Tumu the Man Who Saved an Idiot

ELEVEN days back, on a perfect weekend- Friday night, I stayed out in the chill longer than usual. It was during a mega event with my contemporaries.  There was prolonged sipping, talk, some dance and the lights heightened the reaction of the munchies extraordinarily. Here is my Story.

When time for rolling back home came, things turned out theatrical, yes and exceedingly so. A colleague who noticed how argumentative I had grown, offered to give me a lead-car support. His car ahead of me as we drove back home. I followed him with an extreme gig on the accelerator, - courtesy of Guinness, that thick aromatic Irish beer. Just know, it was hazardous!

This is a narrative of an Angelic intervention.  A thing rarely expected from a group largely perceived as disloyal. I had never appreciated any boda-boda rider in this country. Just know, these guys always made me sick. Until this day, I considered them as people who; respect no body, act stupid always, dupe their clients flat and are unjustifiably hysterical.  

My lead car soon disappeared in the thin air, just like that. I can’t explain what exactly happened. What I know is that my colleague had his own doze to deal with. So I found myself at a Total petrol station failing to position the car correctly so as to refill gas.  I requested the attendant to do for me two things; position the car well and fill up the tank after confessing that I was fully tanked-up.

A Ugsh20,000 note filled up my tank and there was a balance of Ugsh5,000 handed back to me. This is when I remembered that I had already taken enough gas in the morning ahead of a planned travel to the village that afternoon. I hadn’t anticipated getting this submerged.

There was a boda-boda rider who enjoyed my show at the petrol station. He kept a considerate gaze at me, as if I were his uncle. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t trust his look. Brownish, slender young man with a protracted nose, wide mouth. His so many large white teeth were visible at night. It was already a half past midnight and I desperately needed to get home safe. There was no traffic jam, and the few automobiles moved at breakneck speed, making it risky for a blotto.

“Why are you over looking at me like that my brother?” I asked the boda-boy. He responded with a smile and, “nothing sir”. I opened up to him and ask for a favor to ride ahead of me without allowing me go the wrong way. “Okay sir”, he agreed. His name is Tumu…something William, I can’t remember fully. Tumu stopped twice, hooting to guide me through until we reached home. Tumu opened the gate and closed with my instructions. He opened the house door and picked two laptops from the car putting them in the bedroom and asked for a negligible 2k for his service, but I offered 5k and gave him my number, to call me back when the sun is up.

Tumu hasn’t called me until now, I think he was an Angel from heaven.  I hope he lives down here with us. This reminds me of what English poet, William Blake said, “to generalize is to be an idiot”. Indeed, despite the criminal elements within the boda-boda riders today, I refuse to be idiotic by carrying all these guys in the same wagon again. People like Tumu are real saints who live amidst this wrongly projected fraternity. He saved my life. May God reward you Tumu wherever you are.

We Escaped Such Tough Times Through Mom

WE are in the middle of a school holiday time, here in Uganda, at least for learners attached to the Government guided schools. This period, (April, May and June) has also, always been a difficult time of the year. It is known to those of us who grew up surviving on home grown foods. Now parents are stressed; feeding the holiday makers and running around looking for fees ahead of the reopening of schools.

Even before factoring in the impact of COVID-19 and the current global economic recession conditioned by uncharacteristic upsurge in gasoline prices around the world, some of us already grew up knowing that months of; April, May and June are generally problematic annually.

Here was and still is my mom’s copping mechanism for these months: When we were young, my mom, a dedicated school teacher never relied 100% on her skimpy salary to support her family needs. Her side hustle has always been in the garden. Yes, and she’s still in the garden, toiling, fighting with the brownish hard soil of Abim.

Mom would slice and dry sweet potatoes and keep in bags ahead of the difficult times. My mom would also uproot, sort, boil and spread dry all types of leafy green vegetables including; peas (boo) and hibiscus cannabinus (amalakwang). Then when a penny hits her wallet after 30 days of breaking different colours of chalk, she would save in cereals, legumes so that December gets her with some 100 kilograms of beans at home. This way, she managed to feed her eight children (63% boys, 37% girls), meet family medical bills and pay our school fees.

