Imago

 

Good to be back. It’s been days, weeks months into this. I haven’t had the greatest of times in between but i am happy to be back to wordpress and my blog. I have heard a lot of meaningful  exchanges with different people. I have got away with precious nuggets of information to which i have augmented what i already knew and what you see/hear/sense and/or like about me is the product of that/and some more that i have had the opportunity of experiencing and that has made me who i am. We are products of our environments/experiences. I am human and have also had prolonged, fruitless arguments with people and learnt to avoid impending disaster by abridging conversation. By saying what needs to be heard. I have tugged at my mustache and sighed inaudibly and it ended there.

I think sometimes all one needs to do is to try and rediscover what used to be fun doing back in the day. It gets you thru at times. We all know people tend to get so opinionated and it’s difficult to let things go but we have an upper hand in such things, let them be if it matters so much to them. The housemate is speaking in impassioned tones/stringent voice, flag down the masseratti. Feel so bad about shutting up, get yourself a pack of cards and find a playmate. Win a few games and everyone keeps breathing. Wanna be the only pet in the house? I don’t think so. I am a cat and i like to be stroked even though i have a lot of independence and can find amusing things to do with myself. Cats know that well. If you lock a cat in the house, it won’t back.

There is something oppressively stifling about any four walls so get out more and look for fun in other ways, take in some air. I have thundered and blundered into things, ignoring the proffered door. I lived to regret it. We are wont to externalise conflict and look at the other. We think just because the person has obnoxious habits, you know, slurps when eating, snorts while breathing, drools while dozzing, etc it gives us a right to censure them loudly. It is true, we censure ourselves as society just let’s be a little gentle doing it. Change takes time. I am learning to successfully do several things at once and i like that. See ya’.

The Blip

bike

It’s an empty

scratched bottle of pop

idling by the back street

waiting for life’s unscrupulous hand

to scoop it up,

whisk it off to the recyclers

like moldy spider web

clutching disused newspapers

it will patiently stay put,

like a page

carrying on it’s romance with the dust

rather than fuel a callous fire

or worse still,

flee from some frantic sailor looking for love

get torn to bits by the irked waves

ending up on a beach

frail beneath the shingle

lying in limbo

deaf to the roaring sea

the swooping gulls

the majesty of it all

 

 

The next flight

apple1

Apple motif. Net image

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

while they waited

they did little things

like bit into their sandwiches

coming home,

they’d thought not of war or famine

they’d remembered mosquitoes and gnats

so they’d bought insect repellant

they’d heard about bwindi impenetrable forest

and the great apes that live high up in the mountains

coming home

they’d remembered oddities

such as the intimacy shared by perfect strangers

having a drink

under low-roofed

dimly-lit

tight little spaces

in the midst of a steady tropical storm

A little bio and 10 facts about me.

Image

I am Ugandan, mid-thirties, single and self-employed. I love books and everything about reading. I have started developing interest in how the media works and have consequently began to understand how to tell the difference between fact and fiction.

The facts:

1. I don’t like bullshit and those who lie.

2. When i need help, i ask for it in the most basic way.

3. I am the type that must get it right or it won’t work.

4. I am living in a time warp right now and i don’t give a ….

5. I have started hating the taste of alcohol and the smell of cigarettes.

6. I am learning to let go of the past by embracing the present.

7. I am my brother’s keeper.

8. Life is a little more promising for those who consider possibilities.

9. The best experience is a personal journey.

10. Warring dinosaurs hid themselves behind mountains.

 

‘nother one bites the dust

Nelson Mandela net image

Nelson Mandela net image

Mandela we loved you

time is a thief

Amandla we will miss you

young zulu boy

takin’ your lessons that your teacher carefully imparted

while you wrote in a legible hand

we will miss the man

lover of truth

amandla the politician,

pugilist

fighting the good fight

-at great personal cost

running the lonely race

going for gold

amandla in prison,

fighting for freedom,

albeit free in his mind

agitator

playing an unpopular sport

against racist cops

feudal minds

facing menacing dogs

the thought of dying

momentary panic

doubt

hard days and long nights thinking of winnie

playing with his hands,

touching his face

feeling for change,

amandla

deep in thought

if i knew amandla,

he probably chewed pistacchios

i could see him hard at work

playing cards,

running down the right flank

deftly looping a ball into the net

casually running two miles on a sleek wet pavement at dawn

getting back to an anxious winnie

amandla enjoying a hot bowl of soup

chuckling away at the bar

dismissing angry thoughts

together with despairing friends

many lives later

now a grave amandla

sitting sipping a cognac

a new man

old foes

new friends

life is here

amandla at his desk

amandla tanned, gray and dignified,

octogenarian

smiling,

at peace with himself

shaking hands and turning his back

umkhonto we sizwe, we will miss you

Back from the eclipse.

Hmm. Last evening i watched the moon try to block the sun from shining, with frustrating results. The sun shone on bravely, fighting from behind to repel the moon’s puny efforts at living the glory and all it conceded was just reduced light intensity which was really eerie to experience. I couldn’t  describe how it felt to see it but perhaps say it seemed to me like we had lived through some cataclysmic event and those there still living were lucky to be, just to be still breathing. Go brave sun, one! The celestial event was watched by millions around the world and there’s an image to die for online. The image i saw through a strip of film was one of a frown!

So much for the heavens, back to earth and still breathing, taking lots of deep breaths lately, readjusting to life in the third world-you know, simple stuff like learning to wait (without considering to file a lawsuit). Tolerating the jostling and sheer mindless physicality of moving through an open air market. There have been, of course, plenty of exchanges and i have had a lot of walking away and learning to live with it. Real stuff. I’ll let you know, have a good day.

Letter from a returnee

Bahai temple-Net image

Bahai temple-Net image

Dear friend,

how are you-and yes-

it’s been so long,

so long since i left

i have been meaning to write

to tell you about life this way

the cares of life have kept me busy

how are you

-or-

“how have u been?”

i am alright

life is good i will tell you

the Kampala i left,

is not much different from the one i returned to

it’s still the same,

just more and more people

this city breathes and sighs,

it’s music at once mournful and ecstatic,

soothing and disturbing,

but the people-they come,

They are all here,

merchant and tout;

nobleman and slave

rubbing shoulders,

breathing the same air

going about,

with their thoughts and formulations

at the traffic stop dear friend,

there is Mr. beggar man and preacher man

vying for my eye

persuasive with their message

the one with “repent or be damned”

the other

“i am poor and destitute, help me”

this one, delivered in a naked and offensive language

damned be the merry man

i have no shame

being in close proximity

i judge neither

but stare straight ahead,

as we inch thru traffic

i am searching for my corner

i look and peer,

hoping to catch sight of something familiar,

an architectural remnant,

or the faded scraps of a hero’s effigy

onward i press,

i want to see for myself

what the sculptor left,

last time he was here

when i arrive, all is quiet

nothing stirs

i look

there is nothing

in front of it

stands a “no parking” sign

i look again,

i look at the road sign

to ascertain i am ‘not seeing things’

there is a little space

and a little wooden counter

behind it is a young man,

cutting rubber stamps

i want to shake my head

but i resist the impulse,

this is kampala

so long my friend