P.3A Musings – First Day of School

Back in the day, 1996 to be exact, I transitioned from a day primary school to a boarding primary school. It was all sorts of exciting my first day. It was Wednesday and I checked into P.3A at around 3:00pm that afternoon. Ms Nabwire my class teacher welcomed me with open arms. I look different from most of my classmates. My eyes had life yet theirs looked like the lunch they had just an hour ago was there no more.

Boarding school had been a big dream of mine. I had spent the whole of my first term of P.3 in Kitante Primary school convincing my parents that boarding school would be the best thing that happened to me. I doubt they actually knew the reasons why I wanted to go to boarding school so bad. I’d spent the holiday with my friend James, and from how he described boarding school, it sounded a lot like Jesus’ second coming – paradise.

James had told me that he was given pocket money and was allowed to carry grab, and he had proof to show. He had returned home that holiday with 800/- shillings of the 1,000/- shillings he was given at the beginning of the term. While standing at the neighbourhood canteen with James narrating what boarding school was like, while buying ball gum for 50/- shillings, I knew I had to join too. He then told me how he still had some of the g.nuts, small daddies, biscuits and quencher left over from the previous term at home. I was even more sold. Boarding school was a must. He also told me that there was a visiting day where parents brought all sorts of food when they came to see you and you could eat all you want. What? This was the nail, the hammer at that point was useless.

And here I was now, looking at a bunch of starved kids, looking back at me like their next prey. It was then that I realized that I had made a very very huge mistake. To top all that, my parents left for home without leaving me any pocket money. Nor did they leave me with g.nuts, small daddies, biscuits or even quencher. Remembering, James had told me that they carried lear, or was it layer, maybe leah? Oh well, there was no leah in this school. Layer was clothes you carried from home that was not uniform and was worn when you were done with the main school stuff. Well, St. Savio had a bunch of red clothes I had to put on when all the school stuff was done.

Was the dream James sold me different from what my reality was? Where was James? I thought there was only one boarding primary school? Did he go to a different one? At that moment, standing in front of Ms Nabwire, I was not going to school, I was walking into jail. It was then that I realized I had made the biggest mistake of my life, thinking like an adult. Was this really boarding school?

8 Years

8 Year Anniversary Achievement
Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!
You registered on WordPress.com 8 years ago!
Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging!
It’s been a great 8 years and I dare say that my writing and the Thought Process has grown and improved. So here’s to many more.
Cheers!

December Musings

Is it Christmas already? The year has played hop scotch on me. It feels like I was just penning down my resolutions at the beginning of the year. Anyway, while most people gear up for Christmas, I gear up for the most exciting time of my work season. Like Christmas shopping, my clients seem to want to spend an extra dime on their spaces. It is design galore for me this time of the year. I find my selfemployed self going long nights and busy days. I am pretty much excited.

Well, here are my 12 musings thus far.

1. Uhm, the year has ended. Feel free to ask yourself what you have achieved, don’t worry, I will wait. 

2. Arrrgggghhhh. WORK! It does this to me sometimes.

3. If you are self employed, who exactly pays you a salary?

4. I am OLD!

5. I am broke.

6. Tomorrow will be a better day, I say the next day. 

7. Don’t put all your fruits in one basket.

8. Being self employed is hard.

9. I was once asked by a client if I pray for all my work…yes, I do. God over everything else.

10. There’s a thin line between desperate and broke. Sometimes you have to say no, but yes, but no, but…there’s so many buts.

11. November flew by me.

12. How many districts in Uganda have you been to? Places? Regions? Have you travelled this year? I’ve been to Bulago and visited the pineapple bay. I was recently in Fort Portal. Damn, we do have a beautiful country.

12 and a half. I am glad that I’ve written at least twice each month this year. I am glad that you’ve taken time and read. I am glad that people are following albeit my mumblings are some what still  amateurish.

These monthly musings are but a collection of thoughts, ideas and juxtapositions that have influenced my past month. Hope you like them.

Click here to share *hahahahahahahahahaha. Kidding.

PUSH

Pray Until Something Happens.

In my earlier, heavily secular (I don’t really know what secular is in reference to religion) or rather when I believed more in my abilities than the Most High, when I believed more in fate and coincidence, and natural order, and all other laws that apply to our daily lives, I don’t think I had many worries as I do now. 

When you finally cross the threshold, like I have recently done, it’s important to believe. I recently formalized my company, now liable to taxation and the URA with the intention of going big. I was fed up of the small monies I was trying to get because of not having a company, if I may say. This on the other hand has come with pressures. Unlike where people first work, establish themselves and take on the challenge, I have worked, have a little experience but I am not yet established.

The thing about being established is that when you go looking for work or when you are doing jobs, you are never queried. I have learnt a few hard lessons this past two months or so since I began the process and that’s why I say PUSH.

There’s projects that we started and midway had to terminate due to unforementioned circumstances. I have had to lose a friend or two because I recommended someone to work for them and they weren’t pleased with the job. I have had to refund money because the client was being difficult or unsure of what I was doing. I have closed opportunities because I locked some doors unknowingly. But I am happy where I am. I am thankful. I am grateful. And I am all this because I PUSH-Ed.

Life has a mysterious way of teaching you lessons. But God has always got your back. Hey, if you are reading this, I am not saying much, nor am I preaching. Prayer has nothing to do with deity. Prayer could involve mediation, solace, fasting…a moment of clarity that helps you understand your current situation. So, I keep PUSHing, and will PUSH because I have been witness to what it does for you and the soul. It keeps you calm and hopeful and in a certain way clarifies your rather bleak situation. 

PUSH.

Growing Up (Part 1)

‘You see, the way we did this…’ my mother reiterates for the  1000th time.

