#UGBlogWeek: Pocket full of shy (Verse II)

This was started at DJ Twonjex’s blog – Verse 1. As part of UGBlogWeek Chain Stories week, here goes my continuation of his story!

That was the last time,
the last time I pushed and you pulled.
They say that I shouldn’t give up,
I should keep nudging.
The gentle pushing and prodding,
that in time you will take notice of what is before you.
Rather who is before you.

A me.
A tired me.
A lost me.

My identity sacrificed at the altar of you,
hidden in myriad attempts to capture your attention.
Grasping at our fading memories…
When you smiled and it kissed my eyes.
When you laughed and my ears rejoiced.
Your feather touch that shook my core.
A core now shattered in reality.

My reality.
A sad reality.
Our reality.

A reality surrounded in that fact that,
You don’t even know my name.

aliciayoudont

#Chain 1: Twonjex’s Pocket full of shy
https://djtwonjex.wordpress.com/2017/02/14/pocket-full-of-shy/

just another dandelion #UGBlogWeek

I’ve been counting down the hours to this meeting. I’m calling it that because using the word date would make my heart beat a lot faster than it should. I’m getting chills even thinking about it.

He has been on my mind since that day in class, that day I turned and I looked at him. He was no longer just another classmate that I took no notice of. No. Looking at him then, he was a such the fox whose wool had fallen off. After that, every single glance elicited the dimple that has been kept hidden from the audience of the masses. I’m shocked at how long we have been in close contact and I have all but given him a once over. Talk about time wasted.

I’m here now. Seated in the Cafe. 2 hours early. Bidding time. You are rolling your eyes because you think I am desperate, don’t you? No. I am not desperate. I am just punctual. I detest being late especially to something that I have clearly been looking forward to. I mean really, why act fashionably late – keyword being act.

I glance at the clock in the cafe, it’s 1.50 minutes left. I should probably order something as I wait. God knows it might make the time go faster. I’m at the cafe adjacent to the cafe we agreed to meet at. Did you really think I’d be seated at the venue for 2 hours, come on! No. I plan to be at the venue at 2 sharp. 2pm will find me walking in, smelling fresh and smiling sweet.

Window shop. That’s what I need. I weave my way through Woolworths and Mr. Price, calling on my temperamental accent (half English-half Kenyan accent) whenever I needed to act like I’m important enough to shop in these spots. Yeah, some facades are real!

I bump into a friend as I cross the mall, now headed to Aristoc, to hide in one of its corners with a good book that I cannot afford. She is looking at me with that glance. The one that says, I am trying not to feel sorry for you in your single state. You see, we used to be tight – through out vacation and campus, we were as thick as thieves, but now she is married with twins and I’m just here crushing on a twin.

Jared.

Sigh! Who names their child Jared? Okay. Let me clarify that statement, which Ugandan names their child Jared? A Ugandan parent with a vision, that’s who! Goodness! I’m smiling just thinking about his name.

I hand the guard my helmet and look out for The secret lives of Baba Segi’s wives, I find a comfortable seat and set my alarm before I start the book. I know myself, when I get lost in a good book, dusk and dawn roll into one.

I turn to the first page when it happens. I catch a whiff of a cologne that has kept me up for several nights. Some men just know how to pick the right cologne. I choose to ignore, after all, my mind is made up – Jared and I will become the real deal.

The scent is getting stronger and my concentration is fleeing. Mr. Scent smells like he is walking toward me, Dear God don’t let him sit here! I cannot cheat on Jared.

Paige?

The world stops. A prickly sensation attacks my underarms, which normally means this is the onset of patched sweaty underarms.

Control yourself WOMAN! My brain admonishes the rest of me in a very strong tone.

I look up and the hallelujah chorus is coursing through my veins. Cupid had drawn back his bow and his arrow had hit it’s target.

Jared? No way! 

My voice sounded surprisingly more controlled than my fingers showed.

I got here a little earlier and decided to spend time trolling books in Aristoc. You know hiding the ones I really want but cannot afford.

He does what? Could the universe be more specific – I do exactly the same thing!! My eyes seem to have given away my reaction because he has raised his hand to him mouth.

I probably shouldn’t have said that, you probably think I’m weird, he says while doing the African blush.

I laugh and say, weird is good. What? Did you really think I was going to let him know I do the exact same thing. Nah bruh, sometimes games are good and no, I am not being a hypocrite. Why am I explaining myself anyway, this is my story. I discretely turn off my alarm as we head to the cafe together.

We walk to the Bistro together, because face it – Bistro is where all magical connections begin. Well, at least the magical connections in my head.

