End of the road!

The message
It was a text message and it was not a nice one!

The old man had passed away and we had to go and bury him in Rukungiri, a district in western Uganda. I had hardly known Mr Francis Byarugaba. The previous time we had been waltz into his compound was for a happy reason. We had gone to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage. It took place in May 07 and now in October instant the old man was no more.

Darn this life!

The trip!
I travelled with Milton my elder brother. He is the one who we had gone to 'kwanjula and kuhingira' his wife Annet . Kwanjula is a traditional occasion where the bride introduces the groom to her parents. Kuhingira is where the girls is actually handed over to not the Groom but rather the parents of the Groom. No kidding here, things are that serious.

Anyway, that was then. This trip marked the end of the road for someone I hardly knew. But someone I felt I would have liked the opportunity to know.

We had wanted to travel by private means but at the end of the day since only two of us were travelling, we ended up jumping (literally) on the lo and behold a flying bus! Yes! these buses fly low!

Wacha! The best is yet to come!

We got some cushy seats just behind the driver. "Oh! at least we get some leg room" i remarked. Heh! and even removed my shoes and smartly placed my daintly painted toes on the tool box! This was perfect.

"Nyabo, awo nawo watulawo abantu babiiri" called out a woman's voice. I turned to behold a lady (if you can call her that) who knew how to enhance the best features of her body by bleeching her face a skin tight pink!

What! She wanted two people to sit on the tool box! Where on earth would the two people place their legs?? It was inevitable that they would have to face the back of the bus which translates into facing me which in turn results in their having to place their legs... yikes!!

I tried in vain to wriggle out of the situation but wapi? One person remarked that this was a public means of transport and thus we should not expect comfort! Yah right! Its not about what is private and what is public. Its about setting minimal standards! Oh my mother Africa! With people thinking like this no wonder it will take us ages to get out of the "here and now" mode of operation.

I let the gentleman squeeze himself the way he saw fit. His back was against some hard board that separated the 'pilot's' cabin with the passengers, and his legs were askew since they had to fit somewhere between my brothers and mine. Well, he had asked for it so...

The second person (I did mention that two had to fit on the tool box) placed his legs in the aisle and preceded to bend his back like he was being paid for each angle he twisted!

As we snaked through the dusty potholed streets of Kampala, I could not help wonder what would drive someone so desperately that he would accept to be treated like that.. You should have seen his face when he was asked to pay the exact amount we had paid. I don’t know, I think he may have thought he would get off with a few shillings but wapi?

Milton and I had not spent much time together since his wedding. Oh well! Even before the wedding. During this trip I discovered how he could tell story after story non-stop! Haha! Please redefine kasuku!

Oh yes! The honeymoon! He recounted how the trip to and from Mombasa was with his new bride Annet. I kept on giggling as I listened to him recount the places we grew up knowing as home. Backstan, Makupa, Likoni, Tudor, Docks. One of these fine days I would like to travel to Mombasa and see what used to be home.

As the Savana Coach made way towards Kyengera, stories changed to discussing what was happening back home in Masindi. Milton likes telling stories with detail. Now he was wondering how he could get puppies to beef up the security at his house since robbers had also ‘visited him’.

I could not help laughing (with him not at him) when he recounted how he got some ‘exotic’ puppy after some bit of bargaining from Kampala. After troubling with transporting it, immunising it and feeding it. The little thing would always scamper to hide behind his house when it heard his motorcycle approach the house. It would then proceed to bark fiercely from that vantage point! Haha!

We also talked about Mama! How we need to re-strategise in regard to making her life more comfortable. My mum is one stubborn lady. She has three Friesian cows she got thorough some project. Nice huh? Wait! She has insisted on keeping them nearer town where she lives and the fat things are on a zero grazing mode of feeding! Hey you guys out there who have a similar project (am not talking about people here) how easy is that?

Anyway, funds allowing we proposed to relocated the "Moo’s" to some farm and put up some easier project like a little duka or poultry farm. Much much easier to manage. Will see how it goes but it is a priority for sure.

This topic of mum reminded me of what a good friend of mine Gudula Naiga Basaza and family did for their parents. They wrote and launched a book! Yes, a book about their upbringing and a book to say thank you. This was launched in a grand way too. I thought it was a noble thing to do and yes, I want to do it too and encourage you to do it too. Why say the good things about someone when they are not there to hear it?