As long as you have a parent, you’ll always remain a child, however old you are. I sometimes find myself on the phone with my mother arguing about MY way forward mostly because in her eyes, I still think she thinks me her baby. And if that’s the case, then you are going to be stuck in her cradle.

Parents always want what’s best, but at some point, we need to cut the influence they have over us lest we actually fail to grow up. I do believe my background has allowed me a kind of independence some people still don’t have, a freedom to loiter, but there are some times I wish I needed an adult in my life.

The thing about growing up is that when you fall, there’s no one to pick or lift you up. And sometimes, you just want the world to swallow you. The thing about growing up is that tomorrow will continue, and your problems will hung low whether your like it or not. Unlike being a child where homework is your greatest worry, being an adult means much more than just pieces of paper. It’s bread on the table, water in the taps, power in your sockets. 

I have never been as confused about where I am and what I am supposed to be doing as I have ever been right now in my life. One moment, I have answers, and in the next, nothing. Nothing at all. Work and life take this toll on me sometimes, I just daze and flow like a burst river bank. Unlike being a child, I have to face tomorrow’s problems alone. I look to my left, and look to my right, and it’s just reflections of me.

I sometimes wonder, did my parents not do enough? Is where I am a result of my decisions growing up? Did I do the right course at university? Am I not doing enough to better myself? Who can I blame? Who should I blame? And all I have is just me. Because growing up is a personal thing. And I will probably be facing my tomorrow as me. Alone, still trying to grow up.

Village Chronicles

“Agandi,” she greets.

“Turya’aho,” they retort.

I’ve never been greeted by this many number of strangers in my lifetime, when not at a party. I wonder at how courteous the people here are and why they randomly greet you. 

Unlike Kampala where it’s rush hour almost every hour, the village is more slow and peaceful the here people have time to greet you. Maybe because there are less stresses here than they are in Kampala. I don’t know why but every time I use the village taxi, and we stop to pick up someone, the first thing they do is greet the whole taxi. And we move on, and we pick up someone who greets us again, and this continues until I finally reach my destination.

I’ve been here almost a week now and every time I feel like leaving this place, I get held up. I am not complaining and truth is, I am enjoying it. I wished to be a wanderer some time again and in these past two days, I’ve been to Mbarara, Lyantonde and back to Bushenyi. Obviously accommodation has been my greatest challenge and at some point I slept in what I would call a brothel seeing as the quality of the covers was susceptible and the bar music playing was just right next door. Yes, a door away. Luckily, power went off but unfortunately I had barely charged any of my gadgets. 

Being out of Kampala is an amazing thing I have now noticed. There’s something ethereal about being on the road, interacting with people, speaking half a dozen broken languages…trust me, they are half a dozen…and having those moments where you are just to yourself, dreaming. 

Anyway…I finally found a place with wifi, in Bushenyi, surprise surprise. I best be leaving now, I need to get back on the Road.

  

RESET 2

I almost used the word edifice wrong, but then again, that’s how much is on my mind. It’s been a terrible week, and some people would have collapsed if what happened to them, happened to me. It started about two weeks ago, when the thought rather crude occurred to me. There was a nagging feeling that I needed to back up my work, and whenever it crossed, I shrugged thinking that it was not that important.

Fast forward to last week. I happened to travel to Bushenyi for a small business meet. Seeing as this wasn’t my first time, I woke up, packed light and headed out with the customary message that I will see them back home later. If you remember, or don’t, I spent the latter part of 2014 on a bus headed to Bushenyi almost every other week. This being a customary journey, I worried less about my luggage which had my laptop and half of my documents (important documents) in there tacked, a couple of books and novels, tape measures and a lot more. I sat in the bus and headed towards Bushenyi. I arrived in Bushenyi at around 3:30pm, and got to site. I assumed I was spending the night so I didn’t bother much. Unfortunately, the meeting lasted only 2 hours and by 5:30, we were done. Seeing as it was done, I decided to take the night bus, so from Bushenyi, back to Mbarara only lasted an hour and I was in Mbarara at around 6:30 heading to 7:00. My little brother was in school and I had promised myself that I needed to see him, which I did and was on the bus at around 8;00pm.

Exhausted from all the travelling, I placed my bag in the tray above my seat and slept off. When we got to Masaka, I inspected and saw that the bag was still in place and then I slept off again. When we reached Kampala at around midnight, we started to drop off people one by one, from Kyengera all the way to the bus park. My mind in a daze, also planned to get off. We get to the bus park and I decide to jump off. As I search the tray, I see no bag or evidence of someone else’s misplaced luggage. In shock, I run round the bus asking and seeing if anyone has seen my bag. The driver looks bemused as I inquire. The conductors keep telling me to check but at this point I’ve lost all hope. I try to remember if there was anything suspicious but I can’t recollect.

Puzzled, confused, I start to laugh at myself and how I could have let this happen. At the back of my head, it’s not what I’ve lost but rather my failure to have backed up all my work, collections and collections of work. I quickly dash to a boda boda frustrated, and narrate to him my story. Shocked, he tells me of someone suspicious leaving his stage in a hurry. He then escorts me to the police (yes, some people are that kind) where I report my bag stolen with its belongings. At this point, all I want is to go home. Crazy, I know but I am also fed up. All I master then is a couple of laughs and anger. The thief didn’t just steal my bag, but my life’s work, and the rather nagging thought that I should have backed it up. And also the fact that they would still not get the full value of what they’ve stolen and when they pawned it off for a miserly few sums, they still won’t understand how important what they’ve pawned was.

No, I am not crying over spilt milk. In fact, few that I’ve shared this story are amused by my lack of remorse and my going forward attitude. At the least, I got home safe and I am starting over from scratch.

All I did was click reset, too.

(Been meaning to post this a while now. About two weeks ago.)