His hair is cut just right and his eyes do that squint thing that I find so adorable. He smiles starts from the right side of his mouth and a shadow of a dimple is formed on his right cheek. His cologne is still driving me crazy but I like this kind of crazy. I’m watching him from the corner of my eye, committing everything to memory like that git commit command.

We are seated inside and the waiter brings the menu, I already know what I’m going to have. A. Tall. Drink. Of. Water. He orders an expresso and I go for the lemon-ginger honey tea. I’d rather have a milkshake but milk and my tummy, not for a first meeting.

We talk about the weather, current affairs, even the parking situation in Kampala. In my mind, I’m ticking imaginary radio buttons, going check. We have rapport – check. He scent is absolutely intoxicating – check. He doesn’t speak in the dis-dah-do-dem-dey – check.

Silence. Gosh, We are silent. He is looking at me intently. Crap! Did he ask something and I wasn’t paying attention?

Sheepishly, I admit that my mind wandered off, and ask him what he just said.

Will you do our website?

I’m sorry what? Reality beginning to dawn on me

The reason I wanted to meet with you was to ask if you would do our website. We have seen some of the sites you work on and my friends and I think you would make our project website really ridiculously good.

***

This is part one in the dandelion series.

Dandelions or Satan’s Jajja as I used to call them in primary school are beautiful and almost have a certain ethereal quality. This, however, does not take away the reality that they are weeds, plain and simple.

I am not yet sure where this story is heading but I hope you enjoy this journey discovery with me.

Starbuck, What do you hear?

Judgement and a tired soul,
That’s what I hear.

Loads and loads of forwards,
Endless group suggestions,
That’s that else I hear.

Of multicoloured sweaters,
and the white tubes:
scented with stories of yesterday.
That’s the other thing, I hear.

Low rumbling,
a hesitant anxious heart gasps,
dawn is fighting to break through,
the rumble transcends into a crashing thud,
it’s nothing but the rain…

starbuck-bsg-gun
…grab your gun…

 

PowerFM: ‘New Nyu’ [@powerfmuganda]

Tehehe, yes – I know it is ‘New News’, but it sounds like ‘New Nyu’ to me

Have you guys listened to 104.1 PowerFM’s New News segments?
You should…

My fav is currently the one that has Jesus going to Mount Rubaga…

Setting:

Caiaphas (the High Priest) is being hosted on a show on PowerFM.
This guy calls in to seriously kaza Caiaphas for a number of things including not coming for his daughters burial. Then he goes mbu kasta even Jesus raised her from the dead.

Ko Caiaphas: Raised from the dead?! Hehe! You are just ignorant of deep spiritual matters. That was the devil. Beelzebub…

Caller: What? Who are you calling Beelzebub?? Miiiisstttttccchhheeewwww… You Constipated Vagabond! Everlasting Bastard!

Caller gets cut off and the host apologises for his language.

Next Caller: Wama Caiaphas, nze n’kuwagira – that Jesus, then he kills my Fene tree. Was it in his compound, who does he think he is? We know him. He is a carpenter. He wanted to use my tree for his wood. He is a witch! In fact let him come back to the temple, n’ja muloga!

Bwahahahaha!!!
I am still dying silently in the office… W.H.O comes up with this stuff?!
After last night, this segment was such a welcome relief.

This week is Freedom/Passion week at PowerFM and I think this News feature is supposed to creatively follow the walk of Christ for this week leading up to Easter. They figured out a hilarious way to integrate Uganda into it.

I think you can listen online via facebook here.

I really hope they upload these segments to iTunes or YouTube.

 

Another Psalm

This morning I awoke,
I drew in breath and woke,
My blurred vision then took note,
I am awake, yet again.

The night has ended,
Morning has come,
The crickets have relented to the birds,
The worms have gone into hiding.

I come before you,
dishevelled in state,
dragon-breath and bed-clothe scent,
Are you there? My groggy voice calls.

I take note, of the wonders of your world,
I take note, of the downers that you let by,
I take note, that the heavens haven’t yet fallen,
I take note, that you are still holding it together.

The intricate thread that you weave,
Through time and space; you join our lives,
Your craftsmanship, only to be on grand display,
In the wake or the funeral song.

But I will be different,
I will see your half finished craft,
Resplendent, even in it’s unfinished state,
I will remember to praise you; whenever, I look at myself.

Inspired by:

Tehehe, simply waking up and realising, God’s still got this…

You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world. [1 John 4:4 – NIV]


#someonetellcalvin,

cah11

***Images source: Google Images.

[#UGblogWeek – Day 3] Never?

One last glance. That is all he wanted, his inner voice tried to convince him. Just, one last glance. But he knew all too well, that one last glance led to more thoughts of hope. He wanted to hope. He desperately wanted to hope.

The look on the guys’ faces said all he needed to hear. He had to be strong. He had to take it in stride. He had to bury hope.

