It’s always the strong ones…
The talk about depression never ends coz anywhere and everywhere there’s someone battling this syndrome. I’ve been away for a while not because I’d chosen to stay away but because it seemed impossible to get my brain to work. Often time, I get the opportunity to be a life coach, call me a counsellor, a guide, a mentor or a teacher, it all comes to the same thing. I speak to people, I speak to youth, I pray with them, I encourage them and walk with them in whatever part of life they are travelling. But I discovered that just like most comedians live paradoxical lives, my life was just alike. I was depressed or I’d been but I was unaware until I read an article about depression written by Patricia Kahill (http://pkahill.com/its-always-the-strong-ones/) and it helped me realise that I was oblivious about my situation. In this article, she highlighted…
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Once upon a time I owned a Yahoo mail account!
Yes, n’ezikokolima gaali maji (Even those cockerels that crow were once eggs)
So out of curiousity or my involuntary insomnia I managed to recover my password, marking thousands of emails as read, the chain letters, the 419ers and things I subscribed to that had me holding my ribs in laughter induced pain.
All emails being read, I looked through the sent folder and saw the young man forwarding chain letters, applying for opportunities and writing to penpals abroad.
The sentence construction in there is exquisite and complete. These days I have to be reminded to use full sentences.
I don’t know how I ended up in the outbox folder but there were tears of nostalgia in my eyes and a little bit of rage as I skimmed through the words of anger I held back and the opportunities I might have missed because I held back. Michael Jordan was right about that.
You miss 100% of all the shots you never take! Wayne Graetzky
I came across an email to a Namukasa. The name was typed into the To: section but it wasn’t an email address just the name.
In the subject line were two words “Emotional Rollercoaster”.
This piqued my interest as I started to read smiling at my seeming poetic prowess in 2010 before I saw brackets and realised these were song lyrics and definitely not mine. My mind raced. Who is / was Namukasa and why was I sending her this song?
I searched my Facebook friends, recovered my Hi5 account but couldn’t find a Namukasa. Perhaps she spells it differently these days, same way my emails have less salutations. Nam_casa? Just know, all variations brought no results.
This was a terrible idea because there are several Namukasas and image search wasn’t helpful.
Defeated I typed “lyrics Emotional Roller Coaster” and found out about a one Vivian Green that had sang a song. The YouTube link had me mellow and feeling bashful again. I know you’ll agree with me that this song / lyrics were purposefully chosen.
So Namukasa, if you are reading this, please send me your email address so I can deliver your message.
Perhaps you will help me fill the gap and find me, because I am lost and on an emotional roller coaster and I need reminding
This could have been the last thing I ever saw! And this near death experience had me shaking like a leaf over an hour later.
The road was clear on both sides an occasional car whizzing by as I steadied my phone to capture the gathering rain clouds to my right and the red sunset sky opposite me.
Four quick bursts and I was ready to take another shot of the setting sun, when from the corner of my eye I saw a tipper truck, Dyna, come hurtling towards us as we stood on the opposite side of the road. Brakes screeched and the skid marks were temporarily ablaze as the smell of burnt rubber wafted towards us together with this monstrous vehicle.
It veered to the wrong side of the road, careening as if to topple over in the middle of the road.
For a moment it was on two wheels, as if held by an invisible wire, and then landed unsteadily onto all four narrowly missing a school bus full of Mukono Nursery school children, jumping the keen and coming to an abrupt halt less than a metre away from the bumper of the Toyota Hiace Supercustom on the other side. The Matooke merchant and everyone nearby scattered as fast as their legs could carry them, away from the now stationary vehicle.
I was transfixed! Alone on the kerb as everyone seemed to have magically found refuge about 5 metres behind me.
Clumsily he reversed into the road, where all the traffic had stood still and drove in the same manner, taking a right turn further ahead, it’s former passengers melting into the growing crowd.
“Emmere ya bwerere” (The Matooke is free!), the young man began to chant again, perhaps grateful for his spared life.
The ensuing conversation retold the tale and speculated on the cause as I gathered my wits and embarked on my journey home.
Pensive, silent and re-living that moment in my mind, unable to brush away the vividness.
1. We need to have a conversation on the state of mental health in this nation. The precursors, the causes and effects and the general management of #MentalHealthUG
2. Youth unemployment in Uganda is a disaster waiting to happen. Drug use is rampant and this leads back to my suggestion on mental health.
3. Whereas there is a need for Motor Vehicle inspection we need to be candid on SGS and the unanswered questions around it.
Empowering the department of motor vehicles of the Uganda Police or equipping the Ministry of Works divisions in every district to be able to do this would seem like a better option.
For now it seems only cars entering and leaving Kampala will be inspected which is suspect to say the least.
And there’s the JEVIC inspection on purchase to talk about.
4. Stay woke, be alert, love one another.
Be kind and polite. Say hello to your neighbours.
For you know not the day nor the hour.
Communicate because we live in a world where technology has enabled us to be connected and yet lonely and alone.
As we harness the shifts in our generation let us not lose our core, our humanity.
Benard Acema* whipped up quite the storm this week with his post The Racism Behind Kampala; most of the responses being the “What? How Could I Not Have Seen This Before?!” kind that satisfied the mind of a person who yearns for social change out of consciousness.
Some of the responses, though, ranged from those stating there could NOT have been racism in Uganda to others who claimed to have read all six thousand (6,000) words and taken away just one sentence in summary.
My favourite response came from Frank Morris Matovu, an Architect whose reaction was to calmly upload onto his Facebook wall more than ninety (90) pages of a 1955 book titled, ‘Town Planning In Uganda; A Brief Description Of The Efforts Made By Government To Control Development Of Urban Areas From 1915 to 1955‘, by Henry Kendall OBE, F.R.I.B.A., M.T.P.I, Director of Town Planning, Uganda.
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