"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
SMOKE & LEAVES 