HUNGER IN UGANDA? NO WAY

it seems we are all thinking abt driving, hanging out or even getting clad in the latest fashion designs. its a pity we r forgetting our brothers and sisters in Teso region.  Many people are claiming that those fellas are lazy bones, i do not believe them.  They are, infact, myth has it that Itesots (women in this case) are as strong as the Alur.  She can work 20hrs a day.  For me its the weather, no one controls it on this planet, besides every one cares about what they will eat tomorrow, only for conditions to dictate otherwise.

I feel for you and commiserate with you for the deaths that have occurred. I feel for you indeed

She dashes with hope

He engages

Cause the green light has gone

In anticipation,

the world where we all live

she dodges thru the traffic

Car horns hauling, too loud

Nothing will stop her, she must reach that car

Not Just a car, an SUV

Must be a manager of sort

He has glanced, she had noticed

She thought, ‘to me’

This holy man, with a giving heart

No, not that kind of man

He was looking on the sides, just

Incase that tax -goon- of-a- driver wanted to change lanes

May knock him on the side lights

So expensive, he only cares about that

Not about this little girl,

She needs a coin for a Banana! For Lunch!!

He speeds off, He speeds off, He speeds Off

When the clouds finally disappear

the world is not alwayz safe

so do the rayz in their eyes

and the sky seem to wonder,

‘ dont look at me, you big time enemies, crooks…’

darkness strikes in, its their time to rumble

they love it, they would die if it did not come

tough faces, phone calls and  all this in makeshift houses

it surely is their time to rumble

rumble our hearts off the planet

leaving the little ones crying, thats if they are spared

‘where are they all day’ one wonders

‘inhouse’, policeman answers, waiting for that time

the time when others are flying by

going home to their loved ones

with whatever little penny

‘it will be enough’ they say, ‘it will be enough’

Sweeties from earth to mars

Amazing was the way people were

Though not normal to be alone

Everyone was about their business

Checking here, swirling there

Combining joy and sorrow

Gazing at names like at a new baby boy

Not many were friendly

It seemed a fete

Boobs and bums in motion

Jeans and more jeans all around

A thirty year old would be dad

All were teens

Sweeties from earth to mars

High school was hell, MUK was heaven

Senate was the passport

Torn lists lay bear

The board often flung around

The struggle seemed endless

My name, oh no, namesake

School, sex, district, course may be

Every detail mattered

Scribbling was allowed

Everyone was about their business

Mummy, I can’t see my name

Many cried, phone calls to dad too

The phoneboy close was pocketing

Others had theirs on bellies

There was no borrowing

Many seemed unfriendly

Everyone was about their business

Excuse me, soft and sexy

Boys would give way

Later alone say a word

A nine!! She wanted third years

They knew all campus corners

Not to mention wandegs

Toto’s would wait two years

Gosh, same old lists

Others came there daily

No new lists were put up

Sorrow and disgust

Going home was loathed

Others liked it

Which course?

Law father

She was BAA

Old man would not know

She would say, ‘typing error’

‘Ok, still a degree,’ he would add

TO ALL READERS AND WRITERS

Writing this side of the world is a question of reason for which writers waste much of their time.  Politics, though loathed by many a black man, surfaces as the ultimate eating spot for the ‘celebrated’ 21^st writers, ultimately closing out the doors for men and women who would subsequently change the world through rhythm, solicitude and vision for mankind.  Tell me Who would not love to read Okot P Bitek, Dr Tom Rushedge’s works or even Timothy Mwanguhya’s.  But because most of us wake up to breathtaking top stories in daily bulletins, we forget that even in Uganda, libraries in almost all Institutions of learning are stocked with reflective works on human evolution, development and emancipation, which books and magazines are rotting away pitilessly.   

So, why write if no one is interested in reading and if those who presume that they do actually read do not realise that 90% of what they read has little or no impact on their lives.  But because people do not read, does not mean that writers must give and go home.  This is because everyone has reason for writing what they publicise.  Some get recognition, others get busted.  Many do not give up.  They keep writing.