{"id":353,"date":"2022-06-15T12:01:31","date_gmt":"2022-06-15T12:01:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/?p=353"},"modified":"2022-06-15T12:01:31","modified_gmt":"2022-06-15T12:01:31","slug":"zeddekia-ssekyonda-waiting-on-fate","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/zeddekia-ssekyonda-waiting-on-fate\/","title":{"rendered":"Zeddekia Ssekyonda – Waiting on Fate"},"content":{"rendered":"

11 PM.<\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega is sitting singly on a settee in one corner of <\/span>Club Ambience<\/i><\/span>, a half-filled paper cup in his hand. Three bottles of <\/span>Smirnoff<\/i><\/span>, one obviously half full, are huddled together on the glass table before him as if frightened of the beams that keep swooping on the floor and sweeping up the walls. Young pleasure seekers are dancing, drinking, smoking shisha and making out in the party fog, something clubs never had in Lubega\u2019s time. <\/span>Back then, most of the music played was from Congo and South Africa. Nowadays, home musicians dominate playlists, though once in a while the DJ slots in works recorded in typical West African pidgin and Jamaican patois.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The MC keeps reminding the revellers, who he fondly refers to as \u201cchild-of-my-mother,\u201d that life is short, and encourages them to \u201cenjoy it to the maximum.\u201d Where is the lie? It seems like only yesterday that Lubega and others were the flowers of Kampala. Today, he cannot tell where all the bubbly girls he partied with in the 80s disappeared to. It is as though Dionysus called time on bell-bottoms and miniskirts, and sent them off the pitch of revelry saying, \u201cGo y\u2019all and prepare for frequent doctor\u2019s visits.\u201d Little wonder Lubega has already caught too many faces giving him more than a glance and exchanging surprised looks. Anyone would find it hard to understand what a man in his sixties, wearing a pinstriped suit and a necktie the size of Zwangendaba\u2019s panga, is looking for in a typical youth nightclub.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

At what point does one start to eschew trends and snub calls to happenings? At what age does one stop cherishing \u2018less cloth, more skin\u2019 and become a judge of morality? Ha! Life is short indeed. F<\/span>or Lubega<\/span>, he never returned to nightlife after losing his first child. He and Christine resorted to soul-searching. By the time Lwanga was born, three years before Violet followed, nightlife was long forgotten. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It is now past midnight. The club is literally on fire, with everyone on their feet except this old man refreshing his paper cup. Christine would be surprised to find him drinking and staring \u2013 she would call it that \u2013 at girls grinding their bottoms against boys\u2019 groins, others being spanked and loving it. Lubega hates to think Violet and Bridget, who are 25 and 23 respectively, dance like this too. Though he admits they did some really crazy things in his time, girls didn\u2019t wrap their legs around men\u2019s waists by way of dance. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Now check out these two girls grinding on each other. When Lubega\u2019s eyes meet those of the smaller girl, she smiles at him, revealing a gap between her teeth. He smiles back, unwilling to give away his dejection. The girl whispers something to her friend, and gives Lubega the glad eye. He frowns and returns dismissively to thoughts of his son, who he left in hospital three hours earlier.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lwanga just made 30 today. His wife rang up Christine four days prior to ask her and Lubega to turn up for the birthday party. Lubega was lounging on the balcony, reading the<\/span> People & Power<\/i><\/span> pullout in <\/span>Sunday Monitor<\/i><\/span>, when Christine came lamenting, \u201cI cannot believe I no longer own my own son.\u201d Though she seemed to be speaking to herself, Lubega knew she was seeking his attention. He cocked his head to the side, and shot her this look that asks: <\/span>What do you mean you no longer own your own son?<\/i><\/span> \u201c<\/span>I <\/span>have been thinking of throwing a surprise party for Jonah on his birthday…\u201d Not that Lubega remembered their son\u2019s exact date of birth. \u201cSharon has pulled the plug on me, she\u2019s asking <\/span>us to join her<\/i><\/span> in surprising him on Friday.\u201d Lubega appeared to slowly return to the newspaper, but not to the thoughts of Bobi Wine\u2019s magical rise in Ugandan politics and its implications. \u201cHubby?\u201d He was absentminded. \u201cHubby, are you fine?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, we will go,\u201d he said, suddenly grabbing at the pullout. He picked it up and returned to his previous posture, pretending to Christine that nothing was wrong. \u201cWe will go. I am very fine.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019ll leave you to do your things. We\u2019ll talk about it later.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I have just said we will go.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI mean talking about whatever is bothering you now.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

In bed after supper, Christine tried to drag the reason for the sad, thoughtful demeanor out of her husband, but all her efforts matched the description of milking a rock. Lubega insisted he had a mild headache which wouldn\u2019t continue into the next day. But his spirits remained low on the morrow, much to Christine\u2019s disgust. By evening, however, Lubega had accepted that worrying, just like not worrying, might not abate his worst fears now that Lwanga was turning 30.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He\u2019s considering starting on the second bottle when the girl who winked at him moments ago appears before him. She stands positioned like a fashion model posing for pictures on the catwalk. Her short translucent dress, high heels, and long legs force an embarrassingly ample view of her thighs on Lubega. But thanks to the thoughts about his family, he will not easily give in to the enticement of a girl his daughters\u2019 age. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Her next move is to amble around the table and sit right beside her prey with her right leg crossed over the left. It goes without saying that her dress has slid up by two inches. She even has the temerity to refresh the paper cup and down it in two deuced gulps before casting her prey a hungry look. Her eyes are glittering like a serpent\u2019s. Poor old Lubega is simply out of ideas; yet his tormentor is still full of moves. She undoes the crossed legs, and shifts so tactically on the couch that she nudges him with her hip. If he doesn’t react, positively that is, she will go a notch higher. These girls are, as per <\/span>Ganda<\/i><\/span> parlance, no food.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

