My First Experience with Family Battering...

Painful screams & screams of a battered woman woke me up at about 20 past 1:00AM on the morning of 15^th/08/2016! It was a very horrific scene for me to experience firsthand my entire life… I can’t explain in words what I saw on my neighbor… She had blood covered all over her front shirt, skirt, everything…- blood covered all over her face, blood spread everywhere on the floor yet more blood was still unstoppably woozing out of her noise and eyes which were very swollen… Yes, I have heard about women bitten in homes, watched on TV and even then... guiltily still had my own little doubts yet at the same I was angered and amazed at what kind of people did that to a fellow human.

Having dosed off reading late in the night about past midnight, I heard the screams from afar in my dreams, until they became clearer that I scrambled out of my bed- fearing are they thieves? Upon hearing voices I remembered my pregnant neighbor who I thought was perhaps due and she needed help- I had a lot to think then like, where we could get the nearest vehicle to take her in time? Would we be able to save her baby in time not experience another pain loss of a baby I went through with my cousin a few years back? I was so scared to go through it all over again… With all these thoughts running in my head rushing to the scène, I was shocked to find someone else screaming!

I was baffled!,  asking- well what’s the problem because I thought you the pregnant one was the one screaming, until a light torch was shone on my beaten neighbor. She could not say anything except scream and cover up the flowing blood… her 3 year old baby then tried to say… dad has beaten her…, upon which the dad rushed him back to the house to sleep yet saying nothing- Well none of us believed it. I collected hot water to nurse her face as others looked for clothes and basins for use. When she sat down to be nursed she made her first statement then “ I can’t breath…, I can’t stop… take me to hospital”. We then struggled with how in the middle of the night we were going to find a means, not to mention the nearest open one was about 2miles away- two of us headed to the road with her to find any moving vehicles with the husband slowly moving behind.

We then sat by the roadside as we could not find any means, now thinking of getting back home and wait till morning… She then suddenly told us “ he has beaten me, him, I don’t know what I did” At that moment I was sooo enraged, furious, wanting to say any damn words to this man and even perhaps beat him up- yet I felt so helpless to add any commotion. I realized she had no shoes in our rush and just scrambled with the man to hand the shoes to the woman. She then told us of a friend- a Bodaboda guy we called by phone who lived miles away to come pick her up and take her.

I saw this woman fade away in the night with her 3year old son on her back heading to the hospital, seated at back of the motorcycle in the cold middle night, where they would spend the night avoiding any more beatings, yet the son had to go to school that same morning- but would he be able to concentrate on his studies? What kind of a man would this boy ever turn into given the kind of father he is growing up with? Would they be okay…? I had lots of questions, yet I still have lots and lots of questions… like- How many broken families are there?  How many silent battering go on homes that the world or the law will never know? How many women are killed from all this battering and children broken up? And how many men are there also- may be battered by their women? How long will this take to end..?

We will never know….

Uganda Independence Day Eating Competition for MY Neighbourhood…

This year Uganda celebrated her 53^rd Independence. As many were thinking about celebrating Uganda’s achievements over the past 54 years,  my neighbours being a celebrated public holiday which also involves good meals were thinking about the best way to beat each other to the best family meals. I am sorry the story comes in late but it is worth the wait since I got to it late among my many travels away from home- and even better, we still in October! Hehehehe…

I have described my neigbourhood house line arrangement which have little or no privacy, previously; having the upper line, down line and middle line where I am based. This competition was among the upper line which we consider wealthy in respect to our social class status unlike in the world of moguls.

Early on 9^th October, 2015, Neighbour one who claims to be the wealthiest among the twelve line of houses decides to cut a hen for lunch preparations including matooke. Neighbour two who will not take that claim thus always trying to share the stardom, upon seeing the other’s hen decides to order for a hen and matooke, and adding meat to the preparations thus satisfyingly beating neighbour one. Now neighbour three whom we should say is the least earning among the three main competitors especially in matters that involve expensive items that dig deep into her pockets- but still she always finds a way to beat her wealthier competitors at times even if it means also in words when actions have failed. Perhaps, this also makes neighbour three to tactfully always be the last to react watching carefully what her competitors are missing to always claim the little wins she often surprisingly gets. So from her analysis she sees one has only matooke and chicken, the other has ordered matooke, millet flour, chicken and meat, upon which she decides to order for rice, matooke, hen and meat for preparation and carefully not exposing her extra rice dish in case someone rushes out to order for it. The rice fancied by everyone gives her an edge competition over the others as it is not an easy luxury these days which leaves her other two competitors flaring; now it is too late- it is lunch time as all are now outside eating with wide weird smiles talking not to mention while poking into another’s plate to see who has a better colored dish.

Of course the competition will be back the next day, and whoever won for the day will most likely not win the next competition as others will be making sure of that…

Why Africans Do not Or Very Few Will Donate

Being one of the developing world countries, a larger percentage of my country's development survives on donations/funding especially in the NGO world.

But how do these donations come about? I was curious and used to wonder. I then got to know that some people from the developed world will save part of their monies and pass it on as donations. Some will even form charity and fund organisations.

Well, I then started getting angry at my fellow Africans/country men, coming to these questions; Why we cannot donate ourselves? Why we cannot even put such huge trust funds to help out others while helping each other? Why people cannot even save a little of their incomes like the others and contribute some where? What is it that others are doing that we cannot? Do people realise how independent we would be if we had such similar mindsets? 

For over the past or so 5 years I had so many of these rotating questions- getting angrier and angrier, even trying to lay out strategies how we it could be done. Going to the extent of strategising how if one managed any organisation, he or she could have people do some donor contributions among the people- perhaps reduce their salaries? (I was crazy indeed!- right?).

