The Odds that Kreshia and Her Friends Face Everyday.

Very curious about this kid with tattered sandals following me.

Towards the end of last year, I was walking in countryside about thirty miles from Kampala. It was a hot dry day. I had prepared well for the day; wearing my big clumpy walking boots, I had three litters of water and I had mapped my route well. I had taken great care to make sure that my loved ones knew where I was and they also expected to get regular calls from me. The walk took me through some pretty isolated areas and a swamp so I wanted to be sure of my own safety. The walk was to take me about six hours I presumed.

We finally meet after that walk.

About half way through this walk, I noticed a young girl whom I thought was about five, maybe six following me. I noticed she had a pretty dark complexion and she was wearing tattered plastic sandals. Nothing bothered me about her for about a mile or so until I stopped to have a drink. She also stopped. When I got up to walk, she walked as well, always keeping a distance from me.

By this time, I had started sharing my experience on social media. Some people thought she was an angle willing me on. Others thought she was a ghost. Many people came up with all sorts of ideas. We kept walking and she followed. After two hours, I asked her what her name was. She told me and where she went to school. Still, we kept a distance. Villagers can be quite tetchy when they see a stranger more so with a girl following him. They can think you're abducting her. Soon after I asked for her name, she disappeared in thin air. I took my eyes off her for a minute. When I looked back she was gone!! Gone like she had appeared. Into thin air. But I knew her name and her school. I was asked by a friend later to go and find her. When I did, there was joy and uproar. For I had been joined again to my walking companion Kreshia (or is it Cresha?) Namala.

Kresha was an ordinary seven year old girl. I found out that she had stopped going to school because of school fees. I also found out that she appeared out of thin air and disappeared as well the same way because the kids in this village have warren runs; small paths that lead off the main roads that only they know. Kreshia comes from a poor family with them struggling to make ends meet. I made an appeal for assistance and since then Kreshia has gone back to school with the help of donations and she at least has one square meal a day that is provided by the school.

The tattered sandals that I identified her with.

However, the problem is not solved. Kreshia is one of many girls in the Nsujjumpolwe and Galatiya areas who are falling between the cracks. The area is so poor that many kids cant actually afford the fees despite the fact that the government helps with some money. I found that at her school Galatiya Primary School many kids attend school according to what you paid for. Many will only go to school for half the day and they will go back home because they can not afford the afternoon.

It is all fun after a donation of bikes.

Like so many rural schools, the kids here are actually borne of kids themselves. On one of my visits one of my taxi drivers told me of the rampant teenage pregnancies in the area. That means that many girls have dropped out of school to look after there kids, while they are still kids themselves. As for the girls in these rural schools, when they get their periods, that is it. School is out for the duration because sanitary pads are still either too expensive or they are not as readily available to them. There is a concerted government effort to rectify this.

At her school, the government put up one building which houses Primary one to three classes. Students in the upper classes attend class in what one might think is a badly converted barn. It has no partitioning walls, the floors are filled with holes. There are no window panes so when it rains it gets wet inside. 

While many parts of Ugandan society are seeing an economic boom, many are being left behind. A group of men once approached me asking for land to till and grow crops to feed their families. I don't own land there but they told me that people from towns like myself go to these areas, buy land and fence it off. What is therefore happening is that even when the rains come, there are huge tracts of land lying idle not being used for agriculture while the locals look on hungry. These youths have now resorted to buying mopeds (boda boda) which is their main source of income. The ladies meanwhile sit and idle time away at home.

It is not all dire however, once I attended class with Kreshia and her friends and I was inspired by what I saw. There teacher had just recently given birth. Her baby, hardly three months old was in a cradle at the back of a stiflingly hot class. She, and her charges, Kreshia and her friends were learning English and Maths. Occasionally the baby would cry and the teacher would pick her up and continue breastfeeding while teaching.

I visited the school administration block. I could hardly find a place to sit but the headmistress  Ms Beatrice Kabonesa seemed completely oblivious to the challenges she had. She is a stoic deeply Christian lady with a very strong sense of duty and purpose. She told me that many of the kids in the school had been registered by other kids. That means she had never seen the parents. "There is a very strange attitude to education with some of the parents" she told me. "They do not appreciate the value of education and ,many times pupils will miss school because they have to help out in the gardens."

The kitchen at her school.

Kreshia and her friends face an almost improbable situation. They seem, like their headmistress unaware of it. They soldier on to school (some of them) every morning in the search of a brighter future. When the bell goes for lunch, some will go home. Some will stay and have lunch. Many of them are yet to meet their school fees. Many dont wear shoes. Many dont have school uniform. But they chatter away in their classes and when they head back home after school disappear in one of the many hidden paths home.

