Monthly Archives: March 2014

A walk through a cancerous ward

When you hear it said in words, you conclude they are words. A visit to the cancer Institute will spring a grain of life out reason that theory thus. When I walked into it, my attention was driven to this ailing old lady, who in unspoken pain turned and moaned on the floor. She stretched out her hand to the nearest point of help. She gripped and groped on whatever there was to hold, may be the pain would go, I thought she thought. She did not have as much space as half a foot away; another lady sought a way out.  Only in the walk way lay six women. Their attendants, sat on the cold cement benches of the hospital as they helplessly looked on their patients.

Atop the patients’ heads, passersby trailed and snailed like in a village footpath leading to the well to access the overflowing ward. The corridors were suffocating with congestion both patients and their aids. Broken beds creaking and rattling scaring off any one non skilled. There is a lot, more than meets the eye. The lavatories are flooded with water and blocked sinks sit dripping at the expense of the patients’ health.

There are many questions that stream through one’s mind as they think of how painful and expensive all this process is. One thing remains though; God’s grace has spared me and you for a reason. May be that’s a reason to reflect upon.

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Street Detention.

 Not all the things our eyes see are good to talk about. We meet things that break us emotionally. The death comes because our hands are tied yet we have to live. These are the sweet nothings that we wished you we could turn about.

This young man, in the morning left perhaps his family behind to look for a means of survival. He chose not to go and steal but to hawk his merchandise on one of the busy streets of Kampala. This, the city officials have said is illegal; being found hawking any item on the street.

He was lost in argument with a client bargaining on a photo frame. He wanted the client to increase only by a small percentage of 1% when City Official nabbed him. A colleague quickly pulled away the other photo frames, lest they be confiscated. He was dragged to the waiting city official truck for interrogation.

We all looked on- because the law says so. There are many like him, they cannot come out to complain lest they risk detention without trial. Whether he survived or not, the City Official knows.

Street survival continues, the strong hearted will live, the heartbroken will find the means to.

Of mother and son I picked the phone to talk to her. I missed her. We talked for a while but then, she wouldn’t go without a word. She diverted the conversation to her path that I have grown used to. Like then, she threw in a Biblical story. This time though, it was about the children of Israel, whatever happened to them, it seems I forgot to listen. She always has the element of telling us the story like used to be the case in Sunday school then. A short bit about the story, a longer explanation, and then she could use imagery here and there. “ God took the children of Israel through the storm like that at the amusement park, remember?” back then we’d be focused but along the way, I think I’ve outgrown it. This time though, she told of the tales endeavoring to end the sentence with the rhetorics, “uuhm! Anha!” etc etc. There is something about parents and more so about mothers and their sons. There is always that warmth that runs through the air making the connection bound. They never see the grown up man, the rest of the world is seeing. Whatever the reason, I can’t tell. After a long while talking, the conversation had to come to an end. The evil that denied time an opportunity to be in one person kept on pricking on us and minutes died out one by one. I had to negotiate a means of biding her farewell till we talk .again. Love you mum.