With one knee on the couch and the other leg attempting to wedge Lubega\u2019s legs open, she loosens his necktie, knowing her boobies are almost popping out of the dress \u2013 on purpose. Zwangendaba\u2019s panga defied, and now a look of incredulity on Lubega\u2019s face, she proceeds to the coat. To Lubega\u2019s own disappointment, he obeys. He would have resisted her straddling him if he had predicted it. The heat introduced to the area of contact is actually less startling than the rocking that follows.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When the DJ fades in a Jamaican song, the rocking turns into aggressive grinding, and his reaction threatens to equal her action. She has awakened something that has long been in slumber. Lubega feels helpless with embarrassment, not that his tormentor cares. Her vodka-smelling lips keep spewing hot air around his neck. She\u2019s soon getting what she came for.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s really miraculous that Lubega feels her crooked hand sliding into his trouser. As she reaches her head to push Lubega\u2019s phone into the band in her hair, the old man grabs hold of her hand. So much for her cunning.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

In the afternoon, precisely eleven hours back, Lubega and Christine first drove to a gift shop on Entebbe Road and bought a Rolex watch and, by Christine\u2019s insistence, a pair of brogues and a canister of Hugo Boss perfume. They always give their children the best things they can afford. But now the premonition was getting the better of Lubega, so much that he complained, \u201cWaste of money.\u201d Christine stopped and gazed at her husband as though he had uttered a swear word in public. Then she turned and carried the items to the counter.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Outside the shop, she threw a tantrum. \u201cI will repay the money. It will be back on the account by close of the day.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI didn’t mean that,\u201d said Lubega, entering the car to avoid causing a scene. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen what did<\/i> you mean?\u201d Christine demanded, occupying the passenger seat. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega improvised, \u201cAll Sharon expects of us is our presence.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about Jonah?\u201d asked Christine. \u201cWhat are his expectations?\u201d No other word was uttered until they arrived at Lwanga\u2019s home in Buziga.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Buziga is a quiet high-class neighbourhood on the fringes of Kampala. Lwanga\u2019s house, like all the rest in the estate, is a sturdy two-storey bungalow with grey roofing tiles, white walls and light blue reflective glass panes. When Sharon received them, they acted as if they were on the best talking terms ever.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow is everything?\u201d asked Christine with a sweeping gesture. Their granddaughter Claire was laughing from being tickled by Lubega.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVery good,\u201d said Sharon. \u201cThree of his friends and our neighbours across the street are already here. Claire has promised she will not give anything away, though she insists on welcoming him back home as she always does.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWon\u2019t this car give Dad a clue?\u201d asked Claire with a note of concern in her voice. \u201cIt should be parked behind the house like all the rest.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGoodness! Those are my genes,\u201d said Christine proudly.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet me have the keys, I will park it behind,\u201d offered Sharon.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega thought his daughter-in-law was doing so much to please her man that she might regret before long. Even Lwanga\u2019s friends and neighbours were to him unnecessarily excited when they joined them in the living room. He had attended two or three funerals where a mourner cried, \u201cWe were with him a few days ago. I can’t believe he\u2019s gone.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDad, is anything the matter?\u201d asked Sharon, seeing that Lubega was not looking fine; in fact, he was not even involved in looking at Lwanga\u2019s pictures taken over the years. He straightened the involuntary frown. \u201cCan I give you some food?\u201d continued Sharon, solicitously, knowing that her quite conservative father-in-law wouldn\u2019t openly ask her for food if he felt hungry. \u201cMy pans are not yet holed, Sharon.\u201d Christine played spokesperson. \u201cHe ate before coming here.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI am sorry, Mum.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOnly jesting, my dear,\u201d said Christine before turning to whisper in Lubega\u2019s ear. \u201cLet\u2019s forget about the little quarrel, big boy.\u201d She was mistaken about what weighed on his mind.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Claire took her grandparents through the birthday songs, putting them on a par with the other guests, and Sharon briefed them on delivering a little speech each. \u201cWe\u2019ll then count down from thirty to zero, and Jonah will cut the cake.\u201d Lubega wanted to raise an objection to the idea of counting down, but it clogged up in his throat before coming out as a benign grunt. In some way, Sharon\u2019s idea made him imagine Lwanga would be living on borrowed time from that day onwards.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When Claire heard the honk of her dad\u2019s car, she ran out to receive him. Lubega didn’t like the way everyone else ran up the stairs to the corridor that led to the master bedroom. He took his time climbing up, much to the anxiety of the rest. Sharon handed each of them a candle, and lit them one by one. They could now hear Lwanga and Claire coming up the stairs. Lubega alone didn\u2019t hold his breath. Hardly had Lwanga stepped onto the landing when the surprise singing of \u201cHappy birthday…\u201d threw him off balance. He reflexively yanked Claire\u2019s hand, and together they avalanched back down the stairs. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Claire gave one cry and nothing more. When the shocked choir ran down the stairs, they found Lwanga bleeding from the nose and mouth. Christine feverishly picked up two of her granddaughter\u2019s teeth as though she might replace them. Lubega was looking on, utterly astounded. The candle wax was dripping onto his fingers but, like a leper, he seemed not to notice it.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Clubs and bars have maintained the culture of not fixing clocks to their walls. They don\u2019t want to warn customers that they are running late. Whenever Lubega wants to know what time it is, he has to consult his phone because his wristwatch isn\u2019t bright enough to be read under the moving coloured beams. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It’s 2:32 AM. Luckily, he has not received any calls from Sharon, Christine, or any of Lwanga\u2019s friends. For the first time, he appreciates the logic in the English saying \u2018No news is good news,\u2019 but there is a growing feeling of regret in one half of his heart. He feels he could have prevented the accident if only he had opened up about his premonition. The other half stands up for him, arguing he would have been ignored nonetheless. Or Lwanga would still have choked on a piece of cake. By the time Lubega left Case Hospital, he didn’t know how the odds stood. Only Sharon and Christine had been permitted into the ICU rooms, each attending to her child. However, a doctor in the emergency unit had specified who needed more prayers between Lwanga and Claire despite the fact that Lwanga had bled profusely. Perhaps there was a chance of survival for him, even when Claire\u2019s death would imply the jinx no longer spared females.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega left Lwanga\u2019s friends in the waiting lounge of the ICU, all of them tearful. When he wondered which place to drive to, he remembered the venue of Christine\u2019s last birthday, a restaurant near the club. But he had no appetite, and a restaurant would not allow him to wait inside till morning. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