These two (or should I add a half) years I have been in between jobs (meaning not reporting to anyone on a 8-5 routine) I have learnt to think more shrewdly and outside the box. There is need not to totally depend on salaries and hand outs. No! even if you got a job make sure you got some investment going, some alternative source of income. But that is another story, shall write about it another time.

These long journeys can make one think through many things you otherwise wouldn’t have the time or will for. Which rather is nice.

We got to Mbarara at 11.30am. The city was full of life as usual. I liked how the people were helpful. There is this guy we asked about the taxi’s going to Rukungiri, ah! Pointing a finger towards the direction was not enough; he had to take us to the exact stop. Try that in the more ‘developed lands’.

It was also interesting to see how Celtel was showing the “philanthropic” spirit by providing signs for the various destinations. Guys don’t leave anything to chance. They use each and every avenue to advertise and you wonder why big companies grow bigger.

I could not help but smile as I saw some old men enter the taxi. Man these guys were cute! Aki real cute! Forget the age. I have never seen cute guys like these ones. First of all they were like tall, then they had this skin…

Two of the elderly beautiful ones sat just behind Milton and I. Then as if struck by lightning they remembered that they needed to buy a hat. The taxi was about to fill up so instead of going to the shop the shop was asked to come to the customer. And the next I just enjoyed. Haha! The bargaining process.

From 15,000 the old man asked for 5,000/- “hapaaana!” (the aaa was pretty drawn out) minimum is 8,000/- Take it or leave it. This by the way was after trying on the hats. My brother mused at my taking keen interest in the purchasing process. He had too, I mean, here I was looking at the old men try hat after hat and looking as if I was veeeeryyy interested in ensuring he looked good! Haha! Anyway at the end of the day they settled for 12,000/-. This “shopkeeper” sort of sensed how desperate the old men were.

These hats are very interesting. They were all pointed, pretty ancient looking. You know, like the one Robin hood wears. Also they were made of woolly material. In this heat I guess a little sweat will go a long way in keeping someone healthy. All the elderly men were actually wearing them too. I wondered why they had to be pointed. Perhaps to add inches onto their already towering structures. Or because these simply “sat’ on top of the head enabling the revealing of the delicate skull? I don’t know, but I loved it.

As for their skin and bone structure, now ask me why Ankole is called the land of milk and honey! We made it in safely to Rukungiri but a little late.

The burial
I love calling on people because one learns how people do things differently and the option to you is either to assimilate or discard some practices.

Precious a sister to Annet came to meet us as we made our way to the house and the tents and the gathered congregation. The house is located up a hill and one can easily views the well-tarred road continuing into Rukungiri town and the world beyond.

I see, I learn.

We were kind of taken back when Precious not only took my bag for safe custody (don’t asked me what I packed cause I had no plan to spend a night) but also after ensuring we were well seated made asked if we wanted a drink whilst the burial talk and associated rituals were on going.

Back home the eating and drinking is usually done AFTER the burial not BEFORE. You come, you bury, and you eat as fast as you can since you have a long distance to trek and the time will probably not be on your side. Here the thought was that you come, you eat, you settle down for the more important things and once your done, well then you are done.

It was a very solemn occasion. The family came from a catholic background and so you can imagine the songs and the rituals. Milton my brother noted how the crowd actually laughed and even clapped at antidotes and conclusion of speeches by the various people. They had no limit as to who should speak. And boy did they speak.

The rain tried to mess up the event and we thought it may lead to some sort speeding up but wapi! This was a goodbye, and nothing under the heavens would hurry it.

Its funny (stranger not haha as MK would put it) how people say all the good things about you when you are gone and cannot hear it. I was impressed to learn how the old man who had turned 75 (old, yah right) had started his career way back in the 60’s.

He was a nursing assistant then and made his way up the ladder to become a Medical Superintendent in charge of a health unit. Again and again it was mentioned how he reached out to serve the rural poor.

I couldn’t help wondering how someone so versed in the medical field feels when he has to do a diagnosis on himself. Like it or not I guess you can tell the end of the road. Not a good thing I know.

