Tales Of An Adopted Clay Head: February 2014

By Arthur M. M. Katabalwa.

I was lost in my thoughts on February 22, 2014 as the huge bulk of the Emirates airlines A380 seemed almost to be struggling to climb out of a particularly over cast Manchester sky. I watched intently out of my window as the patchwork of the streets turned into farmland and started to be replaced by cloud, with occasional condensation being whipped around the giant wings. The plane steadily climbed and I could feel the familiar clunk of the under carriage being retracted beneath us. Another chapter in my life was starting; a bit of my life which I seemed to have skipped. I was heading back to Uganda.

The previous September I had had a conversation with my friend Kasedde in Uganda and I had told him that I wanted to experience Uganda. His response was favorable. I spoke to my family and I managed to get myself a promise of work as soon as I returned.

I remembered that my journeys through the UK had started on a clear day back in April 1995 when I arrived all google eyed at a rowdy Heathrow airport for a six month holiday. I had never been abroad before and here I was with a small brown leather suitcase and an ethnic patterned carry-on bag. I had a pretty horrendous experience with immigration as I had only £50 on me yet I was saying that I had arrived for a holiday. They nearly sent me back to Uganda. With a bit of explaining from my hosts from Winchester, I was allowed in the UK. I was not aware at the time that this was the beginning of my love for the United Kingdom.

I settled into a very comfortable life for that break. My hosts, the Harris family were (and still are) a very kind, loving and very patient family. The house was so well tuned out it was like a palace! Jackie, their daughter who had suggested that I visit her family had written an “operation manual” for her mother Diane explaining that I liked chicken by the bucket load. Jackie was at the time working in Uganda. She warned that I never ate raw vegetables and if I didn’t say “thank you” and “please” I was not being rude. I was being Ugandan. Later I was able to learn British manners.

My father, Rev Laban Bombo introduced me to everything British. He went to Birmingham University’s Selly Oak College in 1981 and while there got me a pen pal called Alistair Catherwood. Alistair and I wrote to each other on and off for over a decade before the letters stopped completely as we became teenagers. Thankfully, the rest of our families met over the years. His elder sister Rosie spent some holidays with my family at Budo. My sister lived with her in her flat at Kennington in South London; my family visited their home near Worcester.  The relationship got stronger in the 90’s with my elder brothers spending time with other members of the Catherwood family in Belfast, Northern Ireland.  Still, by 2001, despite me having lived in the UK for a number of years by that time, Alistair and I had never met although we were back in phone contact.

In 2002, a chance availed itself for us to meet in the little village of Belbroughton west of Birmingham. The night before we met, we had a frank conversation on the phone and we agreed that after all we may not like each other. The meeting was in a pub, and we got on like fire. We still talk today and we are very good friends and I am a (poor) godfather to his daughter Megan. Alistair and I have been friends since 1981 and to this day that friendship is as strong as ever.

The UK has over the years provided me with friends all of them now lifelong friends. From people like Keda Tastagh, Richard Strub, Paddy Osmond, Caroline Smith (Rist) and Sam Bernard whose friendship was forged here in Uganda over copious amounts of booze in Kitemu (not the ladies though). I thought about all my crew from Birmingham! Hughie Piper!  

My mind raced to Marie Claire Escudier and Chinwan Chang in London who first taught me customer services to Sarolta Kozma to Andrew “My Love” Currie with whom we were a real nuisance eating pork ribs while walking on the streets of Clapham Junction like chavs (ambulance story?), to Wayne Croxton, P J Taylor, Lofty and Vicki Pointon and her family in Stoke On Trent to the notoriously funny Lee Wild whose capacity to hold down booze is only matched by a whale holding down sea water to Mandy Belfield and Michelle “My favorite girl” Kennedy. I cannot exhaust the list…… Thanks to all for being true friends and adopting this “clay head”.

My heart sank for those whom I lost like my good friend Darren Bray who was an astounding fellow. I had the chance to go say bye to him as he laid suffering from terminal cancer in Bristol’s royal infirmary hospital. When I was leaving his room I turned round one last time and he waved at me in a very familiar way. We both knew that was the last time we were seeing each other.

Then there was John Thompson! What a man! A force of nature! One of the most handsome men I have ever seen with a booming voice and an infectious laugh.

Then there was David Foster to whom words alone cannot describe for one had to see the man to appreciate all his qualities. David was like a father to me. He was so patient and understanding and loving………. They all rest in peace. Thanks to you all for the memorable times together on the railways and walks over bluebell covered fields in the English countryside and the ice creams on the quay side in Padstow. We that had the chance to know you and be loved you will always remember you.

The UK is also the permanent home to my two lovely children Holly and Tendo Katabalwa who live in Stone, Staffordshire with their mother Katie who is doing an incredible job looking after them and bringing them up while I am away. I am truly thankful for all that you do every day to make sure those two are outstanding individuals.

I looked back at my times in Winchester drinking 6X beer in The Hyde Tavern pub, I thought about St Johns on the Isle of Man, New Cross in London, Clapham, Bristol, Stone and Stoke on Trent all places that hold a special place in my heart. I consider myself a Stokie from Bristol, a peculiarity itself. But that is the beauty of my take on the UK.

I thanked God and prayed for those who even up to this day I have the highest regard, love and respect for; My sister “The Commander in Chief” Rhoda Kagwa, Rebecca Kathryn Moat Katabalwa, Diane Harris, Yvonne and Henry Strub, Rachel Foster and the late David Foster. They are all collectively head and shoulders above in their contribution to my success in integrating into British society

I had decided to make this trip back home a while back. I was missing home. I had never lived in Uganda as an adult. I had only worked there for a few months. I had never got a proper Ugandan pay cheque. In January 2014, I decided to act on my dreams. I had procrastinated a lot. I made sure that I got my house in Heron Cross, Stoke On Trent looked after by a property management firm and I asked for leave from my work who were hesitant at first but later my manager Mr. Frank Parkes relented and let me go.

My thoughts went back especially to my children. I didn’t know when I would see them again. I wondered if they would forgive me for jetting off while they were still young. But this is what I knew I wanted to do at the time.

England, my home, had received a young google eyed man on its shores for the first time in 1995. Here I was nearly two decades later heading back to Uganda an adult with one suitcase and a carry-on bag. I sank in my seat and I quietly sobbed to myself.

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