Nitumwesiga: YOU AND I

Nitumwesiga: YOU AND I: YOU AND I. Let’s start by stopping and looking around:   There is no one watching. And even if they were, Let’s just let them wat...

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YOU AND I

YOU AND I. Let’s start by stopping and looking around:   There is no one watching. And even if they were, Let’s just let them watch And go on ahead. Let’s ask some questions, and give each other answers. Let’s clear our doubts, it’s only fair. Let’s not be afraid of talking and asking. We are yet so young, we need no wrinkles. We are frightened, some times, I guess, But let’s just break free Like rain from clouds. Let’s chat about our past, And dream about the future. Let’s tell each other stories, we’ve just began. Let’s not make the mistakes our forefathers made, Let’s not regret, we know what we want. Let’s not be fixed to the rules of the past, Let’s craft our own rules and break them if we like. Let’s dart to the square, when we hear the drum, Let’s drum ourselves when the drummer gets weary. And let’s dance to the drums when our hands get tired. Let’s grab a taxi away from town. Let’s stroll on the hushed path and feel the co...
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When the dead help with fiction.

So most of March I was thinking about my grandmother Nyamwire, my dad's mom. Considering she's been dead for a long time, some of my uncles freaked out when I told them she was visiting me in my dreams. I was told to go and pray, blah, blah, blah. To which I replied that I'm trying to decolonise my mind and to stop listening to the demonising of everything traditionally African. Before colonialists arrived, I told them, our religion depended highly on contact with the dead. One of my uncles was so shocked by all this that he just changed the subject. But a cousin of mine was very intrigued and she told me to keep listening and see if maybe grandma had a message for us. A week later I went on a writing retreat in Lira and embarked on my first feature film. There is a character in the story who's the backbone of the protagonist and a symbol of love and protection. I was struggling so much with her back story because she's a Munyankore woman who lives in Buganda. I di...
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The Lovely Ghosts Of Bagamoyo

The Lovely Ghosts of Bagamoyo. By Patience Nitumwesiga The journey to Bagamoyo started with me missing my flight. So I walk onto the departures entrance and the clerk asks for my flight name. I give him my ticket. He takes one look at it and says “checking in for precision Air is closed”. I don’t believe him. For a brief second I think he’s joking. But you know how airports are. You miss your target and everyone moves on. Like it doesn’t matter that you’re trapped in one ‘time zone’ and they are rolling on with the globe. It’s like death. Just because one person somewhere has stopped breathing doesn’t mean the world will stop and mourn them. After a while, partly because the clerk has moved on to other people without hesitation or a care in the world about what I’m supposed to do, but also because enough time has passed for it to sink in, I move away. Through the glass, I can see the people I’m supposed to travel with still sorting their baggage but I’m unable to join them. ...
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