6/17/2017

My Father’s Son (Part 2)

My dad was the superman of my childhood. 

He knew everything...could do anything...could lift anything...could fix anything.
He was the full package,complete with a bullet scar on his back (and a tale to go with it)!

In my adult life, I’ve found myself thinking about my father’s very present influence on my life to date!
Here are seven lessons I learnt from my father…in no particular order of importance.


LESSON 1: “They will learn the hard way!”  


That was my dad’s one liner for every time his teenage boys (me) were being difficult to convince. I call it the “all argument ender”.
He always told the story of some older guy in his younger days (a teacher i think) who would do the same...and every time he told story he got into character, and said out loud (in a Gandalf voice)...

“They will learn the hard way!!”

I have constantly found this proverb holds true almost every time.

Whenever you get a good opportunity in life, don’t fight it...you may not want to live with the alternative.

"Whenever you get a good opportunity in life, don’t fight it."
source: unsplash.com


LESSON 2: Sisters Not “Step sisters”  


I’m the youngest of eleven. Six girls and five boys. Naturally, when I was growing up, I had questions.
One of those days after watching fairy tales like Cinderella I walked up to my dad and asked “So are my sisters my step-sisters, or half-sisters?”
That was the last I heard of that. I was told in a very stern way “They are your sisters!”That was the end of that for me. The all-knowing guy had spoken, and everything he spoke was truth!

In our Ugandan/native cultures, the word for cousins, half-siblings, and step cousins is actually BROTHER or SISTER.
The whole village raises the child.

There’s a deep lesson in that.

Photo Cred: Franklin Kasumba

LESSON 3: There will be no world without music  


Everywhere we lived while growing up, our neighbours thought my dad was one of two things: a photographer or a night club deejay… (They probably thought his day job was just a cover).

Let’s talk about the latter.
There were random days (Saturdays mostly) when he would turn on his AIWA music system, and blare music loudly. For no apparent reason actually. He owned a collection; a treasure trove of cassette tapes, and LPs of all kinds of music…and he just kept collecting more!
I listened to kwaito music…old country music…reggae…rap....just music for the sake of music.
I listened so much, I just woke up one day and I just loved music for the sake of music.

I met someone who asked me to close my eyes and imagine a world without music one day.
I saw a dark rock floating in space.
To this day I shudder when the thought crosses my mind.


"I just woke up one day and I just loved music"
Source: unsplash.com


LESSON 4: A picture speaks more than a thousand words 


My father travelled across a whole country to see me at school.
It was the first visitation day of my first year in secondary school. He showed up dressed up. Neck tie and waist coat, carrying some sort of camera rig.

That day was interesting. I had to answer so many questions when he left. My peers thought I had spent the day with some journalist…or photographer covering my story or something. Apart from playing very loud music, his other hobby was taking pictures.

In the collection of albums of his developed photos were very elaborate memoirs. He was extremely meticulous with something that was just a hobby. Just like that, my mother, my brother and I picked up photography as a hobby. Okay, of the three of us, my big brother could be the guy who pursued this photography thing furthest.

Pictures are not like videos.

Therein lies the power of photography; being able to hit pause on time and space…forever.

"...carrying some sort of camera rig".This was the actual camera in the rig.
Photo cred:Franklin Kasumba



"Therein lies the power of photography; being able to hit pause on time and space…forever."
Photo cred:Franklin Kasumba




LESSON 5: “Un-fried Fried Meat”


Two things amuse me on Ugandan downtown restaurant menus. Beef stew is simply referred to as “meat”, and gravy is called “soup”!
And it’s not cooked if there’s no cooking oil involved in the recipe. My dad had one of those no_cooking_oil_ involved recipes. We had one of those nights where it was just my dad and I at home, and he was on supper cooking duty. We had bought all the ingredients (meat, tomatoes, onions and other spices) apart from cooking oil. The actual recipe involved a pressure cooker, and many other cooking acrobatics that I think deserve to have their story told in another article. Just know, at the end of the day we had matooke, meat and soup!
In a nut-shell, work with what you have been gifted with!

"work with what you have been gifted with!"
Source: unsplash.com

LESSON 6: Show cause.


When I was about four-ish or five-ish and I had to see my dad at work, I was taught to always go through the secretary. I would peer over the tower of a reception desk say something like “Good morning. I’m here to see Mr.Kasumba.”
Then Mr.Kasumba would have me introduce myself to everyone in his office. Half the time I was there because when I asked my mum some days ago if we could buy a certain toy she had brushed it off with “You’ll ask your father”. Looking back, I had no sense humour!