On Monday, the cycle will start again. Thankfully one girl, Kreshia Namala is partly shielded from so many things now. She is certain that she will go to school and all bills are settled. Many of these kids are not certain of that. That is the one haunting thing they have. Will they be able to study next term? The school will recieve them not aware of what the weekend has been for the kids. Their parents; the men will go and ride their mopeds, the mothers will stay at home. Some may be lucky to have a piece of land to till. But life goes on in this very beautiful corner of Uganda in the shadows of Kampala where Kreshia and her friends rule the village.

Kreshia is now a happy healthy girl. She is still an eight year old and on occasion; if she does not get what she wants she will throw an almighty strop!!! She is one of a few who, by a sheer stroke of luck followed this talkative fellow with a penchant for sharing parts of his his life in public. She has a future to look forward to. But she goes to school with friends whose future is still uncertain.She goes to school with kids who are hungry, with kids who dont have school uniform, with kids who are not certain that they will attend school next year. She goes to school with friends who dont have shoes. What binds them together is their beautiful innocence. They play together. They dance together and many times fight together without a bother in the world. We should not abandon these kids!!

Rethinking Online Banking.

By Arthur M. Katabalwa.

A while ago I found myself in need of some banking services. I am never good in such situations. I had a fascinating thought; something struck me. I was looking at the banking sector in a rather archaic way. Being a “son of the 70s”, there are things with which we are stuck in. There are processes that we hang on to until our knuckles can hardly take the weight. After all, “if it ain’t broke why mend it?” It was the great huge queues that one finds in banking halls. In my quest to find out some answers, I found myself confronted with this monstrosity. It may be made up of many individuals but it seemed to act as one. Whereas I had been happy to join one in the past and patiently wait, this time I was getting agitated by it. Why?

I  wanted to open a new bank account. This being the second time I was opening a bank account in Uganda, I was very apprehensive. Joining at the back of a long snaking queue wasn’t going to help. I was sweating profusely as I walked into this banking hall.  The Kampala heat was running riot. The streets and the buildings and the car horns and the street beggars and the boda boda bikes………they were all making me go mad. But I knew that I was going to find sanctuary in this great big hall which I had recced earlier before. It had these high ceilings. There was air conditioning. I knew that all would be good but nothing prepared me for the queue. It snaked through this great big banking hall with those ropes that are linked all around. My heart sank.

Well, the dreaded queue in banking halls is about to be made a thing of the past. Banks like Stanbic bank which are introducing an online bank account are making these queues a thing of the past. With advances in technology, the queue will be at home. Say for example if one were to be opening a new bank account the anxiety can be all encompassing. You may be that one person who is going to hold up the whole bank when you are asking if banks regulations allow for coloured passport photos or the use of a maiden name.

If one were to be opening an account online, then the anxiety of that long queue is non-existent. You are at the front of the queue. There is no one behind you. You have a virtual personal banker who has all the time that you want to spend for you. If you were to find that a certain piece of information was missing like a copy of your identity card then you will not have to go back home and pick it up queue again. In your comfort, you will come back and once again you will be at the head of the queue. At Stanbic, the process is quickly sorted out with steps that are easy to follow online. Within a short while, one has an account that is fully functioning with a bank card. The dreaded visit to a branch where one might be stuck in a queue is organised by the bank itself to minimise that inconvenience.

We are all much better off now that we are having such services unveiled in the Ugandan banking sector. We are having a sector that is bringing services closer to the people when they want those services and where they want them. The need to battle through traffic and the heat is being swept away. These are services that are fit for the economy of Uganda today. We are getting services that are making banks truly for the community.

Kleo Artist; The Ugandan girl rapping to greater heights in London.

By Arthur M. Katabalwa

Some have said that she is like a force of nature. She certainly doesn’t shy away from any kind of artistic confrontation. If it is to be creative whether in music or poetry, Kleo Artist forgets about thinking outside the box. For her, there is no “box” to think outside of. There is no “blue sky thinking”. She thinks and creates independently leading with what her creative instincts tell her. This attitude is what has led to her new tune Mazina featuring Double S.

“Mazina is my first time I will be blending Luganda and English with the drums. It has all gone well. It’s definitely been a challenge.  It’s been a big KLEO risk!” She laughs “But I believe in representing who I am. I am a British Ugandan. I am waving the Ugandan flag on this one.”

Kleo Artist, born Katelyn Namiiro was born in Uganda in deeply Christian families nearly 25 years ago. As a toddler, her mother decided to relocate from Uganda to South East London, growing up wrapped around the love of her family. “Sadly I have no memories of Uganda as a child. I have just been shown pictures but when I left I was way too young to form any memories”.

Life for her as a child in South East London was not that different as a child. “We went to church. We went to visit friends, went to school and generally messed about”. Her mother, Sanyu Harriet, with whom they have a very close bond was very instrumental bringing her and her younger brother up. “She worked hard to make sure that we had everything that we could have got. Certainly life wasn’t a bed of roses but we were fine.”