This was never going to happen.

She laid her head against the coolness of the window. Her throbbing head seeking to sap all the cool from it. The throbbing had started again yesterday, anxiety had knocked and practically forced itself in. She wondered and hoped and silently prayed; then immediately wished she hadn’t uttered the words.

She had kept silent for a bit, enjoying the attention that they gave each other — attention that threatened to spill over into romance. There had seemed to be some semblance of hope. Hope for her. Hope for them.

Then she opened her mouth and a stern look baked in incredulity glared back at her from each of her trusted confidantes.

Am I mad, she whispered more to herself, than in prayer.

He reaches for his phone and scrolls through to find her. He hasn’t seen her in days. They said he should block all forms of communication with her and so he had. What they didn’t know is that he still scrolled through just to look at her. She looked good, without a care in the world.

He would end up the care, if he insisted with this.

It has just happened again — A half-day dance. Their half-day dance which successfully removed him from her archived chats. That first message he sent, left her so stunned that she involuntarily sat down. Long after she had gained her composure, the wistful smile never left her face. All throughout her commute they danced until the reality of the midnight hour began knocking.

They were found out.

Unhappy borderline insensitive responses filled up their inboxes. Confidantes and so-called friends expressing their disappointment. You will never stand a chance there. They were each told.

To have private insecurities is one thing; but to see a friend stare at you squarely in the face and then hear them unflinchingly articulate said insecurities, is the stuff that heartaches are made of.

There must be a reason everyone is so squarely set against us. They each thought to themselves in the bubbled cocoon that echoed their heart’s discontent. The dull ache began to throb again as she swiped to the right and chose archive all over again.

Ultimately, he would have to make a choice — to bear it all and damn the consequences.

Whilst many will not approve, frowning and stating his selfishness will lead to her demise — he needed to make the step or retreat into the wisp of a shadow that was quickly becoming their story. Now, in spite of the secret hope that laid buried in deep recesses of her heart, the truth was – the longer he took, the more uncertainty laid claim to her mind.

Yet, what did it all matter…

Eighteenth was practically knocking, whether they were ready or not – it would not longer be up to fate to help them decide. Uganda would have her chance to decide whether he was ready or not.

***

As is our custom: He is some Calvin bath time madness!

Source: Go Comics
Source: Go Comics

Poems after Nine…

Yesterday. It had been a really long day and I didn’t feel like getting my emotions in a mess by reading Kintu. So, this daughter of a Mukiga, unlocked her phone and went in search of friends to check on. Yes, I am one of those people who will actually say hi because I am just saying hi, not looking for help/money/connections/phone number – Nada, I am just checking on you. If I need any of the above though, you will find like 6 missed calls from me – tehehehe, I am persistent like that.

Anywho, I landed on this friend who is really gifted with “the words” and we started talking about poems. He penned a number… Impressive… tehehe, seeing as I cannot rhyme to save my life.

These are my 4 absolute favourites… Oh yeah, they are not connected in anyway…

*****

She wants warmth made out of anything
Like a beating heart out of jelly beans
She’s a Princess at the tower’s window
Talking to the giant willow.

****

Well, I’d take your smile any day
The eyes you hide behind your frames any day
Your little gentle voice any day
The lines of code running in your head, any day.

***

Writing you a script,
You could be the Princess
I could be the King
You could pick a crown
I’d give you a ring
When they see us from the outer rim
I’d have my rising page
Scripting with me.

**

They are yours
Laced with a tinge of me.

*

Lol!
Okay that last one, I am sure was an accidental rhyme…

The author of these AMAZING rhymes… Nev!
(So don’t steal with out accrediting.)

the pain of the familiar…

Reading something twice induces a certain restlessness in my brain. An itching that keeps humming: but we have done this before, why are we here, move on, we need to move on. However, this was all changed by this post, I think I have read it more than once.

Okay… Maybe, I have read it more than 10 times and tweeted about it more than once. Go read it for yourself, you will see what I see (Present tense because I am probably going to go back and read it AGAIN after this).

There is a paragraph that ends with

… loving him is standing tall by his side and getting drenched in the downpour…

Sigh… Can you tell here this post is going?

89810102936e9349cb1ca8da9096aeb3

There is a familiarity with which we tend to taint people who are in our lives for the hard times. The can-you-stand-the-rain people in our lives. There is no lure in the familiar. There is no mystery in the everyday. It’s downright mundane and boring.

They have become the invisible.

They are there, in the everyday of your tears. The cello-tape they used when they saw your heart shred is not as sticky as it once was. Nope. They are there but they are still very invisible. Tossed aside like chicken bones on Boxing Day (It should really be called left-overs day, no one uses boxes any more). Cast aside because the mending is semi complete.