Growing up if you wanted something, or wanted to go somewhere, or had done something, you had to be able to stand up for it before my dad. You had to express yourself, and show cause.

I had a ball in art school many years later. A couple of our assignments relied on students being able to create works of art based on a hypothesis they can defend.

When I joined Uganda’s work force as a graphics designer, no one asked for an application letter or a CV.Countless times I found myself sitting across a desk from a possible employer speaking for myself.

Each of the four times that happened, I got the job!

"Show cause"
Source:unsplash.com



LESSON 7: This will all be over soon.  


One of the last/most vivid memories I have of my father was in hospital. I had travelled from school to see him. I sat at his bedside. He lay there, frail, with drips and tubes strung into his body. That was the weakest I had ever seen him all my life. He looked up at me, interrogated me if I got permission or just escaped from school…then he smiled…and said;

“All this…don’t let all this fool you… All this is going to be over soon.
We are going to be fine. Do not worry!”

And my heart sank!
Alas. It was not to be!

I have since run into some difficult corners in life. I have been homeless for like week…I have almost been strangled to death by random assailants. I have hit rock bottom many times.
But every time I have found myself. I find a mirror (or anywhere I can see my reflection) and tell myself “Fortunate. This will be over soon. This is the last time you cry these tears.”

“Trouble don’t last always”

"This will be over soon."
Source: unsplash.com



I am thankful for my father. 

4/28/2017

My Father’s Son (Part 1)

On Wednesday afternoon, one of my colleagues at one of the many places I work, walked up to my desk (he had been answering his phone prior), and as blankly as ever said, “Sister wange agenze”! “My sister has just gone”!


"My sister's gone!"
source: unsplash.com
The previous weekend to that (23rd April,2017) marked exactly ten years. A decade since my dad has passed. Ten years since my father “went”. Like my workmate, a decade since I received such a call.

I understood all too well how he felt at that point in time, and that’s not to say that I “knew” how (he felt). I did what I know how to do when people are at loss/confused/grieving/just doing nothing. I walked into his office, sat on one of the desks, and just listened to him. I have a bunch of friends who call it “the ministry of presence” …the act of “being there” with and for a person.

I think “death of a loved one” is a thing that is not really talked about (at least in my circles). It’s one of those uncomfortable topics to discuss (especially with people that have experienced such loss) and rightly so. What do you talk about? And how do you talk about it?
So, here’s my personal dealings with loss. This is what I experienced and that’s not to say I dealt with it the right way…

Silence

Until last year (or the year before that…time flies…I don’t remember) I had had no form of conversation with my closest family about my dad’s death, and how it affected us (how we felt). It was like at one point we were dealing with so many things at the same time, then we failed, then someone who was watching all this hit the mute button…and our lives went on in silence.
Some may call it a form of grieving, who knows?
It took my mum grabbing me by the hand and asking to my face, “how do feel? How come we’ve never talked about this? You and your brother…do you ever talk about what happened?” Almost a decade later!

"..our lives went on in silence"
source: unsplash.com 

Anger

And that’s when it dawned! One of the things I had felt had been anger!
I was angry at most people. I was disappointed with my family…more like surprised at what things my relatives can do.

I developed a distaste for my “home church”. It’s difficult when you have reverends who cook up stories about you and your family (bad stories) …

It’s interesting, but most people run! At least in my experience, my number of friends significantly dropped…and kept dropping some more gradually!

I was angry at my dad! How could he be so sick, and not let us know? And not have us say our proper goodbyes? Part of me felt that he had run…abandoned us you could say!
Every single project that I started on… school work…anything that begun after my dad’s passing always seemed to FAIL! It all seemed to die!
I was experiencing the kind of loss I had never experienced before!
So yes…I was very frustrated!

Helplessness

I was frustrated, but then again, I felt helpless! There is nothing I could do about it!
I was 17, starting my A ‘levels, my brother was sitting his final exams to join University, and the future looked bleak; all that seemed like it wasn’t going to happen. And I resigned!
The comma at the end of this phase of my life felt like a heavy full-stop!
Apart from God, there was no one…or thing to turn to. The people around me were fighting with their own incarnation of the demon of loss!

"anything that begun...seemed to fail"
Source: pexels.com

Motivation or (Recklessness if you like)

This might sound a little counterintuitive, but most of the things I’m passionate about/ do right now, I was thrust into them at that point in time!
I was not about to lose again. True, I’d lost my father…but nothing was about to steal my dreams away from me. That was not going to happen at any cost.
Just like that, I started working on my art, writing and music…sometimes with feverish obsession, other times with reckless abandon. I wanted to see the things in my head manifest, in my lifetime!


