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Anything but ordinary

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As a writer, you pride yourself in the fact that you are able, on a higher level than the ordinary man, to put into words what exactly it is that you are feeling, what it is that you see, smell, hear, name it. Whether it is a terribly scrumptious heaped plate of spaghetti with a slightly orange tinge that tastes like ocean waves at sunset or a large tree with red and brown leaves that bends slightly to the right whenever the wind blows and has endless trails of tiny black insects harvesting sweet cold nectar up from its pale pink flowers down to its partially hidden roots...you get the picture. That was not the case with the writer’s retreat on Bulago Island over the Independence Day weekend.This retreat was organised by Jackee Batanda of SuccessSpark Brand and Nyana Kakooma of Sooo Many Stories. Don't let the fact that this was the first of it's kind fool you... Imagine a big orange house, with large glass windows that cover almost fifty percent of the walls. Imagine
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Farewell Blogger!

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On the 22nd of July, 2011, at 15:39 hours East African time, I published my very first article on Blogger. It was a two-paragraph article, barely 200 words, called "In a Nutshell" . It talked about how there is no try, there is only do and do not. It was read by about 10 people. It was poorly phrased, with an exaggerated font and all over the place, BUT; it still captured me. It's been about 8 years now, and I can assure you that the growth has been real. As a writer, I have expanded my horizons in ways I never ever thought I would. I have risen and fallen, given up and started over, inspired and motivated others and been inspired as well. I have discovered hidden islands in writing, secrets and truths that can only be found through experience. I have worked with amateurs and professionals. I have had writers block and sudden bursts of writing energy. Far from diminishing with time, my passion for writing has only deepened and become more fiery. However, when you
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Dear God...

Dear God, This is a thank you note. Allow me to elaborate. My grand aunt (if that’s even an English word) was a single mother of five. Her husband, after over a decade of marriage, woke up one day and decided his five children did not mean that much to him anymore; he got himself a new wife, and went ahead to have four more children with his new wife. At the time this happened, her eldest child (my aunt) was about eleven years old. This tale is vivid in my mind because I looked up to my grand aunt in all matters spiritual. You could cut her up, limb by limb and she would still not give up her faith in Jesus.  I was an eager and curios child of maybe fifteen, a very impressionable age if you ask me. A group of about five of us were seated in a living room of her village home in Western Uganda, listening  intently to grand aunt tell this tale. The look in her eyes was one that said ‘I don’t expect you to believe me but this actually happened”. It was a cold night so
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