As a young black girl growing up in South London, she faced the kind of prejudice and suspicion that unfortunately has been rife in some parts of London. This kind of prejudice has been a major influence in her fashion sense. “My fashion sense is bold” she says without a flinch “I refuse to blend in. Blending in gets you nowhere.” Kleo has therefore decided to depart from what is normally expected “Its forgettable its goes unnoticed and boring.”

Music is my life

With an acute sense of her heritage, Kleo has been careful to exactly accentuate that “From a young age being a young dark skinned girl in the UK was seen as negative, specially being African. It was normal to bleach and have straight black hair” So this has spawned what we see these days; a riot of colors in her hair. “I guess that’s when I choose to shave my head do my plaits or natural hairstyles and bright simply to break rules and represent dark skin girls.” This has been a formula that has become her signature to date “Luckily for me it worked as a dancer with Unique Hair” That kind of departure from the norm has led to other opportunities for Kleo “I got stopped a lot and I was scouted for hair modelling various amount of times simply because of the unique look.”

Kleo’s foray into music came nearly as an accident. “I was actually first into poetry which I have posted online on YouTube called A Kid Named Kleopatra.” That initial work took her to other heights “From here I was approached by a producer who told me to go studio and jump on the Rick Ross hustle hard instrumental and try write poetry to it.”

The work within a studio environment pointed out that artistic nature in her “It sort of came natural to me hearing my own voice and fixing its pitch.” As a budding artist, she also found that she could start expressing more of herself in different ways “Going to the studio became a way to express my feelings, my anger, happiness, quirkiness and love. From there it was all the way up.”

That love for poetry started leading her into the rapping industry. As a male dominated industry, Kleo knew that she had a mountain to climb with further prejudices. Like the early prejudices with race in South East London, she decided to use those ideas to her advantage. “Having what many called then a baby voice and being dominantly a sexy rapper instead of a muscular rapper I guess I became a threat in the UK. Most female rappers in the UK where very noncommercial, not lady like and sounded very masculine. So I guess for many producers, promoters and fans I was a breath of fresh hair.”

Of her main influences Kleo has been physically likened to TLC’s Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes “I personally love Lisa. Being compared to her is like being compared to a legend. It’s like being compared to one of the rappers that started the female rapping trend. So it’s always a compliment. However personally to be honest I don’t see it.” She is aware that as young artist many get compared to other legends. “As an artist you will be compared to many but legends are a bonus!” She admits that she doesn’t have “influences” in music as is accepted in mainstream media. “I have people I support! Every artist has a unique flavor. WELL MOST!”  So she supports people like Lauryn Hill and Erika Badu “The music they compose is from within. I find that it has depth to it. It’s not meaningless like some of the music we have in the industry. Lauryn and Erika represent the real woman in a real world. My main idea is to blend the flavors from music. For example my song Come Too Far I also tap into that depth; a real woman in a real world.”

As for having an influence, her pull to do her “own thing” makes it difficult. “I don’t have particular influences! If you’re different you want to be in a league of your own. People can try catch up and follow but it will be very difficult! Luckily for me I come as I am! People are excited to just see and hear what I do without any influences! I have been told there is gap for me in the UK and the Ugandan market!” She laughs.

Ugandan music is also important to her and she has a number of artists she listens to “Yes I listen to Sheba Karungi, Irene Ntale, A Pass….. A lot of them really. I am Ugandan so I have to listen to my own. I support my own people.” Recognizing their strengths as well she accepts that she doesn’t draw a lot from them artistically “I am not drawing anything from them simply because I feel we are all different artist.” Her locality as a Londoner presents different feelings and experiences from which she draws from. “Essentially I am a UK rapper from East London.” Although of Ugandan descent Kleo realizes her sound is basically English. “I also know that many are singers.” So on artistic references, Kleo knows that in many ways they will sound different.

Working and creating within the London music scene doesn’t come easy. “The local music scene in London is BOOMING right now. There is talent everywhere. .You have to be different to stand out. Hence why am introducing the Ugandan flair.” 

She advises those trying out as new either in London or in Uganda; “Stay relevant, be unique but stay classy. Being relevant, being current, being famous does not mean you go where the wind takes you or to follow what the industry says you have to do. Do what makes you happy. Once you forget the fun in music and start following the money and success I feel you are in trouble. You will hit dead ends due to desperation. Have a plan have a team and pray that God protects and pushes your movement.”

Many people look at musicians with envy. The expectation is that one reaps a lot of benefits; a lot of wealth and fame. Kleo is trying to keep focused “Yes most musicians like fame. I also want it but I want to do it my way. I want to help my team grow want to give back. I do music simply to make people dance enjoy themselves! There are different ways of looking at success! Many will have different levels to success! I feel like I have succeeded already! The fact I make people happy the fact I can pay what I have to support my team makes me content and happy. If one is a greedy artist, people are a put off and they begin to think they are worth more than they are. It’s wrong.” 