3 AM. The revellers are still so full of energy you might think it\u2019s only 10 PM. It\u2019s clear they have no son or granddaughter on life support. Lubega is praying for time to stop moving because once dawn breaks and the club closes, he will have no option but to return to hospital. That is, if there is still no news by then. His stomach grumbles, and he decides to go to the washroom, only to find himself rooted to the floor without the smallest urge to use the facility.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He\u2019s coming out when a club muscleman stops him. \u201cWe don’t encourage anyone to leave their drinks unattended, Mzee,\u201d he booms close to Lubega\u2019s ear. \u201cAnd no man is allowed to use the ladies’.\u201d Lubega turns to look where the man\u2019s finger is pointing, and sees the female sign emblazoned on a plaque above the door. \u201cI am sorry,\u201d he says, fiddling with his phone, which just vibrated. Luckily, it is a useless message from the telecom company. \u201cIs anything the matter, Mzee?\u201d asks the bouncer. \u201cYou won\u2019t understand,\u201d Lubega replies after a momentary hesitation. Even if he chooses to confide, he knows he will not go beyond the accident to talk about the mystery known only to him and his late grandmother. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega became orphaned at eleven months. His father was gunned down at the Uganda-Kenya border, apparently for smuggling salt into Uganda. Two Ugandan soldiers had ordered Lubega\u2019s father to eat his sandals, which he refused to do. Feeling disrespected, they roped him to the back of their pickup and dragged him six times around the compound of their station. Save a few scratches on his back and the chafed wrists, Lubega was not that injured. That was even more disrespectful to the soldiers. \u201cLet\u2019s see how a bullet might do,\u201d they said, according to his friend, who had accepted to eat his own shoes. Perhaps one bullet wouldn’t have killed Lubega\u2019s father; but the soldiers fired over eight rounds at him. All for smuggling Kenyan salt into the country. The incident was never investigated since the victim was a nobody.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Two months after his father\u2019s burial, Lubega\u2019s nineteen-year-old mother dumped him at her paternal grandmother\u2019s house in Masaka. When John, Lubega\u2019s cousin, opened the door in the morning, he was surprised to find a baby sitting in the doorway, nibbling at a slice of bread, a sisal bag beside him. Perhaps Lubega\u2019s mother had said to him in baby talk, \u201cWait here, my child, I will not be long!\u201d The front of Lubega\u2019s overalls was decorated with crumbs. Among the contents of the sisal bag was a note which Lubega\u2019s grandmother asked the village chairman to read to her and the gathering of neighbours.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Maama, I have found a white man. I am going with him to Bungereza.<\/i><\/span> Bungereza is Luganda for England. <\/span>The bad thing is that I was dishonest with him about my motherhood, so he does not expect a stepchild. I love my child so much I will not pass up this chance to give him a good future. Please take care of your grandson.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It was after the chairman had read the last sentence that Lubega\u2019s grandmother bent down and frowned a gaze at Lubega\u2019s face. Now she recognized the baby she had seen at her son\u2019s funeral two months earlier. She burst into tears. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It is 3:46 AM.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Perhaps Lubega\u2019s grandmother wouldn\u2019t have been so hurt if her daughter-in-law had remarried after thereabouts four years. Then Lubega would be old enough to join his cousins in doing some chores. She decided to write her off, and told herself she was Lubega\u2019s mother and father although, as Lubega grew up, she called him <\/span>mwami<\/i><\/span> (husband). Lubega was the heir of his father and therefore the heir of his grandmother\u2019s husband, who had been survived by three daughters and one son, Lubega\u2019s father. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega enjoyed special treatment from his grandmother to such an extent that whenever a food item of any kind was too small to be shared among all the grandchildren, she said the fair thing to do was to leave it for Lubega. One day, <\/span>Jajja Daphne \u2013 grandmother of Daphne, for whom the boy would later form a deep liking \u2013 <\/span>sent Lubega\u2019s grandmother a basket of sweet potatoes from her garden. One of them became orangeish once peeled. All the grandchildren desired it, wondering what it would taste like once cooked. But when the food was ready and placed on the <\/span>lujjuliro \u2013 <\/i><\/span>the traditional dining table, which is not really a table but an arrangement where boys sit and girls kneel down around a heap of food \u2013 their grandmother cut the coveted potato into two pieces, took one, and gave the other to Lubega, who always sat right by her side at meals. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Be that as it may, Lubega received the most serious beatings for wrongdoing where his cousins mostly went unpunished. When John started escaping from school to go and catch fish at the lake, their grandmother turned a blind eye, but when Lubega stayed out playing with Daphne, he was beaten like a snake. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

