ugandabeinsanfrancisco

I enjoy writing and when I do I feel so fulfilled. I started taking time to do serious creative writing when I volunteered to teach English to a school of 200 students in a rural district in Africa. I had to write stories about rural lifestyles with examples that my students would be familiar with. This got them excited. They felt they knew what was going on and the stories were from their own vicinity. We could not afford many text books. I had the only copy used to teach the English syllabus. I taught for four years and my school as well as the students were ranked among the the first five schools in that district.  Creative writing enables me to make my senses work for me. In these series we shall answer such questions like: what city? Contrasts of regions within the city, the events that I see, or get to hear, you will walk with me and get to hear the sounds that get to my ear. Or you will be a bystander taking in certain urban related events as they happen. I live 3 miles aw

Drawing Lines   Shattering distinctions, embracing uniqueness, understanding restrictions, empower by instructions. Comfort in set lifestyles, questioning our beliefs, whether or not we are made, to draw segregation lines. Bemoan the fences of bigotry, your side may win, establish a level play-field, point out solutions, embrace them.

A misunderstanding!   This here is Crawford, says Lincoln Is he a rapper too?, I ask ponderously No, he is gay, Lincoln says. Then let him get on stage too, I command. No, you don't understand, Lincoln blames me. How is that? I ask. He is gay, Lincoln speaks louder. Then let him dress in a subtle way,I advise. No, not his dressing, Lincoln interjects. Then what? I ask incredulously. He sleeps with men, Lincoln asserts. In bed? I ask. Yes, Lincoln answers. Come on where do we all sleep? I ask flabbergasted. Get him on the stage, I  say again this time forcefully. No, you don't get it. Lincoln stubbornly objects. He is a fag, he continues. What is that ? I ask A person who is you know... Lincoln whispers. A lad? A fad? But that is fashionable, I continue. Sssh! Don't talk so loud, Lincoln speaks conspiratorially looking left, right ,center. He is gay, Lincoln insists. If he insists o

The man who called about the lost dog I have two issues to bring before you sire; an owner less dog and a dog less owner. It is a black and white dog; the dog with black and white spots; the spotted dog; the owner less dog; the dog without an owner; the owner less black and white dog; the owner less dog with black and white spots; the black and white spotted owner less dog; the dog without its owner; the lost dog the dog less owner; the lost dog without an owner; the owner without a black and white dog; the owner of the black and white spotted dog; the owner of the lost dog with black and white spots.

Sisyphus The feet that tread into a newer world, Urged on, prodded and intuitive, the very prompts of necessity. The paths earlier beaten, Mixed bearings for retreat, blasé and satiety in curiosity’s belly. As humans we need to learn, We may be held back by systems, but this is no reason not to try.

Death Song (Tecumseh) Live your life, that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about his (her) religion. Respect others and their views and demand they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life. Beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song. And die like a hero (heroine)  going home.

Father's Day On a day like this, I remember you Dad: I call you old man, sometimes old-folk; do not take my play on titles as mischief, I am fond of you! Remember when I got on your nerves; I came home after wasting so much money, you never gave up on me old-man, you tried all means to maintain order. A good child is from a good father, Obedience, industriousness and care, Long-suffering tenderness and love, All are manifest because of a father. Father when it comes to it, When it comes to the little things, Or the big things, my appreciation of everything; is only possible because of you.

STOP! For a moment, stop. Listen to your heart beat, Feel it strain and leap, For a moment stop. Life is sweet and sour. That you have to comprehend, in life we want and need. there in lies our happiness or dour. Laughter may not be happiness. Real joy is near sweat-drops, a smile on your face contentment no one can surpass.

Modelling: Life’s broad strokes; reveal forms of outlines, a web of patterns, a pastel finally charted, a spot here, a daub, profusion makes the lot. A form still and statuesque, painters’ hands recreating, Swish, swash goes a crayon, rapid brushes of an outline. In ordered rows sit the painters; much like the symphony playing the water music, The Princeton Art Society goes about their trade, The still model calmly sits through the bidding. Shrill, shrill goes the timer. It is the sixth break, ‘Oh! Wow! That is the smiling mood.’ This is how it is; if we only take the time, a painting with the right mix comes out.

Shock of Hair! Needle thin strands flow over shoulders, they are as many as grass in a field, this is putting it mildly, they are also like waterfalls, frozen deliberately for display, the hair parts somewhere mid-scalp, shoulder-length,halo, mane, or waist-length, every shake of the head sends ripples, whose movements set the hair in place, or displace it from sides into the face, each line of hair stands out daringly, only to disappear somewhere in this shock, the wearer seems unaware, the looker mesmerized, I saw one with groomed hazel hair, wistfully touching that of the blonde, the blonde, kept making furtive looks at the brunette, there were those with in-between hair, these ones had all the eyes on them, they in turn wondered how to groom an Afro; indeed it was a hair shock, this shock of hair!

