A Ugandan writer with delusions of grandeur. The words on this page are like smoke from burning leaves.
For days and then for weeks the sun had shone so fiercely that I had begun to wonder whether I had started receiving some of the wages of my sins on earth. In a few short weeks, the sun had barbecued the iron sheets and baked the dusty streets. Even the animals, unable to take … Continue reading AN EYE ON THE SKY
Of course I am angry. I am angry about racism. I am angry about sexism. But recently I came to the realization that I am angrier about sexism than I am about racism. Because in my anger about sexism, I feel lonely.Because I love and live among many people who easily acknowledge race injustice but … Continue reading Of Blood & Vinegar
Whose face do you see when you imagine your greatest love?
Photo by Mat Reding on Unsplash Uncertainty and Dread Disappointment and Doubt Self-pity and Lust Day in Day out. No! I say Night melts into day No! I say again Every Daydream has an end.
I used to be an open-air bar. I was Legends on a Saturday night. My door was never closed because I had no door. My heart could not break because I had no lock. Everybody could come in and everyone could stay... I used to think I couldn't change who I was. I was right. … Continue reading The Black Fountain
This is a poem about the strides we have taken in setting the women of the world free.
"I liked my childhood, but I don't miss it much. Yes, you paid no taxes,Your trouble was with soup. Though the adults got too much, Yours was never enough..." Translated from a Luganda song by Elly Wamala "Njagala Obuto" When as a child — a female child — you smell blood for the first time, you don’t realize that … Continue reading A Few Bloody Lessons
The sweet smell of dirty sheets in a damp corner of the bathroom greets me each morning as I wiggle my left foot into the wrong shoe and hop off to work. Our bathroom — modestly made up of blue tiles stained brown and cracked like a cheap mosaic — is a sight for sleepy eyes. The burning of … Continue reading A Home Amidst Houses
You were just a boy on the twelfth page of a tabloid. A boy I had never met. The world might say that your loss was not mine to mourn.
Thanks for joining me! Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