Back then, mom preferred the tinny black and nutritious beans imported from Lango, Lira. This type of beans is cheap, very cheap, affordable. Boy, this is how madam managed to keep us alive, and to enable us grow. Yes, that’s why my face shines! We ate black beans from January to January without fatigue.  We fed on sorghum, boo, amalakwang, sweet potatoes, shea butter and related wild fruits.

Mom would also take advantage of family labour during school holidays such as this. I didn’t like the four kilometer walk to gardens behind those Abim hills of Morulem Sub County. I learnt how to use a hoe at age six. My mom put too much pressure on me and I thought she hated me. That wasn’t the case, she just wanted to build her children for the unpredictable future.

I wonder how easy it is today for us to compel our children to accommodate the type of life that some of us went through. A quick response from most of us including this author is, “I don’t have to make my children go through what I went through”. True, water doesn’t stagnate under the bridge, it has to drift away along with its load so as to pave way for a fresh flow coming with a new season, with new load.

I wonder what our children do these days during such long school breaks. How much garden work do our children help us with? Do we even think it is not child abuse to allow a child hold a hoe? How do they connect with society and how do they get friends? Methinks our children are enjoying a lot of protection, and they may not be able to see the need to change their current life. Our children have it, Laissez-faire.

Back then too, we had some gaps. In the youthful days of Itachi, Panasonic and Sony, some ‘spoilt’ children would organize village dance parties to allow them reconnect with friends from other schools. This is how some people ended up spotting their life-long spouses, but majority simply used such occasions for exploration. Today, the genuine soulmate hunters are settled as husbands and wives, but the explorers are still on flight.

Of Easter and the Conflict in Karamoja Today

WHAT a week! A holy week. It is that sacred period that Bible believers celebrate in remembrance of Jesus’ resurrection from the tom after a miraculous three days of his crucifixion.  

Christians believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross on behalf of everyone on earth; including those who betrayed and killed him. His death was to wash away our sins and allow us have renewed life free from wickedness. A vivid account of this can be found in the books of Mathew 28, Mark 16 and Luke 24.

It was Mahatma Gandhi who summarized the events of Easter as that time when, “a man who was completely innocent, offered himself as a sacrifice for the good of others, including his enemies, and became the ransom of the world".

Certainly, Easter period serves to animate Christians globally and to allow them develop renewed hope and faith in the face of sin believing strongly that victory is conceivable.  Thus, we must celebrate despite the challenges of; war, diseases, hunger, hatred, betrayal and sin that have bedeviled our societies. We must stick to the believe that victory is coming and that sin, bleakness shall dwindle.

**********                         **********                             **********                               *********    True is that today we live in an unpredictable time full of unusual occurrences. For us from Karamoja, every day is worth celebrating and giving thanks to the almighty because the current spate of insecurity there has seen our people lose lives and livestock on a daily basis. This hurts our people deeply because livestock is their main source of survival, and the deaths simply break hearts. 

Well, we shouldn’t lose hope but share our pains with God this holy week aware that he never fails and that the devil will not succeed.

Indeed, Satan is trying hardest to drug us into dirt; to frustrate our unity; We shouldn’t allow this. As Karamoja people, we can support government to help us eliminate the conflict but pointing fingers and promising hell for one another won’t help.

I repeat, the biggest problem of Karamoja is nothing but, hunger.  The unreliable rainfalls make it difficult to count on crop growing in Karamoja. Livestock is everything for the Karamojong and they need protection for these animals (cattle, donkeys, sheep, goats) to secure their future.  

Several attempts by NGOs and GoU to forge alternatives for cattle in Karamoja through multimillion dollar projects have failed and may never work if they don't focus on the real needs of these people. Failure to create livestock security at household will always make the Karamojong people feel insecure, thus risking their lives to go for raids just as they get hurt by the armed Turkana who enter our country and drive off livestock from the Karamojong.

Thus, a solution to the insecurity problem requires fixing permanently the food problem. Leaders should direct their efforts to supporting restocking, multiplication and protection of  animals in Karamoja. Without animals, life in Karamoja remains bleak.