Perhaps I was too young an African then with less problems and challenges on my plate to realise what others went through especially my older generation. Its until now, in my current situation today now as a young adult  that I have learnt more about life especially in my African setting in comparison to the westernized world!

This is what happens most of the time: By the time any African receives any resources, they will be already distributed somewhere else before even one can have the privilege to utilize some of them for their hardwork themselves. There will be a child who needs food, a brother and sister who has to go to school, a neighbour who needs help, a parent who is sick, a friend who is in trouble like going to jail, a landlord who requires rent, a wife who needs attention, pending utilities, ..... the list goes on and on-

Unlike the larger part of the westernized world where people live as small families with no or few extensions to help out, thus having the resources distributed between perhaps about 4 people and some utilities, thus leaving most of the time what to save and contribute towards the charities and donations- 

Ofcourse the economic times are changing affecting both parties pushing westerners to worse situations, with having the donations reduce from the western side and pushing some Africans to a western small family care, which may leave many to fend for themselves- but that is still along way to come, we shall still embrace the spirit to continue being supportive of everyone in our lives who needs help.

It was really humbling for me to realise this- learning to take time in blaming any party. However, my greatest lesson and appreciation was to the African women and men out there who treasured their beyond extended families to the core, willing to share every resources no matter how close the person they were supporting was near or far off the family tree. It did not matter, which people  needed help and they are always willing to support in their small ways yet these are the biggest African donations and funds that the world may never recognise...and I am more than humbled, blessed and inspired to be part of this community!

Putting Sand in Neighbour's Chicken Soup

I love my neighbours!  Its part of the world I live in... Although most of the times I am on the move in different countries and places in my country, I am always excited at the idea of coming home to my longtime neighbourhood, especially to hear about the recent stories, promotions, excitements and changes which as always are funny and crazy except the recent one which I wrote about the child who was badly burnt by hot water (oh he is now healed and greatly doing fine after that scary moment, thanks for the prayers-). I am also thankful for they look after my home and the excitement of them sharing a meal with me whenever I am around while also sharing in their problems like visiting the sick.

So in my world today I came back to a story of one neighbour who had apparently become annoying to her neighbours given the fact she was cooking chicken soup everyday spreading the wrong armour to her neighbours who barely ate chicken in months. So the houses they stay in are lined in one row of 8 rooms upper and a lower away different from the modern apartments of today which are usually private. Here there is no privacy at all! You do everything looking at each other except when locked away in the safety of your room- but if  your operating from outside, naaah.

Now with no such privacy on this one particular day, while the daily chicken soup cooking neighbour with her chicken annoying armour was relaxing inside her room waiting for the chicken outside to cook well for lunch; one fed-up neighbour stalks slowly to the cooking saucepan and picks out some pieces of chicken, then throws sand in the rest of the soup and quickly moves away.

Bambi (sorry) the owner of the chicken excitedly comes out to prepare for serving, only to make a big alarm for everyone to come out asking "Neighbour whats wrong?
" Oh my chicken has been stolen and the rest has sand piled in it, who could do this hateful thing? What shall we eat?" There is amusements from everyone but most  murmuring coming out- "Also you, you have over spread us with your chicken soup armour yet we barely eat chicken these days, perhaps you deserve it to reduce destroying our noses..."
Unfortunately, although there were some suspects, the culprit was never found. It remains an interesting story to-date especially when done in the local conversations...

I know this sounds like an African movie story such as the one you see on TVs but its real in the world I live. Hope you had a good laugh/amusement like I did for share.

History Always Repeats Itself

History has a way of repeating itself in our lives.... Today, after 25 years I have to repeat my mother's words- " Doctor, treat this baby to the last second. It does not matter how long it takes or how much it will costs us- nothing will be amputated!" .

Just 3 days away from my home neighborhood I find my neighbor's 1.5 years child in the burnt unit section of the hospital having been burnt from the boiling saucepan of beans trying to imitate the mother to serve himself sauce. He was my favorite new player always checking on me when i got out to brush my teeth, looking at me curiously with these huge saucer eyes... I am about to get angry at the mother, I am overwhelmed with the site and tears but have to blink now and then, be talkative to keep strong for the mother-

I then remembered how at 3 months old I tried too to imitate my mother to serve myself porridge and had my hand paralyzed in the boiling saucepan of porridge for minutes! My hand was burnt to the bones. " Mama we may have to amputate the hand. Its badly burnt to the bones that they may start rotting causing a worse situation" said the doctor.
My mother was alarmed! " Doctor, I want you to treat my baby to the last second. I dont care how long it will take or how much it will cost me, my child's hand will not be amputated!"

Today, I would think the burning of kids would be absolute but no, accidents still happen and no one is to blame... This child is even in a worse situation than mine-  from his back (pray the spinal code is intact) to the whole of his hand- And we have more hope of healing than anything- especially me.

And indeed if one saw me today, one would not guess which hand was going to be amputated. The closest some have come to knowing is when they see a Love mark and ask- " how did you get that mark?, is it a tattoo?" If some are blessed I will be happy to tell the story but most of the times, I say-" I don't know".
Actually my mother was beautifully crazy! It was too good to believe that after a longtime I was healing... that during my pain and healing she marked out a Love Mark structure on my hand, as a reminder of her love no matter where I was. And its at only 16 when i really first noticed the mark myself. And indeed after over 25 years, this love still hangs on my hand whenever I am , no matter  my situation I just have to turn my hand over- such little but the greatest of things make us survive the harsher world! "Bless you Mama..."

Indeed nothing is new and history will always find a way of repeating itself from our generations. We are grounded with the same testimony, same hope that the child will heal, and one day he will look back at the past 25 years of his life and reecho my words-"Bless you Mama.."