Kleo reckons that she gets her “loud” style from her mother. “My mum styles me and my grandmother was a designer so I guess it got carried down the family. I and mum always try to challenge what’s on trend. My mum does not like normal. She has an unusual, uncommon and eccentric sense of style. So dressing me is easy for her. I do my hair and she works with whatever I do with it. Having a young Mummy is a BONUS!” She trails off in her heavy East London English accent. “From a young age I was fascinated by her sense of style. The colors and change of styles weekly amazed me. But ideally with my height and body structure people struggle to find clothing that fits my upper and bottom part” That is where her mother becomes very instrumental “She knows where to go and when to go.

Kleo modeling a Gomesi with an interesting twist to it.

She knows every inch of my body from parts that need to be covered to parts that needs to be enhanced, what heels suit me, what jewelry goes ,what colors what theme. She’s amazing!”

Her mother as well is the most singular important person in her life “We have been close forever. She is my mentor, she is my supporter, she is my rock. She knows every step I take in my music. Coming from shows to outfits to upcoming songs, She helps me plans songs and tells me if Ugandans will understand what am saying if am pronouncing things right. My mother helps me calm down when I start stressing especially where people delay, mess or tamper with projects. She’s basically the best mum an artist could ask for. She is also a well-respected patient loving Christian woman that judges no one but loves everyone.”

Her mother who has been listening in to the interview quietly but firmly adds; “Kleo has been a very smart girl from a young age so I know she will be ok in the music industry. As a kid, she was very creative I predicted she would somehow be in the entertainment industry.  I have no problem with it. God is in control and I know she will and is doing great.” The two have a double edged relationship as a daughter-mother relationship but to her mother, being a mom comes first “My relationship as her mother is first. She’s part of me. So anything that hurts her affects me. I try not worry and put all my trust in God to protect her and give her guidance. She knows what she is doing.”

Plans are afoot for her to visit Uganda in the near future. “Yes very soon I should be coming to Uganda this year in the summer. I will be shooting four videos. I will also visit some schools, visit my village. I may do a tour. I also want to finally see my grandmother and just enjoy my summer back in Uganda. It has been a long time.”

Alice Bombo; This Lady Truly Loved Me.

By Arthur M. Katabalwa

Mummy with some of her grand children April 2015

On February 5, 2017 I sat down to have a downgraded English breakfast. I made some brown toast, baked beans and sausages. I don’t eat eggs these days but I had a fresh glass of orange juice. It was one of those Sundays which I thought was going to be routine; have a lie in, no church. I had planned to go and see my mother, Mrs Alice Bombo later in the day. We had had a phone call the previous Thursday. Mother was impatient with me. You see, I procrastinate a lot. Don’t we all? In the phone call, she had asked said to me that “I would look for her…” Prophetic wasn’t it?

Then a phone call came in from my brother Yosam Semugoma. He hesitated to tell me directly what the problem was. He sounded breathless but I brushed it off. So I continued with my breakfast, watching TV. Then my mothers’ house keeper called. She said that my mother could not be aroused from her sleep. I thought "What kind of nonsense is that? They could pour cold water on her or shake her violently. She would wake up." So I continued with my breakfast. But then I decided to notify my other brother Philip Miiro (we always talk). I called him and he told me that he was rushing to Nsangi as he had also heard of the problems at home. It was at that moment when I thought there must be a problem with mother. Mummy couldn't be woken up. She was locked up in her room. And they could not get to her however hard they tried.

Sharing a joke with a friend Mrs Iga.

Still calm, I threw on some tattered clothes, a pair of battered shoes and I sauntered out of the house still clutching my piece of brown toast. On my way to get into a taxi back home, with the heat from the sun beating relentlessly on my back, I thought I was probably going in for bad news. I kept calling home and while I was in Nateete, my brother told me in a very calm voice “Mwenky, mummy afudde. Jaangu.”

Mrs Alice Elizabeth Namwanje Bombo was born in a wealthy family in Kyebando, Wakiso district on December 13 1939. Her father, our grandfather Jjjaja Serwano Mwanje was as well connected as he was generous. My mother was the first born of 11 children. Her family was very close. Her mother died when she was only four. So she hardly remembered her. Our grandfather married later on in life and his wife, my mothers’ step mother took on the role of mother without any reservations. To us, she has always been "Jjaja" and for that we are thankful.

Alice Namwanje was a very conscientious girl. Quite Christian from an early start. Even with the trappings of her upbringing (she mixed with Buganda royalty and upper classes) her feet remained firmly on the ground. She went to Gayaza Primary School and later to Makerere College School. After she went to Teacher training college where she first clapped her eyes on a rather suave, dapper well suited, equally Christian Laban Bombo. They were to later get married in 1965.

