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Portrait of My Father posted on September 18, 2011 - 7:44pm

You know how when you’re young you think the sun shines out of your parents’ orifices? For some people this feeling passes when they hit puberty, but for a lucky few, that feeling persists, growing deeper still, because it has become an adult kind of appreciation.
My father and I had our fair share of disagreements when I was growing up. There was that time he told us expressly not to play at the neighbor’s house, and returned to find us hanging upside down from the jungle gym—on the neighbor’s side of the fence. He walloped us so hard that day that we could barely walk for a week, and he did it in back of the house so that our friends—who were still hanging from the top of the monkey bars—could witness our humiliation.

Senior Year posted on September 6, 2011 - 6:12pm

So…I moved last week, hurriedly, and at night, the last night before school started, because I cannot seem to do things until the very last minute. Thank God for good friends who will rescue your back by helping you lug all the possessions you’ve managed to accumulate over the last three years into the two town cars it will take to move your stuff, and later, out of the cars and into your new house. Ninja, I know you’ll read this. Thank you.

Oh, Irene! posted on August 27, 2011 - 3:05am

I first processed the news of Hurricane Irene with Ugandan indifference: “Shyaa, mbu hurricane. Me I will just stay inside.”
But then my housemate and his friends decided to leave for DC this morning. This was before Bloomberg decided it would be a good idea to evacuate large parts of all the five boroughs. I was blissfully asleep when all the frantic warnings were sent out, which is why I was a little shocked to wake up to this text from my housemate:
“Hey, are you home? I don’t think you’ll be able to move this weekend. Storm looks bad. You might want to stock up on food as well.”
I was supposed to move into my new apartment tomorrow. Then a friend who was supposed to be staying over tonight texted me to say he’d decided to up and catch a flight out of state. I’m not even sure where he’s going. Philadelphia or something.

Dollar Value posted on August 24, 2011 - 4:27am

Sometimes you find kindness in unexpected places. You are talking on the phone when you walk into the pizzeria—an international call too, so that you must strain to hear your sister over the crackling line. You order two slices of buffalo chicken pizza. You reach into the fridge and remove a yellow fanta, which you immediately open and begin to drink—it’s hot, so hot outside. Just as you conclude your phone-call, a man in an apron arrives with your pizza in a box. You fumble in your purse to retrieve your wallet. You are distracted as you ask, “How much?”—Confident, as you hand over your debit card. It is only $8.75, after-all. The apron-man swipes your card: once, twice. “I’m sorry, ma’am, your card’s been denied.” You reach for the card, stare at it quizzically. “There should be money on it,” you mutter to him. “Try it again, please,” you add with a frown. He obliges you and swipes the card. “Nothing,” he says, with a sympathetic smile. No, no, you think.

Kampala Re-union posted on July 30, 2011 - 6:27pm

I saw him standing outside Café Javas in a red plaid shirt and dark blue jeans. He wore white and red sneakers that screamed loudly: “OC!” His face was the same, the same wide eyes staring out from behind the round glasses. He was hunched over what looked like a Ushs. 10,000 MTN airtime card, punching numbers into his iPhone. I walked up to him, tapped his left shoulder. He turned to me; face lighting up, arms spreading to embrace me: Princess!
There were the first few awkward moments after the hug. What do you say to someone you haven’t seen in 10 years? How do you begin to ‘catch up’?
“Let’s go in,” he prompted.
We did, walking slowly, still smiling hesitantly at each other—still trying to find our jump-off point. At the door, we paused. The place appeared to be full. Strangers looked up to watch us looking around. We turned to leave, at which point, a waitress materialized.
“I can find you seats,” she said.
We turned to follow her.

On Writing posted on May 29, 2011 - 10:55pm

I have discovered, with some horror, over the last few weeks, that I have forgotten how to write. No, this is not one of those moments when I blow things all out of proportion and go on a whining spree. I have lost the patience to write. There have been several scenes that have gripped me, and I have begun to write about them, but too soon, easily, I have grown distracted–by facebook, by my cellphone, by a friend pounding repeatedly on the door. My attention span is like a short, flimsy thread in the wind…and right now, sitting in my apartment on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I am beginning to realize the utter horror of it. To write is to draft and re-draft repeatedly. To sit at your desk with the fraction of an idea in your mind, and fight valiantly to bring it to life.  I appear to have grown weary of fighting.
This is the last “real” piece I started to write–the date, quite horrifyingly, is November 12, 2010:

Drown posted on March 6, 2011 - 12:17am

My Papa is dead. Perhaps in saying it, I will begin to believe it. Perhaps in receiving as many messages of condolence, the reality will begin to dawn on me. Me, yes, me—this thing has happened to me. And yet it is not about me at all. It is about my father, who has lost his father. It is about his brothers and sisters who have lost their father. I have only the merest traces of memories: of sports coats and elbow patches, and a laugh, he always seemed to be laughing when he looked at us.

R.I.P. Papa posted on March 4, 2011 - 8:38am

I don’t remember him, not really. When he came home to Bukoto, he’d have us down on our knees for fifteen minutes, running his fingers through our short, curly hair, and asking:
“Yes, how are you, my grandchildren?”
“What did you get in Math?”
He was a Math teacher, in his hey-day. He fought in the Second World War. He always wore one of those flat fisherman caps, which made him look like he’d just stepped out of the sixties.
He slurped his tea, when he drank in the morning. Sometimes his hands shook and some of the tea spilled over onto the saucer.
He dipped his bread into his tea, and he chewed loudly, messily.
But he had such joy in his eyes when he looked at us—such hope:
“Dr. O’Teti!”
Daddy says he bought us a piece of land in Busia so that one day we could build him a clinic.
My grandchildren will be doctors, he said.
Papa has been sick. I know he’s been sick. But I haven’t seen him in almost ten years.

What’s next? posted on November 28, 2010 - 1:47pm

You have discovered quite suddenly, an “I don’t care.” For weeks you have prepared tirelessly for a professional exam, because you have failed it twice before and do not want to fail it again. You have shirked all the responsibilities it was possible to shirk, you have skipped work and you have skipped so many classes, you have lost count. You are running on caffeine and adrenaline. You have honed your entire life into a single sharp point: pass! Pass the darn-damn-dratted exam! You have studied as you have never studied before. The formulas have danced on the backs of your eye-lids. When you have opened your mouth, you have spoken on probabilities, and least likely and more likely scenarios. You have referenced Poisson like an old best friend, until people have begun to look at you funny. You have turned off your cell-phone, your facebook, your skype; you have told yourself you can afford no distractions.

Okay, I may or may not be hopped up on a drink that’s a cross between 12% alcohol and a shitload of caffeine. All I can say is I am not completely there. But I have enjoyed tonight. Can’t remember the last time I got to chill with ‘my boys.’ And quite honestly, I do not have the brain capacity to pretty this here post up. There were pizza boxes and chicken and rice and Southern Comfort and beer, and bad movies and good movies. Have you seen “The Social Network”? No? Go see it, immediately, now! Not seen “The Last Airbender”? Dear God, don’t bother! Not unless you feel a tickling to laugh every few seconds at the general absurdity of it all. I haven’t seen such bad acting in God knows how long. And finally, “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.” Have you seen this shit? Dang, it’s tight. Go watch it right now. Fucking hilarious. What was I trying to capture with this post? Man, it’s cold outside. I was chasing something. I don’t think there’s a word for it. Friendship?