A TALL TALE...

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

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

“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

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

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

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?

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.