The Karamoja Crisis Hasn’t Crossed the Rubicon

AFTER a decade (2009-2019) of relative peace and security in Karamoja, this beautiful semi-arid North-Eastern part of Uganda is back to the past life of fear and hopelessness created by the gun. It’s not easy to believe this, but that is it for now at least, although it’s not yet too late!

The history of guns in Karamoja has been traced back to 1979 when President Idi Amin Dada was ejected out of power and his soldiers fled, abandoning a fully stocked Moroto military barracks armory that later fell in the hands of locals.

Other sources trace the same to the colonial trade times of Allidina Visram in the 1900s when Abyssinian traders from Ethiopia penetrated into Karamoja with guns which they used to kill Elephants and extract Ivory. It is believed that when the population of Elephants reduced, the Abyssinian traders started dealing in guns and so the people of Karamoja embraced the practice.

Since then, just like it is in Turkana today, guns were openly sold and held by the communities in Karamoja even in the presence of security service providers not until some others started using it to commit grievous crimes that the restriction came. Otherwise, these guns were also important for protection of livestock which is the mainstay of the Karamojong.

The decade long peace in Karamoja came through negotiations and good coordination with local leaders; elders and the youth. Once convinced, the leaders in turn (especially elders) restrained the Karacuna (youth) from clinging to the practice of armed violence. Further resistance compelled government to conduct a forceful disarmament exercise in the region from 2001-2002 and 2006-2011.

Today, the region has fallen back to insecurity due to failure to maintain the disarmament gains. A number of peace projects implemented in the region, were either poorly designed to permanently address pertinent needs of the Karamojong, wrongly implemented, or didn’t have strong sustainability mechanisms. Subsequent livelihood aspects equally never transformed lives and so these people remained jostling for survival the hard way.

The disgruntlement started with few incidences when innocent travelers got killed along roads within Karamoja. Then the thugs formed themselves into gangs that would targeted livestock within towns and in their immediate neighborhood. Since most of these attackers remained at large, they grew confident but also their act irritated and inspired others to join in through revenge on, or amalgamating with the bad boys respectively.

More pressure on the Karamojong was exacerbated by the two years (2020-2021) of COVID-19 lockdown. There was also the invasion of locust that grounded planted crops thus, worsening the situation. Families couldn’t put food on the table.  Before we knew, a full raiding activity was back and; killings, cattle theft have now become the order of the day again. These people are simply looking for survival. I don’t think they simply wish to steal and kill people.

A number of commentators now argue that the UPDF has failed to address the Karamoja problem, with some calling on the Government of Uganda (GoU) to distribute guns to neighboring communities for self-protection.  This suggestion is the most dangerous as it will simply fuel more tribal/Ethinic clashes and the Karamojong will equally find ground to run for more guns from South Sudan and Northern Kenya. We don’t want to go back there because as it stands, the situation hasn’t crossed the Rubicon. The UPDF is capable of restoring peace in Karamoja in the short run by ensuring massive deployment both internally and across borders to reduce on further proliferation of arms.

For the long term; GoU and development partners need to speak louder/strongly to the problem of livelihoods for Karamoja by focusing on elevating every household in the region. Two things can do the trick; livestock empowerment for every household and offering free, comfortable and promising education where every educated Karamojong is employed. These will make Karamoja great forever.

Oulanyah’s Death and the Media in Uganda Today

REMAINS of the late Speaker of the 11^th Parliament of Uganda, Rt. Hon. Jacob L’Okori Oulanyah arrived back home today, this Friday 1^st of April. Oulanyah 56 died some 12 days ago at a US Specialized hospital of Seattle in Washington City.  He was also MP for Omoro County, Omoro district in Northern Uganda.

This magnanimous politician from Acholi land will be laid to rest next Friday 8^th at his ancestral home in Ayom-Lony village, Lalogi Sub-County, Omoro district. Oulanyah will enjoy a decent send off because of the position he held in the Country but also because of his national influence.  He is among other things credited for turning northern Uganda yellow and championing a national reconciliation agenda for the Country. Oulanyah envisioned a Uganda where the ruling and the opposition political parties work together. He believed that leaders ought to put interest of the Country ahead of those of their political organizations.  