By the time Lubega started going to school, having cleared the test of passing a hand over his head to touch the other ear, only his uncle, Jackson, had visited him from his mother\u2019s side. Four times. He came riding a Raleigh bicycle, the cuffs of his trousers tucked into the socks to prevent the chain from catching them as he rode. Lubega\u2019s grandmother became uneasy whenever Jackson said Lubega resembled his mother.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you hear from her?\u201d she would inquire. Each time, Jackson said they had not heard from her, but she would come back someday. \u201cThat is unnecessary,\u201d Lubega\u2019s grandmother once replied.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

For Lubega, it was amazing to imagine he even had a mother, a black woman who lived among the whites. He often wondered what she looked like. He once broke his grandmother\u2019s mirror while looking at his face to visualize what his mother looked like, and received the worst beating of his life.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It was Daphne who reached out to him on one side of the house and consoled him. From that moment on, he was more fond of her than of any one of his cousins. Daphne was not the only girl in the neighbourhood, but the only one whose hair was not kinky, but rather alluring like wet cat fur. She was also the only girl who made his heart leap when she smiled, mesmerizing him as he watched her skip the banana-fibre rope. Such was Lubega\u2019s attraction that whenever family make-believe was to be played, he wanted to act the role of father with Daphne as mother. Playmates often took issue, and assigned him the part of child on the grounds that he was about two years younger than Daphne.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It is 4 AM. Lubega has so far seen two revellers throwing up on the floor. The cleaners quickly swept up the mess, and bouncers pushed the offenders out. Now his mind wanders back to the past.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He was in primary two when Jackson came one Saturday to tell his grandmother that Sarah had returned from <\/span>Bungereza<\/i><\/span>. Jackson broke the news so happily. Lubega was excited, but his grandmother\u2019s reply nipped his expectations in the bud. \u201cSo what?\u201d she asked, unpacking bread and sugar from the package Jackson had brought her. \u201cShe wants to have her son back,\u201d replied Jackson. The old woman paused for some moments, replaced the things in the satchel, and pushed it toward Jackson. \u201cGo call the neighbours,\u201d she told John. The village chairman, a bad-tempered man who beat children for playing at the well, was the first to respond. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Everyone wondered about the audacity of Lubega\u2019s mother. \u201cI think she left all her manners in <\/span>Bungereza<\/i><\/span>,\u201d said Lubega\u2019s grandmother. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs it wrong for a woman to ask for her child?\u201d asked Jackson. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you see that door?\u201d retorted Lubega\u2019s grandmother, pointing at the front door of her house. \u201cGo and pick whichever child you find sitting there, and take them to her.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The chairman asked Jackson, \u201cHow do we know she\u2019s the mother of the boy? And how sure is she that this is her child? How sure is she that the child was not stolen from the door where she left him?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I have been coming here many times to see the child,\u201d Jackson said, puzzled.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The chairman replied, \u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean the child you\u2019ve been seeing is your sister\u2019s.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Jackson stood up and kicked the stand of his bicycle with the heel. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLindako ssebo!<\/i> Take your things with you,\u201d said Lubega’s grandmother, referring to the bread and sugar. \u201cGo and give them to your mother.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Jackson was moved to tears. He and Sarah had neither mother nor father, and Lubega\u2019s grandmother knew it.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A few weeks later, Lubega was attending a social studies class when the deputy head teacher came in, a policeman in tow, and called his name. \u201cCome out,\u201d he said. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAlright. Let\u2019s go, young boy,\u201d the policeman said to Lubega, who was nearly peeing on himself. The officer led him to a car parked at the road. Lubega had never sat in a car, and the only such car he had seen was the District Education Officer\u2019s when he guested at the speech day the previous year. As he looked behind, tears streaming down his cheeks, the deputy headteacher and almost all the regular teachers were watching from the veranda, looking on unhelpfully. His fellow learners were peering through the windows. Why him among all the pupils? His cousins were in the windows too, he imagined. \u201cDon\u2019t look back again,\u201d said the policeman, his voice making Lubega shudder. The policeman opened the backdoor and told him to get inside. Had it not been an order, he would have hesitated because his feet and lower half of the legs were dusty. But when he laid eyes on the face of the woman in the back, it took only moments before he knew she was his mother. He felt it too. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Despite all his dirtiness, his mother grabbed him into her embrace. Lubega found himself crying afresh when he saw the tears in her eyes. The policeman, now driving, would say nothing throughout the journey.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega\u2019s mother gave him a cupcake and juice in a plastic bottle. She observed him encouragingly as he ate, her eyes still bloodshot. Moments after another cupcake had been devoured, she replaced Lubega\u2019s uniform with a new T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She cast the uniform out through the window. She had new shoes for him as well, but decided against getting them out. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Nothing interested the village boy more than seeing trees race backwards, along with cars and buildings he had never thought existed.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When they arrived at his mother\u2019s home, the policeman was given his pay and drove away.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