*

Forgive me, but the reason I attempt to throw you away is because you have seen me. Not the one that these other people prefer to see behind their tinted glasses of perfection. You had to have seen me. You were there when shit hit the fan and sprayed itself all over me. You caught some of it on your face. Yet, before wiping it away – before cleaning myself up – you chose to hold me instead. Who does that? It was you who sat through all that.

self-distructEveryday, you kept coming back… Listening to my version of how life is effed up; How God must hate me; How I am innocent and clueless at the fact that my selfishness could have caused this epic emotional devastation all around me.

This is why I chose to shut you out, because I need you so much.

We all know the way the universe pulls, what I need – I do not want. So walk away from me and don’t look back, for you have become all to familiar to this forgetful ball of destruction that is about to detonate once again.

ps: all images sourced from google.

the glamour of humble beginnings…

He woke up to darkness.

His eyes were swollen shut.

The two year old was clutching her daddy’s hand like his life depended on it. Guiding him around the scarce furniture that made up their sitting room.

His friend had come to visit, he had heard about the diabetes – the loss of sight. He didn’t want to see his friend vulnerable, but he had to come. He had to show support.

She guided him to the other chair – “Thank you, Princess.” he said as he released her hand. She sat at his feet incase he would need her again.

It was her duty, daddy needed her.
She had a mission

>> 9 years later <<

*ouch*

Blood began to pool under the slightly elevated skin… I quickly put the finger in my mouth to try and stop the bleeding. It stung a bit. It had that slight taste of that divider that used to be the mathematical set.

The place smelled of paper, if you can imagine what clean paper smells like. The lulling drum of machines filled the air and their attendants seemed to be bustling about busy paying no heed to me.

booboo

I followed him up the stairs to the one room windowless office that he had just rented. I smiled excited as I examined the space and gave him an approving thumbs up.

I hid my hurt finger – He had said, ‘touch nothing’.

>> 16 years later <<

 

Windowless offices were only memory in his mind.

A persistent nudging that made him want to spur his children on. To them it probably came across as nagging but they didn’t know what it meant to fail and have no fall back.

Uganda-landscapes-161-1024x683

They probably had the concept but they did not really experience it. They could always come home. Home was in Kampala not some little scenic village located at the ends of the earth.

>> 3 years later <<

You probably have your own version of this story.

Your Dad. Your Uncle. Your Aunt. Your Mom. Your Shwenkuru. Your Mukaka.

handsThey had the one roomed house and they never let you forget about it. They had to walk to school barefoot. They were laughed at by people who did not mean them well.

I have been thinking about this a lot this week, how many of us are the first generation that moved to Kampala. That started from scratch. That had no fall back because the village was too far.

We like saying ‘don’t despise the day of small beginnings‘ – but a lot of us, our definition of small beginnings would make our grandparents laugh. Our small beginnings are the stuff that they dream about – we have shifted our perceptions and our definitions.

We, however, fail to embrace it.

We still prefer our Kaka’s small beginnings, because we relate it to a certain authenticity. It seems like such a glamorous journey and we convince ourselves that we are ready to taken on this selfless adventure.

Then it happens… It dawns on us that it might take 30 years to get to our destination. It’s not even a certainty, it’s just a might – suddenly, we are not as willing as we once were.

It is such a curious circle that wrap ourselves in.

2016 is here… Well, almost here. Remind yourself that circumstances have changed and your context is much different. Heck, even the economy is different. Gwe, I remember a time when the dollar was not 3k.

Wake up and realise that your small beginning is going to be different. You are going to need to redefine it… Then enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

Here is to your new ‘small beginning’… May you live to smile at your great grandchildren’s definition of it!

happy-new-year-images-download

ps: all images are sourced from Google.

Did you see them?

She couldn’t be more than 5 years old, clutching her 3 year old brother’s hand, she got to the road and then glared at us.

Only after we motioned for her to cross, did she relax her face. She dropped his hand as soon as they got to the other side and walked on ahead. He wasn’t happy, in fact he wasn’t interested in walking – he stood and stared at the cars. With his finger in his nose and one hand clutching a book, he attempted to walk and start at the same time. It wasn’t work, so he just stood in one place and watched.

She turned back and couldn’t see him, she yelled at him, not happy about his progress. He picked up his feet and hurried toward her.

***

She looked about 6 months old, he was clutching her as if his life depended on it. Today, she had a little hoodie on – making me wonder if he had dressed her. Was this his daughter? Where does he take her every morning?

Today, she was a wake and looking about.

***

She had flats on… The comfortable walking kind. She was typing as she walked, her fingers furiously going to work.

Would she able to see the manhole if she happened upon one?

***

Take a moment to glance out of the window of your morning commute. You might find familiar faces…