Dispensing Machines! Beverages and bites beckon invitingly, the displays bespeak of abundance, brands from different food companies, a button for caffe mocha or snacks, so is there one for all sorts of soft drinks, the hum from hidden mortars and fans; self-timed to cool or warm depending, all this fuzz to keep the edibles at a right temperature, as well as maintain freshness, the machines are regularly re-stocked, as fast as their products are depleted, the machines keep the lounge dole-less, for those with a liking to bite into something, there is no disappointing, the dispensing machines in our lounge, without them it would be dull, after so much reading none is spared to indulge, as long as there is green cheese lining the pocket, one is assured of noodles with shrimp or just plain munchies.

Africa! In the days before Gondwana, it was decreed there would be Africa, when it came to pass lo and behold! there were no countries nor counties, only bounding animals and bounties, no religions caused wars, no races hid behind walls, eking out sustenance was all, pioneer tribes coexisted with flora and fauna, from which cloth, food, wood and seed came, little wonder from Africa tribes were born, some left to repeat what was done in Africa, those who stayed continued giving and taking, Africa the prodigious Mother with unstoppable fecundity, a rainbow creases your face, deep gorges mark your stoutness, rivers and lakes your watering eyes, all forms of land patches make your robes, your breadth and heights symbols of promise, feed the people, animals and birds, be the shelter and refuge for all.

 Voodoo That is a name, pretty a fame, say fire, it doesn't burn, sorry, am a liar, well used, it cooks our food, ill used, it burns our homes, so is voodoo, a name, a parlay, it is food, nourishing and good-oh! gluttony and bad-oh! Daring fearlessly, portentous stare into the sun, gates that hold back rushing winds, vines that tie fate in strong binds,  forces that stop the motion of water falls, rolled dices,  Ouija, predictions,  abracadabra, crystal balls, excusable labels of experiences, uncontainable dissipating energies, unconfessed apostasy to some, an open portal into a cosmic abyss, a bridge of past, present and distance, supreme and sublime sharing a handshake, sublunar and mundane delegated to rule, a heritage that only begins to define humanity, remnants of ancient liturgy, syncretic in the fashion of a coin, religious rituals and political pacification, a simple story of ecstasy and divination, a revelation o

 Voodoo That is a name, pretty a fame, say fire, it doesn't burn, sorry, am a liar, well used, it cooks our food, ill used, it burns our homes, so is voodoo, a name, a parlay, it is food, nourishing and good-oh! gluttony and bad-oh! Daring fearlessly, portentous stare into the sun, gates that hold back rushing winds, vines that tie fate in strong binds,  forces that stop the motion of water falls, rolled dices,  Ouija, predictions,  abracadabra, crystal balls, excusable labels of experiences, uncontainable dissipating energies, unconfessed apostasy to some, an open portal into a cosmic abyss, a bridge of past, present and distance, supreme and sublime sharing a handshake, sublunar and mundane delegated to rule, a heritage that only begins to define humanity, remnants of ancient liturgy, syncretic in the fashion of a coin, religious rituals and political pacification, a simple story of ecstasy and divination, a revelation o

She fills me with joy, she bathes me in warmth, my mouth gaped and frothed, my gaze never broke nor dropped. She is beautiful, her eyes roll, she dazzles me with her smile, every blink holds me in one spot, her presence is a lightning that smites me. The sinuous curvature, the gracefulness of touch, the sense of confidence she dolls out, the woman affirms meaningful life. Draw me with your nakedness; the one that brims with honesty and love, let your voice be music to my ears, pull at the string of my heart. Be the ink on my blank paper, you are the sense behind my reason, the light in my open eyes, the radiance of my smile.

The explorations of a child, that unwavering alertness of a mother, the daring of innocence, a reciprocal restriction of socialization. Mother I can tell you something new, child your discoveries are but mischief; all I see are scattered toys, and those in good condition are few. Will you shut up child? mother I want to go there, I said shut up, shut up, but I want to go there. You have a nice face, what happened to your hair? come on here; don't you go touching people, now, didn't we agree that you sit down?

A chocolate cookie will do, I cannot get enough of it, it melts in my mouth, Oh! The mirth. The street side cafe, the ambiance and decor, the strong aroma of coffee, and the sizzling kitchen temptations. Restrained laughter makes its rounds, soft cream and butter disappear in a bite, watery eyes; smirking of lips, noise a note higher betrayed by an opened door. A fast rotating fan, sucks out expired irritants, the tell-tale hum continues its beat, meanwhile the coming and going continues. I shall come again for more cookies, if not for their coffee, I am sure the doors will be opened, my coming and going unencumbered.