All said and almost done, everyone made their way to the final resting place. In Bunyoro where I come from, there is a tendancy to actually pour soil into the grave. Water is then provided nearby. I am told (yet to prove) that burying someone includes actually means placing soil on ones grave. When that is not done (ask my dad) then you have not buried much as you were physically there.

I am also told that it is important to wash the hands because not doing so will mean you are going with the ‘negative vibes’ to your home thus inviting death!!

Well in this instant none of that happened. At the graveside the usual reciting were done. “dust to dust” and “ash to ash” this is what Jehovah God did mention to Adam and Eve when they sinned. That they would return to dust where they came from. However, people tend to add that the person continues living in a different format a.k.a the soul! Pretty confusing huh?

If the dead are dead then they are dead. If one continues living then he is alive and not dead. I got clear reasoning to this in the bible (there she goes) yes, the dead are dead full stop. Their only hope is the resurrection, which is yet to happen. (Ask me I will give you the details)

It was sad, but it had to be done. The old man was laid a few meters from his house. I watched people expressions as this was done. Disillusion, wonderment, thinking it may be me next. Such times enable people to reflect on their own lives and think deeper as to how they themselves are faring. Sad thing that it takes death or near death experiences to get us thinking.

Apres
We had hoped to travel back to Kampala the same day but since we ended up using public means had to rethink strategy.

Usually a bonfire is built outside the house to keep mourners awake but this was not the case here. No, things were totally different. I am beginning to think there is more than what meets the eye in regard to the things done at burials and vigils.

When for instant we returned back home, my dad asked if my sister in law would stay on for the mandatory 4 days! Huh? kumbe one is supposed to hang on escorting the spirit or something like that especially if you are family. Am glad am not subject to that. The only reason I would hang around would be to comfort the bereaved.

John a brother to Annet and Ruth his wife offered to host my brother and I for the night. I had opted to run away from Milton since he was huddled with his wife speaking sweet nothings. Okay, so there were people around but I thought a walk to the roadside would do me some good, that is how I landed on John (not the first time) and later in his sitting room sipping a glass of TONTO the local brew.

I shared the room with Ruth who had just had her baby a week back. At one point little Elizabeth just kept crying and crying despite the mothers attempts to comfort her. I had wanted to offer my help but held back because I can imagine how protective mothers can be about their role. The cue came when she said “what do I do for you now”

I offered to help and she let me carry the little bundle. It was amazing. Not more than a minute and the little one had settled down. Curling herself in the best position she knows on my chest. I talked to her, I cooed at her telling her it was okay. And she accepted. Mother couldn’t believe it. The next morning I explained that babies feel the tension in the voice and body of the mothers and this makes them not settle down, no matter what you do. She needed reassurance that all was well, and you simply could not fake it.

The next morning we said our goodbyes. I was happy to meet the 100-year-old granny to Annet. Yes, she was still strong for sure.

The trip back

This was not very eventful. We could not sit in the same row since the bus was full but changed once we got to Mbarara.

Entertainment? Yes plenty. There was a lady to my left with her baby. She was dozing off and so as to concentrate on her sleep had left her boob at the mercy of her hungry child who did the needful. Once in a while (actually twice during the trip) she got up to puke… (yuck) into some kaveera.

Once again we were positioned just behind the driver. Man these things actually fly. At 100kms per hour you couldn’t even feel it. I think if I made another trip at the same position I would learn how to drive them busses.

The driver had to make dropoff at one point, and he hooted as we left that spot. Reminded me of a friend of mine called Phillip. He does that a lot and I think its cool.

As we approached Kyengera the wonderful sights of Kampala’s Jams welcomed us. Some truck loaded with timber had decided to break down right in the middle of the road. The driver being the impatient person opted to squeeze thourough and because of the size of the vehicle, the smaller cars gave way. Unbeknowest to him, some three policemen were manning the traffic.

Haha! Yes, caught red handed and forced to sign a form where he had to pay a fine. He as madddd! And I wondered why. He was off course in the wrong since his action were very selfish and resulted in an even more crisis. I was happy the police man stood his ground regardless.

We got to town and found our way home. Or should I say my way home. I was tired , I was drained and as I took a nice warm shower (finally) I could but only think how soon the dead are forgotten, and how easily life does goes on as another reaches the end of the road!