Why I Stopped Being Daddy’s Girl.
There comes a time in every girl’s life, to reevaluate life choices. To stop hating your mother and put yourself in her shoes. To become a woman. To see things for the first time in clear light. To understand family dynamics and uncover the big lies that protected you as a child. To see your dad for what he really is and not the dream and idol you made him.
First of all, let’s talk about pampering. Why did my Daddy pamper me? Why did he ask my mother not to shout at me and ask me to take a walk with him more times than my mother? Why was it always her screaming and him sitting back and me running to him and hiding under his wing and wishing she was gone? Well, as a child, the answer was simple. He was perfect. He understood me. He was my Daddy. But as a woman, it is uglier. The answer though, is still simple. Because she did everything. And each time we went for a walk, she had to put it all back together and do the t...
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...
Riding Bodas in ‘outside countries’ Recently when a friend of mine learnt that I was spending a night in Juba waiting for my connecting flight, he said we cannot fail to meet, for it is unforgivable to not meet fellow Ugandans when one is in ‘outside countries’. I laughed so hard but somehow I actually knew exactly what he meant. There is something so special about meeting a human piece of home when one is away, even if it is as close by as south Sudan. This reminded me of a boy I met on that fateful journey. Angel and I had decided to just sit and watch people as we waited for the police to check our bus and it was taking longer than we had anticipated. Then we met him, and he told us his name was Robert Ndahura. He looked reserved, but when he greeted me and stood next to me, I thought he was rather interesting. Angel and I later sat next to him when we moved closer to the bus, hoping they would notice how impatient we had grown and finish whatever was delaying the set off...
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