Rebel in a Bubble

In the traffic at clock tower, I was robbed. Within the restraints of that closed up taxi, I couldn’t reach out and grab him or run after him like I’ve done before. I felt utterly helpless.  A conductor from the taxi behind us tried to grab him, but the thief was too swift for his hands. Our conductor looked away, undisturbed. He had this look of “I’ve seen this before” on his face, as did other passengers. Suddenly this violent crime became my fault, for being careless and not being mindful enough. This helplessness became misconduct. How could I forget, for one second, about thieves? And I began thinking, what life is this where to forget about thieves for one second, makes me the villain? How about the police? What gives them the right to parade neighborhoods looking for jobless youths who do not agree with the regime and yet they are nowhere to be seen on the streets where thieves snatch phones and bags in broad daylight? Why haven’t they...

These Islands Will be my Death.                 By Patience Nitumwesiga Perhaps I should mention that I’m attracted to terrifying, mysterious, precarious things. THINGS, not people. I’ve also narrowed it down recently to places. And islands are some of them. Once, when I’d just left a very serene island, (Bussi Island), my boat guy was arrested for attempted murder and robbery. The other time, when I was at an island somewhere in Mayuge district, I was told that sometimes, they hide dead bodies among passengers on the boats. But once you love travel, it doesn’t matter what comes with it. And somehow, islands keep luring me. So this one time I’m in Kampala, bored to death. A friend is visiting from Muenster, Germany, and she wants to go somewhere quiet. We decide to go for a boat ride. We head down to Gabba and look at the boats. If you’ve been to that landing site, then you know that it proliferates th...

MEN ARE LIKE CARS I’ve been meaning to tell you some things since we came to that point where you thought you could make believe, my lonely heart that she was stuck with no choice, only your kind. And I remember your words, at first disturbing but now only a whisper fading in the sound of laughter “all men are the same” you said. “None is going to be only yours. There is no man that’s going to be completely honest with his woman. Trust me, I know so.” I have looked for ways and failed to let you know that men, no matter how male, are different.   Forgive my supposed sexism, but men are like cars. Again I beg to disappoint you by not going into makes but into usage on the street. For some, they are like taxis. You need one in the old taxi park but when you reach town you can’t differentiate between the old and new parks because they’re all a jumbled piece of a mess. And when you finally get the taxi you hope will take you home, compromising your comfort cause it’s the...

Let me break free let me bend the tree and see if it hurts to treat those hearts like little balls bouncing off walls falling down the drain or should I refrain??? perhaps it's true they have no clue no hearts in their chests all there is to the test is a struggle to be known in the end to be blown never to find any equal to their kind

Allowed to be 50. Independence month is coming up, and before I write about this year's I thought I might let you know what I wrote about last year's independence anniversary. Allowed to be 50. He’s only five years old, but he knows more things than everybody I know. He doesn’t judge things or people the way adults do, and he has the most open mind a child can have. He hardly fails to find an answer for people who challenge him. Being nineteen years older than him, I always try to ask him about things that are simple, but even when I ask about adult issues; he usually shocks me with brilliant answers. But when I ask him what independence is he stares at me like a sheep.   He looks clueless. No matter how much candy I promise him, he can’t make up a story about independence (he’s always making up stories about everything - most of it lies). How on earth am I supposed to explain it to his little brain? Seeming to read my thoughts, he walks away to play. I don’t want to...