4:25 AM. Lubega sits alone at his table, nothing new in that, but he finds himself checking the time more frequently. The nightclub is nearly half-empty, and less noisy. At the table across from his sits a lean man, who appears to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He speaks only in whispers, and his face is covered in a deep, unshed sob. From what Lubega can gather, he is not crying because of the music or the people, but because he has spent all his money. I could offer to buy him a couple of drinks, Lubega thinks to himself mockingly, in exchange for some sympathy.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

There was an even bigger car parked in the compound. Two small girls, who looked like those whites who came to Lubega\u2019s school and the pupils danced for them, answered the door. They wanted to hug their mother, but stepped back as if they had seen a ghost standing beside her. Then came the home help. Her skin was slightly lighter than that of Lubega\u2019s mother; it looked like Daphne\u2019s.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The trio glared at Lubega\u2019s feet, and the girls said things he couldn’t understand. But the surprise on their faces was so clear that he was fast feeling out of place. Their mother told them to get out of the way and, holding Lubega\u2019s hand, led him into the house. \u201cPrepare something good for my child,\u201d she said to the help and carried Lubega to her bedroom, the way you would a baby.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega reappeared at supper time in a pair of trousers and shirt, his feet now cleaner than he had ever seen them. He smelled so fresh he could barely believe he was the same person. The girls still eyed him as though he had two heads. \u201cThis is Willy, your brother,\u201d said their mother. \u201cYou mean stepbrother?\u201d asked the taller of the girls. Their mother said nothing, but the help nudged the young girl’s shoulder. The girl was Esther, but Lubega was to call her Essie. The other was Sandra, alias Sunny. The help was Aunt Stella, and their mother was Mummy. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

For the first three nights, Lubega slept in Mummy\u2019s bed because that was what she wanted. <\/span>It was on one of those nights that Lubega was told about the circumstances which had forced Mummy to leave Uganda. \u201cI didn’t know what to do after your father’s death,\u201d she said. \u201cSo when the opportunity appeared, I took it up immediately.\u201d <\/span>This country had seemed like a dead end, so when an exit appeared out of the blue, she immediately took it. She had abandoned him, true, but only because she had no other choice.<\/span> \u201cIf I had consulted your grandmother, she would have objected to the idea. Still, I might have been arrested and charged with child neglect had I not dropped you at the door. Forgive me, Willy,\u201d she said contritely. \u201cI did all that so you would have a good life. Which I am sure you\u2019ve started living now.\u201d Lubega understood.<\/span> He asked one thing: that Mummy took him to see his grandmother every once in a while.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Essie and Sunny were driven to school every morning after the 6:30 breakfast. Lubega stayed at home with Aunt Stella, as Mummy kept a boutique in Kampala and returned home in the evening with the girls.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega now had lots of good clothes and shoes, and a magnificent bedroom with a real bed, all to himself. His dressing mirror was so big he wondered what his grandmother would have done to him if that were the one he had broken while trying to imagine what his mother looked like. Watching people in a box was more fascinating than hearing them speak inside his grandmother\u2019s radio. Eating meat on a random weekday was normal here. Even when Mummy didn\u2019t rear any hens, the icebox never ran out of chicken, and everyone ate to their belly\u2019s satisfaction. Instead of the small tin known as <\/span>tadooba,<\/i><\/span> which operates on paraffin and has to be relit whenever the breeze or a mere stream of air from someone exhaling puts it out, bright bulbs hung down from the ceiling to light the whole house. Instead of the<\/span> lujjuliro<\/i><\/span>, they sat comfortably in chairs around the dining table for meals. Moreover, Sunny and Essie were not punished for talking during meals. They didn\u2019t have to go to the well; their water flowed out from pipes. Aunt Stella didn\u2019t use wood for making fire; therefore the walls of the kitchen were not covered in soot.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

All the children of the neighbourhood enjoyed far more freedom than Lubega had ever imagined possible. Some of them looked like Essie and Sunny, they were children of white settlers. Essie and Sunny often joined them in playing. Intimidated by their fluency in English, Lubega just watched them. Every day after supper, Mummy taught him how to pronounce English words correctly. Lubega was shocked to discover that his village teachers had taught him all the wrong pronunciations. After thereabouts three weeks, he found himself able to understand most of the things Essie and Sunny said, although he was still afraid of engaging in their conversations. Understanding a language is one thing, speaking it well quite another.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Try as much as he could, Lubega still missed his grandmother, cousins and school friends deeply. He missed climbing guava trees and playing hopscotch. He missed Daphne and wondered whether she felt the same way.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega passed the interview at his sisters\u2019 school, which was an institution for the children of big people \u2013 ministers, members of Parliament, rich whites and Indians. He was clearly the oldest pupil in his class, even when many of his classmates were bigger in size as a result of feeding well all their lives. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Although Mummy was not as rich as the ministers, she was satisfied with herself. Plus, she spoke excellent English, and knew England better than the whites who had spent decades in Uganda, communicating home by mail. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Essie and Sunny received mail from their father regularly. Mummy picked up the mail from Posta. Most times, there were photographs enclosed. Mummy, in turn, called a photographer to take pictures of the girls, and would then send them to Liverpool. She often took pictures herself, but never sent one to her white husband. She didn\u2019t want him anymore. In fact, some big black man used to come around and spend weekends with her. The children called him Uncle Bob. One night when Lubega had left his homework book in the living room, he stumbled over Mummy and Uncle Bob kissing, an act he had never seen in his life. Mummy came to his bedroom moments later and apologized to him. He never saw Uncle Bob again; but when Mummy caught Essie and Sunny kissing in their bedroom, she pulled their ears and scolded them.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

