memoirs of a kangaroo in the sun.

I have GOT to be besties with my children! I’m thinking the boys will be closer to their father but we’ll still be close. My daughter(s) on the other hand, ‘tebampona!’ which simply means that battle was lost before it was even started.  The truth is I don’t want to be a cool mum just for the sake of it. I want my children to trust me, to trust that I will always have their best interests at heart, and to value my opinion from a young age. I won’t know everything, but experience will have taught me enough to guide them through life as they grow into independent wholesome adults. The world as it is right now scares me. The number of trends and changing belief systems make me wonder what our children will have to face. Every single thing that makes me who I am has been turned into another battle ground for human rights.  The number of influences and pressures pushing and pulling on each individual are enough to make you want to go into hiding. Just imagine your daughter or s

If you lived in a desert, a place where finding a liter of water is the equivalent of finding a tonne of gold, you would probably look at water differently from someone that lives by the lake. Your tolerance for algae, pebbles or even mud in your water would be much higher than the one who knows all they have to do is walk three meters to find it. This is the same way the employment culture is in Uganda. I’m not talking about the one percent whose parents own firms and businesses so they are guaranteed employment no matter what. Neither am I talking about the other one percent who through relatives in influential positions are able to jump to the front of any application process. I’m also not referring to the law of the jungle where the strong survive and the weak are destroyed. I’m talking about the remaining majority, the ordinary Ugandan who, after struggling through an average of sixteen years of school, an unpaid internship, one or two voluntary positions, and most probably a f

"To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting."   E. E. Cummings All the boys told her she was beautiful. She believed it sometimes more than other times, but never to the extent they claimed. If she was so beautiful, why was she always alone? Why wasn’t she able to hold down a relationship for more than months? Why didn’t she like what she saw in the mirror? It’s not like she was ugly, it’s just that there had to be something she had less of than the other girls. Her nose could use a little nipping here and there and it wouldn’t hurt if she dropped a few pounds.   Sean had left her for a girl with longer hair and a dimpled smile in her light-skinned complexion. If she was all that, why didn’t she feel that way?  There had to be something wrong with her. The most rational thing she can do is take whatever is given to her; she really

I’m a silhouette in the dark. Holding a short stem glass of wine in my right hand, head still turned towards the direction where the sun set hours ago. I wonder often about the smaller things in life: the devil is in the details after all.  But mostly I wonder about the bigger things. God.   The billions of galaxies. Wealth. True Love. Destiny. Good and Evil. Justice. Karma. Creation. Purpose. Every twenty minutes or so, I remember to take a small sip of the sweet red wine, shake my head maybe and sigh a little. It’s all such a web. Many might call it philosophy. They wonder where I get all these theories. I just want a formula. Something that will make it all make sense. I switch legs, move the right leg that’s been crossed over the left and instead cross the left over the right. The glass moves from the right hand to the left. Another quick and inconspicuous shake of the head. Another quick sigh. In the quiet still of the darkness, I can see inside my head

It's his graduation day.  You would not believe the odds he has had to overcome to get here.  All these people looking at him and cheering on as he walks to the podium to receive his certificate only see the new black robe with a Maroon sash. They only see his wide smile, fresh haircut and designer shoes. He walks with his head slightly tilted to one side, as if studying the situation. Although the smile barely shows any teeth, it goes straight to his eyes. He made it. Atwooki has made it. All the statistics said he wouldn't make it. Everyone back home said he would never get far. Heck; his own mother said he would never amount to anything. And after a while, he had come to believe he never would. When the result slip for his Primary Leaving Examinations showed he had barely passed, no one was surprised. He had hung his head low and accepted the hoe that his mother had handed him. His school days were over, she had said. There was no point in payi

This is a true story. I remember the day she walked into my life. It was a quiet sunny day in school, and I was skipping class. New students were still reporting so the dormitories were left open all day. It was my first time in a new school and already the monotony of every day routine promised a dull gray three months ahead. Being the first few days, most of us were still feeling out the place, seeing who was who, and weighing our social options. Mine didn’t look promising. I had already resigned myself to counting down the days until I was back home. Just as I started to head back to class, she walked into the dormitory. "If I were to write down all the schemes we pulled off over the years, I’m pretty sure people would look for me with machetes She was late, fashionably late as I would come to learn, but she walked in like she already knew exactly what to do. As fate would have it, we were in the same class.   I have tried to define that look on her face wh