Happy Birthday to my Baby Brother Veve!

… Mealtimes that year were interrupted by mummy excusing herself. I wondered why she insisted on returning to the dining table after what seemed like a very painful session of throwing up! Just like the baby secretly forming in her womb, she alone could justify it. Mummy was pregnant but this was a strange pregnancy; she was still breast feeding my baby sister Angela. (0-o)

That is the year I caught typhoid in my final year in primary school just before sitting my mock examinations. I recall the image of a heavily pregnant Goretti walking into the sick bay at Gayaza Junior School to take me home. She looked exhausted and the news of my illness terrified her.

On 15th August, mummy labored for over 7 hours to bring forth was would become the last fruit of her womb. Veve, as well fondly call him, was my sister Angela’s attempt to say his name Francis when she was just 2 years old.

He was a special baby, with an amazing temperament. He went through the normal stages of child development until 8 months when he got a polio vaccination. What seemed like the expected fever after immunization turned into a full blown medical condition that saw him bedridden for so many months. A few months before his first birthday, he had attempted to walk on his own but when he emerged from hospital, he could hardly move his limbs. My brother had recovered from Polio but as fate would have it, he would never be able to walk again.

Veve is a special child! Underneath the banner of his fate, his benevolent spirit outshines his shortcoming. God has granted him favour with people and friends at school. He has achieved so much in his life and is on his journey to becoming a computer scientist.

Today I celebrate the life of an amazing gentleman; my brother whose future is bright and full of unlimited opportunities. Happy Birthday bro.

Strength in weakness

3rd September 2014
... the emotion captures my heart and I get overwhelmed; in a nice way! A state of vulnerability overtakes my soul and breaks all my walls. It is then that weakness stares me in the face and the glaring evidence of all the water that has gone under this bridge comes to life but in a distant dream. I see your hand reaching out for mine and then I realize,that it's only when we are weak that we are able to appreciate strength.
I embrace you,the greatest love of all,for even after all these years,I still believe,that in you alone,lies my life's anchor. Yes, Love always wins.

Belated Hero's day post....

If Hero's day is about celebration of war heroes? Today, I chose to celebrate my grandmother Monica Nalebe Kalanzi (RIP) and mother Mary Goretti Nakimera Mutebi and here's why:

My mother’s childhood dream was to get married to someone from the city. She believed that raising her kids from the city would give them more exposure and opportunities. My parents got married at Kitovu Cathedral in Masaka and drove several miles back to Kampala for their wedding reception at Silver Springs Hotel. After their wedding, they lived at William Street briefly before moving to Mbuya flats just below the Military hospital, which is now the Ministry of Defence headquarters.

In 1985, when the road from Masaka to Kampala was intercepted by rebels, my grandmother braved the risky journey from Masaka via ferry to pick her daughter, who she felt was abandoned in the city. On a cold and quiet evening, long after curfew hours, we heard a desperate knock at the door. “Maria Gulawo, nze mama.” –“Maria, open the door, this is your mother.” Jjaja worried that it wasn’t safe for mum to stay in the city alone; the rebels were approaching and….. and…..it was better off if she was back home with family. (My Dad was overseas)
This was a hard test on mum’s resolve to raise her kids from the city. She worried that if she moved back to Masaka, she would never return. With the reminder that her life and that of her children was in danger, mum opted for the suggestion to move to Kawempe-my uncle’s home but not back to Masaka.

Very early the next morning, Mum and Jjaja hired a wheel burrow from Giza Giza market. With some of our very basic belongings, the long treak to Kawempe started; Jjaja walking by her daughter and the two of us (my brother and I) strapped on the wheel burrow. Every time a gunshot was fired, mum and jjaja shielded us with their warm bodies to protect us from being hurt. When we got to Kawempe, Jjaja embarked on the long journey back to Masaka.

Every war is documented with a story; one that is told in the history books. The stories celebrate heros, those who have been brave enough to risk their lives for their country. We adorn them with medals and headline their names in the media. Every child who has survived the war has their story, if they are an 80’s child, it will be a story about who saved their life during 1986 liberation war. Today I applaud my heroines. Maama and Jjaja

Celebrate Today

…you cannot miss something you’ve never had. We all have dreams and aspirations but until we achieve them, they remain exactly that; an idealistic imagination that leads us into a fantasy world.

We can labour to imagine what it would be like to achieve our dreams. Our imagination, embellished with the fantasy of possession and indulgence, covets our hearts and blurs our vision.

The object of our desire now becomes the ‘dementor’ of our soul: feeding on our happiness and causing despair and depression.

The past, present and future:

The ‘past’ cushions our memories while the future projects are our dreams. The ‘present’(TODAY)however, unveils our dreams: it allows for manifestation and celebration.

All our dreams will have a ‘present’:and there are some dreams that are being manifested in your present. Celebrate those today so that you can create memories for the past. Celebrate today!

...she brought wine to my party.

So I cancelled my annual holiday to attend a friend’s event early this year. This was a break from the 7 year routine where I have allowed my body to recuperate for a couple of days just before the new year sets in. During this time, I change scenery, catch up with old friends and do some shopping. The serenity of my new environment allows me to unclutter my mind and also do some soul searching. I usually return home with a renewed mind and a fresh bout of energy. This is what sustains me and I can assure you, it can go for just 12 months.

An unexpected visit from an old friend last week, put an end to a rather lethargic start of the year. It was like an old flame being lit. Even after all these years, I’m still enthralled by her presence. She embodies femininity, passion, tenderness and a childlike innocence.

In one of his quotes, Nelson Mandela says, “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” The few hours spent with Gladys on Monday last week were like an episode of Time traxx. There are things/places that remain unchanged: and to these we must return to find balance and meaning to the emptiness around us. Thank you Gladys for bringing the wine to my party; a quick jolt of energy until Jozi finally calls. xxx

The scarred shield and the pain of isolation:

I faced a minor isolation incident this afternoon that peeled the back off my self-esteem tree. Undoubtedly, the tree still stands because its foundations are deeply rooted, but upon nature’s walk this evening, a scar was registered.


One moment, it was like I was sitting with friends enjoying a sumptuous meal, and the next, I was requested to excuse myself because something ‘important’ was going to be discussed. My exit played out like a walk of shame from an inner circle that I thought I was part of, but has now been made smaller and exclusive. My eyes clouded with tears but I briskly blinked them away. I was not about to let anyone share the pain of my apparent isolation.


This little act of humiliation birthed a silent war in my spirit. I asked myself why I was feeling this way. My guard was down because I was in somewhat familiar territory. Surely, the involuntary release of tears was an indication that a raw nerve had been touched and I was bleeding on the inside….I pray to God that I finally get to the bottom of this.


I usually like to take responsibility of my feelings: I endeavor to get to the bottom of why I’m feeling the way I’m feeling. I REFUSE to blame someone for what happened to me this afternoon: it may have been an innocent request that I over reacted to BUT here’s my lesson: acts of discrimination and isolation (however SUBTLE) belittle, dishonor and dis empower their victims: a state of the mind which is not very desirable.