It is difficult to write about my mother in isolation of my father. For a long time, my father dominated the family. My mother dutifully remained in the background. I think on occasion she was quite irritated by the way society treated Vicars’ wives in the Anglican Church. To this day they are still taken for granted. But she kept those thoughts to herself. For all my life, I was glad to witness a truly live and current love story. Up to the day our father passed away in 2009, he would literally shake with delight when he saw her-which to a worldly person like me; found quite embarrassing. But then I suppose put my own relationship issues in the shade.

When our father died, our mother found herself in a position she didn’t want. Here she was the widow of Rev Laban Bombo! She was happy remaining in his shadow but now she had to keep his memory alive. I think she struggled a bit with it. She spent some time travelling in The UK in 2010 thinking about things soon after his passing. And when she came back she was ready to take on the mantle of being Mrs Alice Bombo, the widow of Rev Laban Bombo.

My mother was always fascinated by how she seemed to be able to benefit from my father’s name. She called herself "Mukyaala Bombo" with pride. What we all didn’t realize then was that she was “Mukyaala Bombo” not for being his widow; but because she was "Mukyaala Bombo."

One the last photos taken of her.

Mukyaala Bombo was very simple in her ways. She was very meticulous. She knew where all her money was. She kept time almost in a fanatical way. She loved kids a lot! She adored her family; her grand-kids. But to me, her youngest child, she was mummy. All other things pale into insignificance when I think of the way she was a mother to me.

In the years after my fathers’ passing, I faced a huge crisis in confidence. I made loads of mistakes in my personal life. I take all the blame. But rather than judge me as a Christian mother, she sat me down and we had an in depth chat on why I was off the rails. And then after all was said and done, she made me realize that it is never too late to atone for my sins and start life again. And that is what I did. I am glad that she witnessed my last three years where I have made such great strides in my life. The last call she made to me we were supposed to be sitting down to talk about a new exciting phase in my life which she has been witness to.

Mummy enjoyed life. She enjoyed it to the fullest. Being financially independent she was able to do what she wanted. My father was the adventurous kind and when he passed away, Mummy had thankfully got the bug. She also spent a lot of time with friends both old a new. On the village in Nsangi she seemed to be attending all sorts of functions. Until she died, she worked a full working week commuting to Kings College Budo to look after kids. She held several businesses and she was very active in the real estate business, owning a number of rentals.

Mrs Alice Bombo died from a massive heart attack on February 5, 2017. She passed away in her sleep. The hope is that she didn’t suffer. In death she looked asleep. Many people thronged our family estate in Nsangi to accompany her on her final journey lying next to our father, The Late Rev Laban Bombo. I looked at the multitudes of people; the high and mighty, the great and not so great all sat in the gardens without pretense to class or might of office. One member of government in silent contemplation summed up what everyone thought that day. She said; “This Lady truly loved me”. Alice Bombo truly loved each and every one of us.

Watching the rides (Center) at Alton Towers in England

Rev Laban Bombo; A Celebration of A Life Well Lived.

By Arthur M. Katabalwa.

On December 3, 2016 I joined a number of former students in the chapel at Kings College Budo to celebrate the life of our teacher, our Rev, my father Rev Laban Bombo. This is a copy of the speech I made on that occasion.

A message to Rev, from your student, your son, Mwenkanya.

I have been higher than a mango tree! You should be happy about that. I think I am quite a bit wayward for a vicar’s son, a self-confessed lazy Christian but you always told me to be who I am. You probably found it amusing, almost rebellious I think.  I remember that look of absolute horror when you first saw me with a French cut. You were mortified but you let me be. I know one time you got wind of my unhealthy interest of one damsel in S2. You handled it well…….by making her stand right in front of this very chapel for three days!!!! Thanks so much. Needless to say the unhealthy interest was never returned.

The Late Rev Laban Bombo

I failed just about any exam that was placed in front of me. But for some reason you never lost hope in my academic capabilities which by the way through my school years were virtually none existent. I was not average, I wasn’t even below average; I was just a dunce. In my S4 when failure of my O’Levels was all but assured you went for a yearlong holiday to England! Dad, your failure at having a blind panic then paid off. I have a Master’s Degree now in the only thing I know how to do well, Journalism. But I want to tell you about me, we, the family, my friends, your friends, your students gathered here today in KCB chapel. We are all OK!!!

I really struggled with what to say today. When you were diagnosed with cancer several years ago, I knew I wanted to speak at a service like this one day, when the pain had eased. I thought of some great stories to share, and I heard these really great song lyrics that seemed appropriate, and I pictured this moving, emotional speech that would perfectly encapsulate everything I have been feeling for the past six years.

I sat down to write that speech a couple days ago, and nothing came.

Part of the problem with knowing what to write is knowing what tone to take. I firmly believe that everyone should grieve in their own way. I have grieved in a lot of different ways at a lot of different times for a lot of different reasons. There is pressure – from whom, I don’t know – to be brimming with hope and praising God for taking you to heaven. But we still want you here. We have our hopeful moments, but we are not without sorrow. Personally I cannot have spent 36 years with a man like you and not be broken to the core having to say good-bye.