The media has been crammed with both sentimental and cynical stories around Oulanyah; his suffering, his eventual demise and the politics of it.  This is going to dry up as soon as his casket is lowered into the ground. I also hope that Oulanyah’s burial will close the chapter of incomprehensible media stories about him.

The media today is quite terrifying than never before. They stretch one event until its original taste is altered. For a good story, they keep squiggling on it until it's blurred. They will drag the story from all ends until it turns chaotic, then it’s repaired a little and suddenly shut down forever.

In Uganda today, it’s no easy to come by stories that do deeper surgery on critical national issues. Somewhere else, the death of such a giant could have evoked media to do thorough analysis of previous speakers by citing significant moments and making valuable contrasts. These would help citizens to understand where we came from as a Country, where we stand and how tomorrow looks like.

Unfortunately our media has become so casual; they no longer trace historical facts in order to appreciate the present and guide on the future. In brief, most published stories are not well conjugated with archived facts.

Yes, in the case of Oulanyah’s sickness and death, our media really played phony. At first, they ran conjectures about the speaker’s condition, which impelled idle souls to protest against Government decision to save the speaker's life. This was unpatriotic to say the least.  

The media went on to do repair services as soon as the speaker was pronounced dead on 20^th March. This time, every publishing house lionized the deceased for his; intellect, devoutness, benevolence and professionalism.   Along the way, again the stories got mixed up with stones and mud. The burial budget was depicted unpleasantly; it demonized the innocent MPs from greater North where Oulanyah comes from.

Nonetheless, Oulanyah was celebrated by many Ugandans. People from; Churches, Mosques, Schools, Health centers, sporting arenas, entertainment and many more will miss Lanywen (Oulanya’s pet name). His supporters in Acholi tagged him so, I guess because of his intrepid character. A man who never gives up easily, a man who changes tactics until success is attained.

Unfortunately, death doesn’t die. We curse it every day, but death is immortal. So we can never celebrate death, but life. As the country goes on with the celebration of Oulanyah’s life for the next couple of days, I call unto the media to do more by taking advantage of archived information to weave better stories instead of limiting news to political statements and strange occurrences. May God grant Jacob everlasting life.

www.owiny.blogspot.com 

What a Nasty 'Love Making' Spectacle!

THERE was that bloodcurdling rattle, that enraging, vexing bang to the opposite direction as soon as Nancy and I trod out of the pick-up-truck for some restorative window shopping inside a super market in the heart of Moyo, a town in Uganda’s West Nile sub region.

Frightened to the bones, I found myself stuck on this West Nile Queen as though I were her spoilt child. I grew up in the North and Karamoja at the peak of gun violence and so such a sound naturally brings back recollections of broad daylight cattle raiders or those bizarre arrivals of the Lord’s Resistance Army attackers. 

In the case of what perforated my nerves, such a terrifying sound would be instantaneously succeeded by screeches, and melees of; men, women and children looking for hide outs or temporal barricades against the scattering live ammunitions. This is how some of us grew up anyway, up there, far there.

Ashamed of what I was doing on this chilly morning and in the presence of people who seem unbothered, I let go of Nancy’s golden arm and slowly joined everyone by protracting my neck towards where the sound came from.  No panic registered here, no commotion, no more sound, just a build-up of people; quiet, agitated men, women and children.

Traffic was interrupted for some 10 minutes on this dusty marram street, yet not a voice could announce the problem. The point of attraction was an entangled lifeless body of a young man, a teen-ager held tightly to a SENKE motor bike that twisted itself on the boy like a living thing. “This is a love making spectacle”, I told myself.

It took stretched muscles of two fellow boda-boda men to unlock the seemingly enraged automobile from the boy and guess what! The boy’s eyes were alive and bright and streaming with clean tears; his neck could struggle hard but his limbs were dead.

