Wandering Thoughts

#ListenToSouthSudan   The hearts beating; weary of the rumour of the night Eyes squinting; fearing to close to the sight of darkness The body cringes clinging on the tussle looking for warmth –if any there is The streets of our land have turned the graveyards of our souls- hear on our land We smell the stench of our own because we’ve denied them a burial- … Continue reading

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Wandering Thoughts

  IN THE SERVICE OF IDD AMIN So he called us to the front and ordered us to go with to the battlefront. We took our guns to go and raid the magistrate’s home. The man had escaped and left behind all his property. Very valuable property! I couldn’t stand Amin in the eye. I quit.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Continue reading

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Wandering Thoughts

A walk through a cancerous ward When you hear it said in words, you conclude they are words. A visit to the cancer Institute will spring a grain of life out reason that theory thus. When I walked into it, my attention was driven to this ailing old lady, who in unspoken pain turned and moaned on the floor. She stretched out her hand to … Continue reading

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Wandering Thoughts

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Wandering Thoughts

Of mother and son I picked the phone to talk to her. I missed her. We talked for a while but then, she wouldn’t go without a word. She diverted the conversation to her path that I have grown used to. Like then, she threw in a Biblical story. This time though, it was about the children of Israel, whatever happened to them, it seems I forgot to listen. She always has the element of telling us the story like used to be the case in Sunday school then. A short bit about the story, a longer explanation, and then she could use imagery here and there. “ God took the children of Israel through the storm like that at the amusement park, remember?” back then we’d be focused but along the way, I think I’ve outgrown it. This time though, she told of the tales endeavoring to end the sentence with the rhetorics, “uuhm! Anha!” etc etc. There is something about parents and more so about mothers and their sons. There is always that warmth that runs through the air making the connection bound. They never see the grown up man, the rest of the world is seeing. Whatever the reason, I can’t tell. After a long while talking, the conversation had to come to an end. The evil that denied time an opportunity to be in one person kept on pricking on us and minutes died out one by one. I had to negotiate a means of biding her farewell till we talk .again. Love you mum.

Continue reading Of mother and son I picked the phone to talk to her. I missed her. We talked for a while but then, she wouldn’t go without a word. She diverted the conversation to her path that I have grown used to. Like then, she threw in a Biblical story. This time though, it was about the children of Israel, whatever happened to them, it seems I forgot to listen. She always has the element of telling us the story like used to be the case in Sunday school then. A short bit about the story, a longer explanation, and then she could use imagery here and there. “ God took the children of Israel through the storm like that at the amusement park, remember?” back then we’d be focused but along the way, I think I’ve outgrown it. This time though, she told of the tales endeavoring to end the sentence with the rhetorics, “uuhm! Anha!” etc etc. There is something about parents and more so about mothers and their sons. There is always that warmth that runs through the air making the connection bound. They never see the grown up man, the rest of the world is seeing. Whatever the reason, I can’t tell. After a long while talking, the conversation had to come to an end. The evil that denied time an opportunity to be in one person kept on pricking on us and minutes died out one by one. I had to negotiate a means of biding her farewell till we talk .again. Love you mum.

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