But no one wants to hear a speech about that.

I read a note from one of your friends. Your death was a blow to them. I saw another friend, and when he hugged me, I could feel the loss. You are a great man. You are my hero. You are an inspiration to those who knew you. I’m sorry, but it’s going to take us a while to get over this one. It’s going to take a lot of us awhile. And that’s okay. Anyone can give us the message of hope, the best I can do is tell you where we are at today. We are all OK, remembering you with fondness, joy and love.

Personally I have been reluctant to look at old pictures of my dad. That is a hard thing to be when you are planning a memorial service like this with friends. You would be impressed at the lengths I took to avoid that video I posted on Facebook the other day.

Not looking at pictures probably sounds more callous than it is. I am not afraid to remember you the way you were. I am afraid of crying and breaking down and losing control of my emotions, but I’m not afraid of remembering. During these last few years, I kept reminding myself and reminding my mom and my siblings that the hard times will be overwhelmed by the good times soon enough. I believe this will be true. I have to believe it.

Thankfully, I don’t need the pictures to remind me of how he was. I can see him clearly when I close my eyes and draw from the memories I hold dear in my heart. I can see him and my mom, the greatest love story I know, newlyweds, grinning from ear to ear in their first house – never happier than to be with each other. I can see him carrying me on his shoulders in Nsangi, beaming with pride. I can see him in his wellington boots felling a tree for firewood hauling us grudgingly from TV to go and collect the firewood, I can see him scolding one of us his boys, who proudly call ourselves The Three Musketeers. I can see him at every major event in my life to this day. I can see him here today. He is gone physically but spiritually he is a constant presence, sometimes even losing his temper when I mess up.

When I look upon my father now, he is incredibly proud. When I look upon my father now he is at peace; when I look upon my father now he is proud of his daughter; Namutebi; when I look upon my father now he is proud of us, his boys, in all our flawed ways (especially myself), when I look upon my father now he is still deeply in love with one lady, our mother whom he shook physically even at 70 when he saw her. When I look at pictures of my dad, I see us, his family. I see us, here in this chapel at Kings College Budo, happy, content and with hope.

What a privilege the Lord gave me 36 years to learn from the greatest man I have ever known, and it is an honor to carry on his legacy. I don’t know if I am up for it, but I will never stop trying.

My dad loved the Lord. He was faithful to the church. His faith and the many beautiful ways it manifested itself served as such an example to me. In my last personal conversation with him in the summer of 2009, a few months before he passed away, as his body failed him, ravaged by cancer,he was praying to Jesus. He spoke to Him with a natural ease. When everything else was fading away, the one area that always remained was his love of the Lord.

He was such a good father to us. He was utterly devoted to his friends. He had his flaws especially a fiery temper but at the end of it one knew it was never out of malice.  All of us here we were adored completely, wholeheartedly undeniably, unmistakably, unconditionally. I wish I could ask my dad our Rev how he did it. I want so badly to be the father that my dad was to me.

He is home now.

ANNETTE NAMATA; SHE COULD BE YOUR SISTER.

Defiantly sitting up!

By Arthur M. Katabalwa

One day after I had just stepped off Urban Televisions’ flagship show press digest I came across a family sitting in the foyer. They had a scrawny looking kid whom they were carrying. She looked almost not aware of her surroundings.  At New Vision printing and Publishing Corporation, they  get so many people coming through its front doors looking for help and it is easy to dismiss any as they come on a daily basis. Frankly, some are trying to “pull a fast one.”

I asked this family if someone was tending to them and they said no one had spoken to them. Twenty minutes later, after I had contacted Bukedde Television, I saw that they had been dealt with. A journalist had taken their story and their plight was going to be aired on TV. But this kid (that is what I thought because there was hardly anything of her) hanged on to the man who was carrying her in total silence. I inquired a bit more what the problem was and I was told that she was suffering from cancer. I asked what her name was and that was when I was told she was a 20 year old girl called Annette Namata. I was shocked! She was twenty? I could not believe how the disease had wasted her.

Here they were and all they were asking for was UGX87000 (about $26) to buy her medication. I could not believe that that was the sum that they were looking for; a sum that some of my friends have happily blown away in an evening on booze. That was the sum they wanted to save a life for that month. That was what they wanted to save this poor wretched life. 87K!!! That was when I decided to try and do something. Later on Annette’s mother confided in me that they came with UGX6000 ($1.76) on them and she had decided that if they could not get the money, she was going to take her daughter back home and watch her slip away. That was the situation.

The poverty that this family experiences is beyond comprehension. I have been to visit them at their home two miles away from Mawale, a town near Semuto in central Uganda. They have been given what I can only describe as a poor attempt of putting mud bricks together for a house. They have no functioning toilet that I saw and the kitchen is simply laughable. Annette sleeps in a room with a mud a wattle floor. The walls do not connect to the corrugated iron sheets leaving a gap about ten inches which must let the rain in on a stormy night.