A cold wind blows through San Francisco, a dark fog twirls above, in competition is the sun-set orange glare, organic perfumes mix with syrupy smells, chimneys spew out warm fumes, bitter pungent aromas spicy, grainy and gaseous, the smoke rises in snake lines, playfully lingering slices from the setting sun; are split as if members of a team, the golden opalescent glare dims rapidly like cooling steam, noisy chirps and cawing replaced by soft leaves dropping, a cold numbness caresses the extremities, a persistent reminder, patrons dining in street side restaurants, candlelight flickers invitingly, a flurry of nods by those giving or taking orders, occasional drop of cutlery, those waited upon satisfactorily pat their full bellies, a group here and there of many taking strolls, some hold hands as they share an animated conversation, all are content they had an evening in San Francisco.

A royal jewel curved in blue Pacific waters, women, men, girls and boys quench their thirst, wharfs and jetties excite an onlooker; welcoming foyers and open arms greeting a visitor. An urban city and metro-artifact; the eye for a trowel or spade takes in time, a discerning quest reveals past-present-future, a gaze from Bernal Heights reveals a scenic feature. Art, social life, a Divine spirituality and sculpture its fabric; buoyed by generous, committed patronage, an excellent scale of membership, matched only by the plethora of social services. Its earth, a jutting horn fragile and precious, ever standing the taste of time and clime; thick fog, bitter winds, earthquakes and other elements, but nothing beats the resolve of its inhabitants. The esteemable inhabitants command stature and move hurriedly, graffiti and vandalism pock their faces intermittently, a klaxon-blaring truck speeds to a destination somewhere, a homeless inhabitant fat

The year had shared its first two weeks with us here in San Francisco. I needed to go out and do some errands down town. These errands would open the door for me to be of greater service to myself, community, USA and the world. So, with everything I needed to do at home finished; my kitchen cleaned, my bed made (with corners folded the boarding school style), my bathroom scrubbed clean and everything neat, I reached for the front door. I opened it and let myself out. The coolness of the morning hit my face and the thick fog rolled in "Thriller-like" miasmic waves. Yes, the MJ Thriller video for many of you who are familiar with it. The fog was clearing, as if a clarion call was sounded and a hasty retreat had to be done. My white, green and gold balloons in the umbrella canister that a week ago floated in air had sunk to the floor except the gold one. They were my New Year gifts from friends. They still stand (or sit like centaurs) at my door. The wall picture I had won a

The Immigrant's Creed I came to these shores; in me were tempests of fear, my hope lay in the frothing foam, for never shall I again roam. This land is for all a home; patch up this wound, pass that cup around, shred the insular burdens for you are never alone. Look on ahead, there flies the flag, loftily waving and arguing, a common language, love with pride, march with a firm stride. I lift my head for I am healed; in my heart is a banquet, my soul prepares a buffet, my face beams, my hands stretched.

Walking a Blessing A blessing is like a season, it happens for a reason, the blessed is the beholder, the blessing is the experience. This side of the blessing; the one that astounds,  the one that uplifts; the one that intervenes. This is side of the blessing; the one you see coming, the one that is loving; the one that is overpowering. This side of the blessing; the one that beholds joy, the one that overcomes fear the one that boldly perseveres. This side of the blessing; the one that is doubting and bewildering, the one that shakes with confidence, the one that is finally fulfilled.

Tell it well You are not clear; when you yell, but you are, when you just tell. I don't get the meaning; when you think you are communicating, when you are acting bad, I feel sad. There is an immense power; with one stroke of hand, by pen, gun or a lifted finger, you can break or make a band. Worrying solves no problems; only embeds them, stalling makes it double, it stokes more fires and trouble.

That part of San Francisco so dear to me!   The city is so busy, so inviting and part noisy, It is like any American City, The precinta park fills with parents and children, The children eager to play, The parents showing their children how, or showing off to other parents, The children play on swings so, the whoosh sound from the hi and lo, the happy cries and cheers from parents, the children argued on move relentlessly. The traffic lights go on and off, The busy Ceasar Chavez is a shared space, traffic and pedestrian alike in matching pace, my feet rapidly beat the crossing, an impatient engine revving, well you will have to wait your turn, as the traffic zoomed, revved and moved, It did not escape me for I have room here. The cooing pigeon on the roof, finds purpose in a road side collected water pool, soon many pigeons with frayed wet wings app

