Back.

Yes, home. There is nothing like home. The world is beautiful when I travel, but getting home is something. Back to my lover’s hands, his embrace, touching him, feeling him, breathing in his very special self.

Helps too that the country is so beautiful.

It is home. So, I am biased, but the sun seems to shine brighter, and the air is open and, even when it is overcast like it was in Nairobi, something still lifts my spirits that bit more.

Nairobi.

Sister capital of our sister nations. Right on our doorstep, but I had never really been. Like being and seeing and walking and appreciating. This time did. Strangers the people, until I met those who speak and talk like I do. Interesting how a few hundred miles to the east of Kampala still seems like home, just because there are those who are like me. Strangers, but friends made in seconds. Experiences swapped, curiosities settled.

We speak Uga-English, that curious mix of English and our various mother tongues and accents from the various regions. The Kenyans speak English, with their regional accent. Was interesting to listen to the differing sounds as they came from their mouths. Definitely different from Uganda. But a comfortable different. Not hostile, no. And for some reason, I seemed to blend in. Except that my Swahili is horrible!

I am Ugandan, translation, Swahili non-speaker, unlike other East Africans. So, though I did not look out of place, even when I was in the matatus, (mini-buses) as soon as I opened my mouth to speak the lingua franca, I was nailed as a foreigner. So, they would take pity on me and speak English. I was grateful.

The land of ‘Nyama Kyoma’ according to WildeY. How accurate!

‘Nyama kyoma’ is Swahili for roast meat. But Kenyans take it like none else. I sat down to a couple of meals like so. A platter of meats, served fresh from the roasting stick. And what meats! The more common ones were beef, lamb, sausages, pork, goat. All at the same seating. Served hot and sizzling, all that I could take, and eat I did.

The more exotic ones? I tasted Ostrich, camel, and Crocodile. Yes I did. Couldn’t miss that chance! Ate my fill and my quota of meat for a whole month, at one seating. By the second trial, I was more cautious, though not much less ravenous. Now I do understand what WildeY means by the land of Nyama Kyoma. Positively carnivourous, that culture!

Oh yes, I do have some apologies to tend.

To the sisters. Sorry, I needed some time off. Not from you.

Had planned to go for some time, but couldn’t inform you. Not even privately. DeT seems to be unable to… [cough!]

Yes. I am being paranoid. Will not apologise for that, that trait has served me too well in the past, and however beautiful and anonymous cyber is, I must remember that danger still lurks if I tread unwarily.

But I am back, for now.

GayUganda

I cannot not hope

News out of Kenya is grim. At first we thought that, maybe, just maybe, the handshake between the politicians would solve things.

Well, I was mistaken. Maybe the rest of the world was too. I should have remembered that in 1985, Nairobi was the site of the Uganda Peace Talks between the then guerrilla leader Museveni, and the military junta in power in Kampala. Ugandans called those peace talks the Nairobi Peace Jokes.

Yes, maybe I should have remembered that.

Africa is bleeding. And I am hurting. I feel the pain of the Kenyan as the brother raises hand, machete, spear and arrow against brother. I feel the bewilderment as children are burnt in churches, and neighbour burns neighbour for being the wrong tribe. The bullets flying, the meaningless talk, the pain and fear and the displacement. The loss of life and property and livelihood and hope.

Africa is hurting, and I cannot help but feel the pain.

Yet I cannot give up hope. I must hope.

I cannot not hope.

I will not be wrapped in the pain of despair,

or let the desert chill of hopelessness overwhelm my soul.

I will sow hope, a seed of faith,

broadcast over all the land.

I will plant and toil, sing and cry;

I will labour and water with my tears,

But I cannot not hope.

Hope is the river that waters my heart

that sustains me through thick and thin,

that lays siege to despair and pain

knowing, despite the heaviness of night;

despite the darkness, the mud and pain;

day will come, light broach the night,

the sun will rise,

and my tears of pain will in a face of happiness turn

to tears of joy raised in a face shining with hope

beaming with happiness in the sun’s warm radiance, glorious promise.

I just cannot not hope.

©GayUganda