Most times she is alone in her room.

Every day at 0500AM her mother has to make the painful decision to walk about a mile or so to go and till the land for that is what they live off. She has a brother who has to go to school by 0630AM so from that time until her mother comes back at 1000AM, she is left to her own devices.

Until recently, her mother used to buy a cows’ head which she would get as much meat from for sale. That gave her some income but that has dried up as she has had to continuously fight adversity in light of her daughters’ health.

The issues surrounding this case are not isolated. In the villages in parts on Uganda, the locals believe a lot in the occult. They believe in witchcraft. When Annette started complaining of headaches and pains, her mother thought someone was playing quick and fancy with her daughter bewitching her. For four months she was being treated with pain killers and herbs until her left side seized up and she could not walk. Her mother sent her to the local health centre who asked her to go to go to the main referral hospital in Kampala for further diagnosis. Annette got to know that she had cancer alone. Her mother was not there. Her father has never been part of her life.

At 100K ($29.25) a month for the basic drugs, her mother could not afford them. So for a while they simply went without medication. Her mother has told me that she was once asked for an egg and she couldn’t afford it. On a good month her income used to be about UGX50K ($14) now anyone can do the maths. That has also dried up.

She loves a good old gossip when possible.

The family thanks all those who have come to their help.  The most expensive thing is the medicine which they must have. When she needs to see the doctor, they have to make the journey from the village but in her condition, it is not possible to come by public means.  She must use a privately hired car which with the mileage, the costs add up.

God has blessed Annette in such a way that despite her disease she has her appetite. She loves her food. So contributions have also made sure that she eats well. The last time I visited her in hospital, she jokingly asked her mother for a yogurt “which her friends have already sent her.” It was touching to see that the argument between mother and daughter was about the flavour of yogurt not whether they could afford it.

Annette Namata has stage four Primitive Neuro Ectodermal Tumour. It is a very rare form of cancer mainly found in kids. Her doctor has told me that it is incurable. Her brain, orbit/eye, chest, and abdomen are now affected. She has had 6 sessions of chemotherapy at the moment which involved vincnstile, cyclophosphade and Actionolycin D (sorry if I have got the spellings wrong for those of you who are knowledgeable about these things)

Her main issues now are social. She needs upkeep. She needs transportation. Her lower body is covered in bedsores. She also needs physiotherapy.  She thanks all the following (and I will only use first names and Initials to maintain privacy) Paul W, Julia K, Steven and Cathy K, Paul N.L, Georgina M and her friends and so many friends her in Uganda. In the UK, Nick E from the BBC in London thanks so much and “Thamantha” (That is how she pronounces the name)Samantha J from First Group in Stoke On Trent she loves you guys very much.

That is where she has come from.

My appeal to everyone who is reading this, please don’t cease with the help. I have some people who have now offered to actually go and see her in Mawale. She likes visitors. She is only a 20 year old after all. She is also deeply religious so she wants your prayers.

One might ask why I am so taken up by this case after all there are so many others like her. Simple answer is that I also don’t know. This poor girl just struck cord in my heart and I thought let me help. Maybe I was at the right place at the right time. But it is not about me.

Your help will make sure she has drugs, she has food, she can go and get physiotherapy, she can live the rest of her life knowing that outside the walls of her house, a multitude of people she will probably never know is willing her to live on. That in all her suffering, in all her poverty she is not alone. That is why over the last two or three days as a way of putting up the proverbial two fingers to the disease she sat up in her bed straight!

If you want to help in the appeal to help Annette Namata please contact me, Arthur Mwenkanya Katabalwa on +0256789288917 or at mwenky99@gmail.com

HAJATI

By Arthur M. M. Katabalwa.

I boarded the 0815 City Centre to Ntinda taxi and settled in for the journey.  I always had a seat for myself. It was usually at the front because of the leg room.  Even the conductors knew my preference and on certain occasions they would ask someone to move which embarrassed me a lot. This taxi does not actually exist officially. It just so happens that I have worked on the transport industry for a while in England that I tend to think of all public travel pegged to a certain time. Well, taxis in Uganda only move if they are full.

Hajati

On this particular morning I sat right behind the driver near what some might call “akameeme”. It was better for me to sit there I thought as always I found that I was nearly the first to alight near where I worked on Kira road.  I never took much notice of the lady sat next to me.

About ten minutes into the journey by which time we were negotiating the biblical traffic jam near Kisekka market, this lady without much sense and sensibility plonked some ladies lingerie on my lap. I mean these were really large knickers, bras and petty coats. She had a huge bag and she was arranging the rest inside.

I froze!!!

Here I was with a heap of ladies stuff on my lap. I am not good with ladies lingerie at the best of time even in private. Yet here I was in a cramped taxi with 13 other passengers, sitting with a heap of second hand bras the size of which I could fit my head in (not that I tried).