After one year,<\/span> Lubega was pestering Mummy to take him to his grandmother\u2019s. She finally gave in, but told him to <\/span>wait until December.<\/span> One evening, a week before Christmas, she took him to the barbershop, and told him as they drove back home that they would be traveling to Masaka the next morning. \u201cWhat of Essie and Sunny?\u201d Lubega asked. \u201cThey will stay home with Aunt Stella, I don\u2019t think they would like the village.\u201d She was right; the girls wanted their TV that much. \u201cAren\u2019t we taking any things for Jajja?\u201d he asked. \u201cWe\u2019ll do some shopping for her in the morning, but you should know I will leave you with her and pick you up a day after.\u201d Lubega remonstrated. \u201cYou said you wanted to see her; is it <\/span>me<\/i><\/span> who wants to see her?\u201d Mummy’s voice was rising with anger. \u201cWho told you she wants to see <\/span>me<\/i><\/span>?\u201d Nobody, of course.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Before they left Kampala the next day, they bought sugar, bread, butter, cooking oil and other things, although Mummy said she knew Lubega\u2019s grandmother would reject them.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega\u2019s grandmother was on all fours, gathering peanuts. It was just 3 PM, but the sky was cloudy with prospects of rain. The old woman raised her head and gazed at the car as it came down into her compound. Lubega knew she couldn\u2019t guess he was the passenger. He wanted to jump out even before the vehicle could stop, wanted to shout, \u201cJajja, I’m back!\u201d Mummy just ignored him when he scampered out excitedly and hugged the old woman very tightly. Lubega\u2019s grandmother was taken by surprise. When he released her, she cocked her head back and looked into his eyes. \u201cYou left me here!\u201d she said, \u201cI thought I would never see you again. I thought you had gone to live among the <\/span>Bazungu<\/i><\/span>. We looked for you everywhere… until we gave up.\u201d Tears ran down her face, but Lubega understood they were tears of joy. \u201cMummy is here,\u201d he said, pointing to the car. His mother was still inside, looking at them. The old woman stared back at her, and the barrier between them became evident. \u201cAren\u2019t you going to come out and greet me?\u201d Lubega\u2019s grandmother called out. \u201cCan she hear me inside there?\u201d Lubega replied, \u201cShe can hear you.\u201d Mummy opened the door on her side with her face crumpled up. She was fighting back the tears, the way she had done when explaining to her son why she had left him behind. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Fresh tears ran down the old woman\u2019s cheeks; it was becoming a very emotional moment. Lubega looked away before he found himself picking a peanut and cracking it open, something his grandmother would have beaten him for in the past. He popped the seeds into his mouth. When he realized he couldn\u2019t stop his ears from capturing the exchange of questions and answers between the two women, he called over his cousins, who were watching from the front of the house, then proceeded to open the boot. They carried their grandmother\u2019s stuff into the house, and started their own conversation. John was not around. He still went to the lake and sometimes reappeared after four or more days. According to these cousins of Lubega’s, even the village chairman, for all his toughness on young people, had washed his hands his hands of John.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega\u2019s grandmother and cousins were unable to stop talking about how different, and how rich, he looked. When he spoke in English to Mummy, they all kept quiet to listen. For lunch, Lubega and Mummy ate the <\/span>katogo<\/i><\/span>, a combination of beans and triangular cassava pieces, which had been prepared before their arrival. But as they ate, <\/span>matooke<\/i><\/span> and chicken were being cooked; that\u2019s the appropriate meal for visitors. Lubega joined his cousins when they picked up cans to go and fetch water from the well. He took the smallest can because his grandmother refused him the bigger ones. Even so, he could remember her saying, <\/span>over one year ago, <\/span>\u201cYou are now a big man; stop carrying the small cans.\u201d Other village children they found at the well couldn\u2019t hide their admiration for Lubega; once one of them, now looking like a prince.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Daphne came around before dusk, but she didn\u2019t say a word to Lubega. She greeted Mummy, however. After picking some red charcoal from the kitchen, she disappeared into the path to her grandmother\u2019s house. Lubega felt disappointed. Had Daphne possibly transferred her affection to someone else? Did he look too young for her, or did she find his appearance intimidating? Could she have taken it badly when he left the village, even though it didn’t happen by choice? Lubega couldn’t help wondering. But as he parted from his cousins, he handed one of them a bill to give to her.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

