This image is AI-generated. Muwanga’s reappearance in Mukeeka causes unprecedented commotion at the borehole. Unmarried daughters discuss him with gesticulating hands and incessant giggles at sundown. Disinterested wives thank the spirits they married in time to escape the tempest of emotions he unleashes in their younger sisters. Ndagaano Esther nearly leaps out of her skin … Continue reading A Threadbare Throne
Unromantic
"Your assignment today is to write about flies, boats, threads, or shoelaces. Give me examples of art about tailors worried they won't make their rent; birds wondering where taxis went during the pandemic. Write about anything but love." The nib of my pen shrivels like fire licking a matchstick. "What else is worth writing about?" … Continue reading Unromantic
Valentine’s is Coming
It started on 7th February. Ndagi found a bright yellow handkerchief on her desk. “Whose is this?” she asked nobody in particular. Her workmates never stayed close to her long enough to listen. “I found a…never mind." She left the handkerchief in the pointy corner of her work desk. The next day she found a … Continue reading Valentine’s is Coming
Girl, Gun, Goat
When he’s good, I am a girl. I am his baby, his kabisi ka ndagala. He can’t keep his eyes off me when I sashay around his apartment. I curl like a kitten around him whenever I visit. I perfume my thighs and bras. I laugh like a tiny bell at everything and nothing. When … Continue reading Girl, Gun, Goat
Falling Wind
Photo by Ekrulila: https://www.pexels.com/photo/shadow-reflection-on-glass-with-dripping-water-2838561/ I hate to travel. Travelling is for people who believe that something is missing within; something they can find in another part of the world. I am not an Eat-Pray-Love kind of person. I eat homegrown matooke. I have prayed at the same church for decades, and I’m still coming to … Continue reading Falling Wind
Knock Before Entering.
Photo by Danny SwellChasers on Unsplash "Bannange! I am too sober for this," he thinks. His lips form words but his throat refuses to cooperate. His camera sags like a rock at the end of the strap on his shoulder. They have not seen him yet. He clears his throat. Once again, the music is … Continue reading Knock Before Entering.
Sweaty Roses
This story is dedicated to anyone who has never read Adam Bede by George Eliot. I hope this story inspires you to pick it up. It's also dedicated to good fathers, headstrong women, and memories that stay alive in perfume bottles. Reading has always been Ssalongo’s second love; never mind that his wife Nnalongo abhorred … Continue reading Sweaty Roses
Running from God
'What are you so afraid of?' he asks me. 'You,' I murmur nervously, examining the fat stones on my fingernails, 'Obviously!' 'I am the most un-scary person I know!' 'You know what I mean.' 'You can't tell me no other man in Kampala has told you he loves you!' 'As a matter of fact, every … Continue reading Running from God
Those little things we do to or for others that shape our destiny…
I want to consult this blogger on his days as a school merchant.
In deed, the little things we do to or for others can determine who we’re and or shape our destiny. I recall sometimes in the year 2008 or thereabout when I was in form three, I unknowingly landed on my first client. It was in RE; TENGECHA BOYS’ HIGH SCHOOL VS. JAPHET THE HEAD BOY & 2 OTHERS AND RAYMOND MISOI ~EX PARTE APPLICANT.
I appeared for the Ex Parte Applicant. The respondents never entered their appearance to answer my Client’s claims.
The presiding Judge was our class teacher, Mr. Chirchir who doubled as our English/Literature teacher.
Back then, the school monitors/prefects had immense and unquestioned powers that they could even beat up fellow students.
They happen to beat up my good friend (My client) for unknown reasons. In fact, they brutalized him with a broomstick🧹. I knew nothing about the law relating to human rights but according to my…
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The Black August
“This I know: to be murdered is to become eternally more interesting.”Kate Morton, The Clockmaker's Daughter I used to think we died the way we lived. I thought if a girl whittled away her one life puffing smoke at the blackening sky and posing for one weed-selfie after another knowing that her head-dress-wearing aunts gnashed … Continue reading The Black August
SMOKE & LEAVES 