I looked at the pants (which I thought was wrong) and they were the size of parachutes. It was horrendous. I feared that this lady was going to ask me to muck in and help her arrange the garments now sat on my lap. I looked and wondered who could have been the owner? What would they think if they found out that their knickers and God knows what were sat on my lap on the 0815 City Centre to Ntinda?

I summoned all the strength I could and turned round to look at this lady who had had the audacity to place these things on my lap. Here was a Muslim lady maybe about 60. She was dressed in the modest way that Islamic ladies like to dress. I could not see her hair. Her hands were covered up completely and her dress reached the floor. So I thought to myself “Why are you travelling about with a sack full of whatever when you are all covered up?”

She was completely taken up by what she was doing. Here was this Hajati merrily arranging away these garments. She could hardly notice that my face was taut with fright at the thought of having all these garments on my lap. It was the first time that I was in the possession of underwear that belonged to more than one girl in public. I don’t know if I should be proud of that or not. But anyway………………………………..

Hajati and her daughter which was a crowd stopping moment.

Over the next weeks, I started observing this lady. We kept getting the same taxi. It seemed like the weather had completely dried her skin which made me think that she worked in a market further down the road. Interestingly she wore a very nice perfume.  Sometimes she had a distant look on her face like she was lost in thought. I started listening to what she would say to other people.

Hajati lightened up the taxi park when she arrived with that bag which at times seemed to weigh more than her. She would arrive and all the taxi touts would swarm around her. She also had a special place like me because of her bag and when she arrived she would sit in the same place.

I noticed that she was also deeply religious that is why I called her Hajati. I never ever got to know her name. In fact we hardly ever spoke to each other. She knew I existed and on many occasions she called me “Mutabani” (son) which isn’t out of place for ladies her age in Ugandan society. She would board and share what she knew of what was going on. Many times it was off the mark especially on politics. It was complete speculation. But many times Hajati was delightful.

There was a time when she came with her daughter. We all went MENTAL!!! The taxi men, the public everyone went mental because she looked absolutely gorgeous. Her daughter I think was at the time about 20. She seemed to be taken aback by the reaction her mother got because of her. I think Hajati was a bit of a show off because when she arrived she made sure everyone knew that this was her daughter. The poor girl spent the whole journey shielding behind her mother.

On occasions she said a curt word. Actually I must say that Hajati had an acerbic tongue. If she was irritated she would not take any prisoners and would take anyone on and put you down. I think this was the best way for her as I can imagine that if she worked in a market then that would have been an aggressive environment.

Over time I started noticing other women in society, looking at what they did for life. There are many to whom life in the city is a daily grind against all the odds. You will never find a Ugandan woman completely inebriated by alcohol during working hours like you will do men. In the taxi parks the ladies are the majority now taking round all sorts of things selling them through the windows, many times under the punishing sun. You will find them selling cold drinks, snacks and even once I saw one selling SD cards. All the while with their hair tied back in a bun and a splash of makeup.

I have a lady who gets me my groceries at Nakasero market whenever I can go. She knows exactly what I want and the never gets things wrong. I have spoken to her about her work schedule and her day starts at 0400 in the morning when the delivery arrives. Many times she will still be sat at her stall at 2200 hours at night.

If one were to take a walk through the old taxi park before the rush hour one will find young girls and women literally sat on the hard tarmac (where ever one can find a spot of it) selling greens, tomatoes, bananas, ginger, beans, peas and the works. I have stopped and seen one of the older women literally out asleep and I have wondered what her life story is. It isn’t that I will call it a bad life because only they can call it that but I wondered what set of circumstances got her there. Who are her family? Did she have children? Where was her home? I turned round quickly and watched the people who were selling fried ants.

We see all these girls, ladies, women working as hard as hard can be. We see the ladies who sweep the roads with nothing more than broomsticks at Mulago roundabout at great risk to themselves physically and health wise because of the dust. We see these ladies carrying bananas on their heads in the sun at the Electoral commission junction, being chased by the police and KCCA.  We go and eat their food in Kinamwandu (who has been there?) which is so cheap one wonders if they make any profit on it. We see these ladies who are selling clothes in the “Kajja” near Park Enkadde Mall, the ladies who are sat in the markets in the heat and the filth.

The other Hajatis in Uganda.

I have been asked many times if I have ever got to know who Hajati was. No I didn’t. I left her in her peaceful world and I moved on. For me she is all those women I have described above who after a hard day’s work the onus is on them to maintain a marriage. That is a representation of some Ugandan women. That is HAJATI!

mwenky99@gmail.com

@mwenky

I want to thank all of you who have read my account of my stay in Uganda as it stands. This is the last one in these series. The story, the tales go on and many are still being written. When the time comes I will put pen to paper and share with you all about this amazing journey. 

Love You Loads Holly and Tendo Katabalwa. Daddy will soon be back.

Mwenky.