"I wanted to see the things in my head manifest, in my lifetime!"
Source: unsplash.com

Perspective

The perspective, the loss of a loved one serves, is served raw and very cold! It is real!
Remember how I said that “most people ran”, that my “number of friends significantly dropped”? Well, some of that was by choice…my choice.
 I could no longer afford to have friends with whom we were going nowhere (for lack of a better way to put it).
Somehow, I begun thinking about things like “my priorities in life”, “where I’ll be when I’m 27”, “what I want to do with my life” and “what next”.
I didn’t want anyone or anything to mess with my time. It’s like someone hit me on the head with the sledge hammer of “reality check”, and I woke up!


"Somehow, I begun thinking about my priorities in life”
Source: unsplash.com


That’s the short of it… brief descriptions of what I (thought/believe I) experienced ten years ago, and the long years that ensued!
So, when my workmate received that fateful call, I fully and clearly understood what he felt…even if I had no idea what it was.

Have you lost a loved one?
Do you think you will ever “get over it” in this life? Is that even possible?
Let’s talk in the comments section below.

Thank you for taking the time to read! 

2/24/2017

A Night to Remember

Approximately ten hours and fifteen minutes ago from now_8:49AM (as I write this) I was desperately fighting for my dear life! I was about to die!
This week’s blog post was meant to be some serious wisdom thing about failure and how Uganda’s education system sets up people to be scared of risk and failure and creativity…but that can so wait! I’m alive!

The following takes place between 6:30 and 9:48!

Events happen in real time!

6:30-9:30PM

Every Thursday evening, as long as I’m in Uganda, is rehearsal time. This lasts two hours from 6:30PM. 
Yesterday’s rehearsal ended about an hour late! The excellent musicians I work with had a lot awesomeness(read music) to deal with in preparation for an unforgettable experience that’s going to be happening at Jazzville, Bugolobi, this Sunday at 10AM(Yeah…I had to slot that advert in)! That’s really ok, not until you’re the guy who needs to tidy up the rehearsal space when all’s been said and done!

9:31-9:48PM

Tidy up, and lock up…pretty much!

The Ordeal!

The following takes place between 9:50 and 10:00ish!

9:50-10:20PM-ish

I am walking up the street(if you’ve been to Bukoto, Kampala, I’m walking up from the former “Kiira road round about” towards Bukoto). All the while I’m flagging down bodas(motorbike taxies) and they are either occupied ,or not there at all. The road is practically empty!
Lucky for me, a boda guy just stops out of the blue. Right there infront of me…imagine my luck!By this time, I’ve walked halfway up the hill,at Shell(or KFC if you like that sort of thing).
I jump on…Kisaasi-bound.What follows is just the stuff of movies really.

Mr.Boda Guy is mumbling stuff under his breath.Then suddenly he makes a detour…an oddly unnecessary one(he turnsleft  into the short cut above CityVille _PS: This is purely Bukoto_speak…don’t mind it).
At this point, I’m not scared. I’m a little suspicious, but not scared. I’ve lived in this neighbourhood for half a decade or so. Basically, I know these streets, and these streets love me!
He makes another odd left turn, and by this time, the only odd excuse he has given is that the usual route is longer.
Mr.boda Guy and I are slowly riding through a dark-ish valley, when we pass by a another boda dropping off a passenger.turns out my boda-rider doesn’t know these streets quite well, so he stops to ask:

“Is this the road that ‘cuts through’ to Kisaasi?”(It will help if you read these conversations in Luganda)

Other Boda Guy: “Nedda…oja kukiriramu katono awo…”

My Boda guy is riding like he really isn’t sure of this route.

He slows down to ask again(by this time Other Boda guy has dropped off the passenger, and is riding in the same direction as us):

                “Is it this one?”

Other Boda Guy: starts explaining random things…

As sudden as lightning, two arms jump out of the darkness behind me and wrap themselves tightly around my neck!!

In about a second or two I’m being lifted up in the air…kicking!

In about five seconds my right shoe flies into oblivion as I try with all futility to kick Other Boda Guy who’s coming at me…and my breath has turned to wheezing!
I could feel all the air I was breathing, unknown_passenger who was being dropped off in the dark has a grip that keeps tightening like a python around my neck. Mr Boda guy ,my chauffeur a while ago is now raining punches incessantly on my fore-head and my stomach and everywhere else, whilst Other Boda Guy frisks me all over!

My spects fly off into somewhere!
I plead !
“Jesus…Munjagaza ki…(gasping for air)…kambawe kyemwagala…(struggling for more air)..Mundeke…Mwagala ki!!!?”

To which one of the assailants(Unknown passenger responds):

                “Sirika!”… “Tujja kutta” … “tulina ekiso”!!!