He returned to the village once a year before he joined university, but never got to talk to Daphne any of those times. In fact, by the time he started highschool, two of his cousins had left the village to face the world. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When Mummy succumbed to a stroke, Lubega was in his second year at university. Essie and Sunny returned to England, where they now stay with Bridget and Violet.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

After graduation, it took Lubega time to settle down because he had too many girlfriends. He had a nurse who was not ready for commitment; a commissioner’s wife, who gave him freedom to date other girls; a teacher, who seemed to want to rush him to the altar and was a menace to his pockets; and Christine, who had a tendency to be very jealous.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega next went to see his grandmother after two-and-a-half years when she summoned him through one of the Kampala-Masaka bus drivers. Amidst work and love pursuits, he seemed to have forgotten about her, though he still sent her things on the Masaka-bound buses. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

His grandmother was evidently older than he had left her. The skin at her throat appeared so thin you could nearly see the saliva when she swallowed. Her back was slightly hunched; she could no longer stand straight. Her lower eyelids appeared baggy. The village too had changed profoundly. It had new houses, and the government had brought them electricity. Most people were not connected to the grid, which they feared they couldn’t manage using. When Lubega suggested connecting his grandmother’s house to the grid, she objected, saying the electric lights would kill her eyes. The big mango tree from which John had once nearly fallen had been cut to allow passage for the installations. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The young woman cooking food in the kitchen happened to be John\u2019s wife. She stayed with the old woman <\/span>when her husband traveled to the lake to catch fish.<\/span> From the veranda at the back of the house, Lubega could see her roasting maize cobs by the fire. Another set of cooking stones had a soot-blackened kettle on it. Lubega’s grandmother reminded her for the second time not to roast for her cobs with hard kernels. \u201cFor me, they are the ones I like,\u201d said Lubega. His grandmother shrugged her shoulders and said, \u201cYou still have your teeth, but look!\u201d She opened her mouth to show him. \u201cYou can count them on your fingers.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

John\u2019s wife brought the kettle out to the veranda, its spout spewing steam. She poured them a cup each, and added sugar from a glass bowl and fresh mint leaves picked from the banana garden. Knowing the rims of metallic cups to burn, Lubega started with the maize as the tea cooled off. His grandmother, on the other hand, was blowing steam off the surface and slurping off the tea. While Lubega picked off the kernels with his fingers and popped them into his mouth, his grandmother would use her two front teeth, leaving the coats of the young kernels on her cob. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She told Lubega how people he couldn\u2019t remember had died, married or committed the sin of changing their religion. As if to hurt his feelings, she even mentioned that Daphne now had three kids. A long silence followed. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

When lunch was ready, John\u2019s wife carried the round metallic container of meat to the veranda, and returned to the kitchen to slice food onto the plates. Their grandmother lamented that village people no longer sat at the<\/span> lujjuliro<\/i><\/span>. \u201cThey cut food onto plates and scatter. Some eat while standing, others from their beds. That\u2019s why the banana gardens are no longer very productive these days.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega\u2019s food came on a special earthenware plate, and a similar plate was put on the side for his sauce. Hands washed, never mind they hadn\u2019t washed them before eating the maize, Lubega\u2019s grandmother opened the hot container without insulating her hands with cooked banana leaves as John\u2019s wife had done. She didn’t even wince. The old village meat aroma assailed Lubega\u2019s nose. His grandmother waded her serving spoon through the sauce, looking for the best pieces of meat for her grandson, her husband. She scooped out the first, and placed it on his sauce plate with a smile of a great discoverer. Then the second, third and fourth pieces. She explored further, and brought up a very fatty piece. \u201cDo you still like fat?\u201d she asked, but was already placing the piece on Lubega\u2019s sauce plate. He gave a laugh and said yes. \u201cYou should eat it while it\u2019s still hot. Or cover it inside a slice of matooke. That way, you can be sure to find it hot when you are ready to eat it.\u201d Without caring about size or quality, she served herself and John\u2019s quiet wife.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

After the meal, the old woman took a siesta, and Lubega had a light conversation with John\u2019s wife. The young woman said she didn\u2019t trust men, that she knew John had someone who kept him company when he went to the lake. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about John. By the time he returns, we\u2019ll have made strides,\u201d Lubega joked. \u201cI heard you,\u201d said their grandmother as if talking in her sleep. With that, she rose off the mat and stretched. \u201cWhy don’t you accompany me into the banana garden?\u201d she asked Lubega.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The garden still had a number of big bunches despite the fact that people no longer ate at <\/span>lujjuliro<\/i><\/span>. It was mulched with a type of grass that grew in the swamp. Lubega’s grandmother said she gave some young village couple food, and they did the work for her in return. \u201cIf you had a wife, you would take that bunch to her,\u201d she said, pointing to a bulky bunch, the type called <\/span>kibuzi<\/i><\/span> in Luganda. Lubega didn\u2019t look up. A childhood spirit had come over him; he was uprooting a sugarcane. His grandmother didn’t comment. She wouldn’t prevent those who had their teeth from enjoying the sugarcane.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI called you because I had an important matter to speak to you about,\u201d she finally broke the silence as they reached a <\/span>jambula<\/i><\/span> (black plum) tree heavy with green fruits. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAbout what matter, Jajja?\u201d Lubega asked. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