There is something excess about the young men who drive motorcycles in most West Nile districts except Arua, the city.  The districts of; Moyo, Koboko and Yumbe take the day. Firsts, I noticed that at least 8/10 boda-bodas in these districts do not have driving (side) mirrors at all, we can't even talk of a driving license; second, they are always rushing even if they are going to a 100-meter destination. Most of them are always chewing something throughout the day, could this be some sort of drug? The other attribute shared with their colleagues countrywide is their right-of-way assumption. This kind of pointless impudence has killed many riders and including their innocent passengers.

World Health Organization estimates that road traffic accidents in Uganda account for close to 30% deaths per 100,000 people. Statistics at Mulago National Referral Hospital confirms that some five (05) to 20 victims of traffic accidents get admitted on a daily basis and that 41% of these victims are linked to boda-boda. A study by Makerere University School of Statistics and Planning established that 32.5% of motorcyclists use alcohol or psychoactive drugs while on duty; moreover 54.6% of the boda-boda men learnt how to ride casually through friends or relatives and another 37% taught themselves how to ride.

There is an urgent need to bring commercial motorcyclists in this country to order through an intense behavioral change intervention before their conduct turns into a critical public health phenomenon for the Country.  

Mobile Phone Cancer is Real and Dangerous

HAVE you ever experienced the exasperation that come with someone addressing you while on phone? I mean, while listening to you and as well following another speaker on the phone? What of a spectacle when someone is knocked down by an automobile because she/he could not let go of the phone while crossing a road? Then there are those who go to office and spend eight hours busy on their smart phones. You shouldn’t like it at all. I hate it.

There are several bad things nowadays, - bad manners in fact I should say, that arise from being a careless, non-sensitive aficionado of a mobile phone. I think a mobile phone is one thing that has spread so fast without precautions on its downside being equally widely shared by the manufacturer.

The World needs to catch up on this missed opportunity if we are to save money, time, integrity, and lives. Personally, I just made some tough, really very tough resolutions on the use of my mobile phone, the World may call me names, but, I don’t care the names, all I care for now are essentially my restorative tenacities.  

Just the other day, while in Mbarara City, I went to give my head a better shape in some striking barber shop. This was necessary after a fortnight focus on the hustle. Guess what? This bloke unconsciously does it to me until, - the ulcers! First, it was his excitement over a WhatsApp message. His smart phone carried him away, to the girls and other young people within this beautiful interior. The boy wanted them to see the message, and you know what? He spent his neck on forwarding it to his contacts. At least when I asked, he said, (without business sense) “boss let me just share this message first”.  Although my body looked comfortable and flexible to allow a nod, the ulcers were biting from my internal. Had it not been for the soothing interior, I could have fled!

More annoying realities about poor phone etiquette are seen in the streets every day. Motorists divide their concentration into half, with the other being on the phone. So, you find a responsible looking fellow holding the phone with one hand and the car steering wheel with only one, or use the shoulder to hold the phone –obviously straining the neck and making very deadly mistakes that can cost lives. Many have died, their stories told, but we never learn at least. I normally surprise motorcyclists who pick up calls when am passenger.  I simply say, “boss, stop for a moment…”, then I drop off just like that with the hope that they pick lessons.

The ‘smart phone cancer’ has equally invaded offices. Some employees simply fail to deliver on their daily outputs because of this malignancy. The first things people kill their eyes, necks and backs on in the morning when settled at their office desks is phone. WhatsApp messages, Facebook buzzes, twitter craze etc. eat up time for most officers. Do you know that even meetings these days do not enjoy full participation of members just because of addiction to mobile phones? Yes, married people have had to divorce because the phone has put them aside.

Global statistics reveal that 23% of road accidents nowadays are caused due to phone use while driving. This is too high and yet we know that a car forces drivers to give it maximum attention always. Let’s imagine the percentage loss in terms of delivery of outputs in an office setting. Some employers have gone ahead to put in place mobile phone use policies to reduce on this damage. Before such restrictions are imposed on you, it might be wise to personally redeem yourself. We need to shift gears and sidestep the impending helplessness coming up from the detestable use of mobile phones. We can defeat it easily because it’s merely a mindset disease. www.owiny.blogspot.com