came up. I pulled out my notebook computer and started typing away at a story that had just dropped into my head. Something about a sad, vindictive, malicious waitress.