She took her time to respond, first bending to reorganize some mulches where a hen had scratched. \u201cYou went quiet; you no longer come to see me. If I were a bad wife, I would get other men.\u201d There was a note of jest in her voice. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut most young men have gone to Kampala,\u201d Lubega returned the joke. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOne or two still roam aimlessly around the village,\u201d said the old woman before complaining about Jajja Daphne\u2019s goats, which had eaten the leaves off a number of her sweet potato mounds. \u201cThe point is that I want you to get married,\u201d she picked up where she had left. \u201cThe Bible says it in the Beginning: it is not good for a man to be alone. All your cousins have married. Will you first develop a spur to accept you\u2019re old enough?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega laughed mid-chew and spat out the sugarcane pulp. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThese days, it’s hard for young men to get marriageable girls. I don’t blame them. Very many girls these days are <\/span>bayaaye <\/i><\/span>(unscrupulous). Your young eyes cannot detect a good wife. I got John his wife.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega almost choked on the cane juice as he laughed again. \u201cHow did you pick her out from others?\u201d he asked. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can tell a well-mannered girl when I look at her. She\u2019s also very beautiful. I know you educated men think it\u2019s old-fashioned…\u201d They were returning to the house. \u201cI will not get you a wife, but take it upon yourself to get one and impregnate her without delay.\u201d Lubega could barely believe his ears. \u201cI hope you\u2019re listening to me.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI will find one at the right time,\u201d said Lubega. \u201cThe Bible also says there is a time for everything.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat is right,\u201d agreed his grandmother. She called John\u2019s wife, and asked her to bring her the basket containing the mat she was weaving. She sat down and stretched out her legs. The mat had white and purple palm leaves. Lubega quietly wondered why she used only two colours; yet these days, mats had numerous colours in them. \u201cWhy I am concerned is…\u201d His grandmother trailed off after shaking him out of his thoughts.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAm I getting too old? I am only 29.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why I am worried.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega could have sworn there was a note of frank fear in her voice. She made two loud snivels. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour father died at 30. Your grandfather died at 30; a buffalo gored him badly when he was hunting. And your great grandfather was about the same age when he drowned in the lake, according to what my late mother-in-law told me.\u201d Lubega\u2019s heart started pounding. \u201cWhen you look at it, my husband was the heir of his father, just like you’re the heir of your father, who was my husband’s heir. I worry for you, <\/span>mwami<\/i><\/span>. Get a woman, and waste no time.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Shortly after Lubega had returned to Kampala, Christine came to his workplace to confront him. \u201cWhy did you lie and say you didn’t come inside me?\u201d she asked, looking as though she might swallow him up. Lubega knew the basic repercussions of impregnating a clergyman\u2019s daughter without first marrying her. \u201cYou held me inside you, what did you expect me to do?\u201d sounded his question, as if that had been a good reason to lie. They looked at each other like two sick dogs. \u201cThen you\u2019ll start living with me,\u201d Lubega said finally. \u201cOh, I see… So this is how you planned to have me move in with you?\u201d Christine asked incredulously. \u201cThe baby is not your parents\u2019 responsibility,\u201d he responded. \u201cYou cannot continue staying with your parents.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Their wedding was hastened, and Christine\u2019s labour pains came five months afterward. Lubega drove her to Mulago Hospital, where he had a friend in the obstetrics department. When the doctor listened to the baby\u2019s heart, his hands dropped limp.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Lubega still believes the baby died in his place.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

After two years of asking God countless questions, Christine conceived again. Despite her staunch Christian background, she desperately accepted to use the herbs Lubega\u2019s grandmother sent her. Then Lwanga was born. Lubega’s grandmother died three weeks after naming the baby after its grandfather.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Now, Lubega is wondering if Claire might die in her father\u2019s place. The only sure way of breaking the jinx, he knows, is by losing his son. And hopefully, Sharon is not pregnant with a boy.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

5:32 AM. The club is still active when the phone rings. Lubega\u2019s innards plummet down. It is Sharon calling. Lubega doesn\u2019t remember when his daughter-in-law last rang him up. He\u2019s too afraid to pick up. He\u2019s starting to think his granddaughter is dead when another call comes, from Christine. He squeezes out of the club. Finally out, he walks toward his car. He takes a deep breath and returns Christine\u2019s call. The moment she picks up, he asks, \u201cLwanga or Claire?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/h3>\n

About the author<\/h3>\n

Zeddekia Ssekyonda, fondly called Zed, is a Ugandan fiction writer and activist for democracy and ethnic\/tribal tolerance. He was born on 16th September, 1997, in Masaka, Buganda Kingdom. Most of his stories are centered on gender, African traditional beliefs, challenges of youth and political crime.<\/p>\n

Zed is a student of Medicine and Surgery at Uganda Christian University.<\/p>\n

Twitter: @Zeddekia1<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

11 PM. Lubega is sitting singly on a settee in one corner of Club Ambience, a half-filled paper cup in his hand. Three bottles of Smirnoff, one obviously half full, are huddled together on the glass table before him as if frightened of the beams that keep swooping on the floor and sweeping up the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-container-style":"default","site-container-layout":"default","site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-transparent-header":"default","disable-article-header":"default","disable-site-header":"default","disable-site-footer":"default","disable-content-area-spacing":"default","footnotes":""},"categories":[7,9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-353","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-quarterly-magazine","category-short-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/353","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=353"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/353\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=353"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=353"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/novelty-fiction.com\/gazette\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=353"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}