This is not how I imagine my story on earth ending. 
I’m not really scared…ok I was…just a little bit.
Some how I know this ordeal ends with me alive, how alive is what I can’t tell!
The scuffle lasts a few more long seconds then they slam me down in the dust and gravel!

Another boda appears to be coming down the same valley. And just like that my assailants just jumped on their motorcycles and sped off into the dark. And there I was in the literal valley of the shadow of death…alive!

10:30

...Or there about, I was back in the arms of the one who loves me recounting this dark tale.

The strangest thing is I had no bumps or bruises on my face…no cut lips (and I have some huge lips)…no broken nose (and I have big one).
How could three chaps not have done much damage?

I left that valley missing only a phone…and yet I went down there with a backpack, with my work laptop, some scanty money…and another phone!
None of that stuff was taken.
And yet “All that stuff can be replaced”!

That’s the wisest, sense_making thing I’ve heard in these two days.

“All that stuff can be replaced”~Emma


What really matters?

I guess that’s a question we all get to answer at some point in life. When your faced with death, there’s very little that gets to feature in your “Life_Flashing_before_your_eyes” slide show(which by the way I didn’t really experience).
Lots of stuff is replaceable…not LIFE!


I am more than anything, thankful for life. I know God loves me.

I am thankful for my wife.

And for her breakfast pancakes.

 
Totally thankful for life!!!

2/13/2017

In The Beginning was The Drawing

The Dream: Part 1


Gosh! It’s been a year and some more already!?The last I was on these streets I was talking about Getting Married at 25 …I wonder how that panned out for some of you! Hmmm…
What is that you say? How is it working out for me? We’re living happily ever after!
…no further comments for the press!

When I Was 14 Going On 15

I’ve spent a big chunk of my life doodling, and scribbling and making little drawings of random things; shapes, lines, thoughts and anything everywhere.
It goes without saying, all through my school life I had run-ins with my teachers because on top of the class exercise, when I handed in my work, my books came decorated with lots of stuff drawn all over!

One of my random drawings.

Another "one of my random drawings".

I’m one of those kids who discovered really early in life that I love art! The arts actually. For some reason I could relate more with paint and color, than with predetermined formulae. I was more excited about seeing, hearing, feeling, things for the first time, things that could be and had been created than being asked to cram an entire periodic table!
When I was 14 going on 15 I found myself surrounded by kids my age who totally had no idea what they wanted to do with their lives, and not like it bothered them. Crazy me knew what Subject choices I was going to make for my A’levels, had decided what course I’d do at university ,and which university that would be(despite the fact that my parents were trying to talk me out of them). And that’s where the problems begun!

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

There are a few questions in life that have puzzled me. My wife has asked most of them:
  •        Where’s the remote?
  •         Did you (insert task you said you’d do like 3 weeks ago)?
  •         Did you call (insert appointment you had to make like last month)?
  •          Did you buy the bread?
  •          Who killed Captain Alex? (I haven’t even watched the movie!)

And the big one … “What do you want to do when you grow up?”
Growing up ,when adults would ask me that I would feel a deep frustration inside. No one would give me enough time to think my answer through. It felt like there was a particular/correct answer they wanted to hear. My big brother who I secretly looked up to at the time (Franklin get over yourself) had his correct answer ready whenever people would ask! All my friends had answers. I didn’t quite have a correct answer!
What if all I ever wanted was just to DRAW?
Source: unsplash.com

What If All You Ever Wanted To Do Was Just Draw?

I have a vivid memory from my early teenage years of driving my dad (Bless his soul) up the wall by just mentioning “I’m going to do industrial Art” (okay I’d mentioned it one too many times), while he was trying to convince me that it was too early to determine that. My mum took me on the side, sat me down countless times to tell me “You like words…you could do Law”, or “Have you considered ‘Mass comm’?” years before the decision had to be made. It felt like choosing Art to most people was like resigning from life!
And yet Art gave me the opportunity of self-expression. Art gave me peace of my mind, piece of heart, and I happened to be good at it! It’s the one thing in life where I could rule. Picture this,I stood up in a fellowship of my classmates,  and testified about being the best literature and Art student in the S4 mock exams. And the exams hadn’t happened yet. And I actually aced them! Why would I choose anything else?

The Dream

Recently I discovered that the dream isn’t in the things we do. The things we do/learn/pick up along the way are opportunities of stewardship, that in the end facilitate the dream. Any dream!
If all you feel inspired to do right now is play, play with passion!

Source: unsplash.com


YOUR DREAMS ARE VALID!


The thing is,there’s no two ways about it.