Imagine my surprise when I was granted residency in USA. I was overjoyed. Am told, back in Uganda the people from my village spent two days celebrating. I mean the village where my father was born. We call it the ancestral home. It is the place where both my mother and father (RIP) are buried. I happened to have lived in this village for one full year and got to know the life of rural Ugandans then. I may not be able to tell you about everything. But, I wish to share with you a celebration of victory of a member of parliament I happened to have canvassed votes for in 2006. It was a tight, acrimonious race. For one and half months between January 2006-Feb 2006, we were criss-crossing this electoral area. Two main aspirants were neck to neck. I am a pacifist and believe in reason. I am not one to raise my voice when am arguing. Please do not think am judging those who use other approaches to convince electorates. The winner takes it all! The candidate I backed was a former Roman

Littany of Concerns! The solid safety of the wharf, the beckoning temptations to forge on, the dissipating firmness of the ocean waves, the quarrelsome parring of lightning, the tossing and turning of winds, the tempting ingredients of life, the openness that precedes determination, the exacting demands of effort, the incongruity of chaos, meat on one side and poison the other, the regular swings of struggle, the realization that success finds one waiting, the dismaying crush of fatigue, the overwhelming burst of victory, the sudden surge of drive, the beckoning of opportunities, the power and force of haste, the accompanying regrettable waste, the rewards of persistence, the capricious nature of fate, the compact simplicity of accomplishment, the dissonance of cacophony, the regular rhythm of far away beats, the whispers of caution, the finality of change, the sincerity of death.

Bitching Cats and Dogs! I am wary of you, says the cat. You just had a tete-a-tete with that dog, you even hold her next to you, not letting go, I watch your every moves, you and that dog are so close. What are you two talking about? always talking in whispers, he on your lap and you grooming him, you even let him roam wherever he likes, something you deny me, how cruel you can be. Beautiful kernel they lock you in, behind locked bars you seem tame, but that is not enough still, when you are out you are on a chain, I fancy being led about on a leash, so annoying and uninteresting. That chain is not pain, it is an assurance of companionship, you may sit on master's lap, but you do not get to visit all those parks, I fancy restrained curfewed adventure, to confined pampered house arrest.

Love the American! When the American swears; and not lift a finger, but that downright yelling, you know the; "son of a bitch!" kind, just listen and watch, it could have been a glitch, or a finger nipped by a latch, but be assured that is muttering! When the American swears; and not lift a finger, nor raise a shaking fist, nor be crimson, jaw-biting or foaming, just know it is a banter, her's or his way of affirming, that indeed ' a car swiftly sped by,' or just a bit of ' didly dadly.' When the American swears; and lifts a finger, especially the middle one, shakes an uplifted fist, spits and stomps about, or yells this or that profanity, don't be anywhere near that knuckle, dodge that hot missile of a gob! When the American swears; alluding to that hind part, then there is an apt remark, one attributed to mothers? may mean you should keep your distance, that other one about a bull,

By The Skin! What lies there? What is the big deal? a question you and I confront, sometimes out of discomfort, or studied ire. oh! This profusion of races! goes a dismissive remark, Oh! These sweet faces, rebuts Mother Theresa! But what is a skin? so goes an unanswered query, what lies beneath a skin? there goes the deep inquiry. The conscious shelter; thus says a philosopher, a line in the cosmos delineation; this from a 'myoho' Buddhist. A lid on bones, an American writes, once removed, continues the scribe, bears open our oneness, and that is a bottom line. The African Mukulu adds; the skin is a wrapping, over a splendid bouquet, a profuse bloom of love and care. The aborigine Thayendanega says, the skin is a way to the rainbow, one by one all the tribes, are small or big thoroughfares. The skin baffled the seven dwarfs, so goes a legend from that continent, how they made a fuzz and buzz, amo

God is Great! Every one knows, well almost, born human in a world so vast, inert curiosity the size of a mustard, the desire to order nature, orderliness, structure, fashion and fad, an unrequited passion to overwhelm. Divine existence listens more; sometimes talks, most times acts, our little books have all these facts, each human being is wondrously created, that is the fact we need to cherish, most of all the humans that make it real. People ford streams, scale highest mountains, organize religions; harness energies, all this is so great, can be greater; if humans invest time in people to people skills, than machinations for people to people kills. Small sweet repeated acts; train wagons of charity, leveling the playing fields, facing up with disparity, pacifying the chaos in our minds, act out our humanity. Pocket size pleasures, reproducible successes, portable devices, our mouths speak of capacities, actions erase impos

Alien I shall walk with you; only as far as I can, where you cease to know, It is a mosaic of newness, we both are tap dancing, what may dazzle you; I may find insipid and blase, forgive me; I may laugh less, at some or most of your jokes, I hope to do likewise, for when my turn comes, yes! T hat is the train, no! That is a fire truck, their sharp shrill sounds, won them "birds of the city," the street is one layer, downtown is another, one day all will be second nature, password for this card, and one for your phone.