For the greater part of February, as others blossom in love, I will write daily under the theme #29DaysOfGratitude.
Writing for and to all those people that have made me the gentleman I am today. It’ll be like a keepsake of my favourites that you wouldn’t have read otherwise. Saying thank you is something I don’t think we have done/said as much as we should.
If you want to join in on this great daily writing adventure, feel free and join us, #29DaysOfGratitude
“Life is a series of partings”, but dad left quite to early, the little boy was just little, 3 years to be precise and behind him stared his lovely other sibling, a little brother that was 2 years and smiling endlessly as dad lay lifeless on a mattress in the sitting room.
To many people, life would come to a standstill, relatives would have mkved on with no regard of what would happen to the little fellas after all. Like in many families in Uganda, distant relatives would have fought for property as it was in the 90’s and the little fellas would have been left on the streets, naked hungry and angry with nothing as much as a decent clothing or education because their father was no more.
For the love of his son, granny had vowed to take care of the little boys, to bring them up as her own and to give them that love that father would have offered. Over the years, granny cried with the little boys, she stayed up late at night when one was sick, she was overjoyed by the little boys growth and achievements. Amidst all wrongs, never did she curse or wish them bad, they were her very own and she did everything in her power to make them feel like they were loved by a force deeper than dad’s unexistent love.
I would have been a stubborn fellas but the regular a** whooping, unending counseling and life lessons from granny always kept me in check. She often tells her story, a story that would make any heart ache, then her achievements that she is very proud of then of her 2 little boys who make her proud every singls day.
“Mwami” (husband/man) she often refers to me because in my tribe, Buganda grand mother’s are accepted to refer to their male grand children as “mwami” this is often to symbolize that one is a man and not merely a man but a man with responsibilities.
Without granny, I bet I wouldn’t be able to even open a blog, nor would I be able to read and write. She is that rock I always lean on, the never disappointing factor. And for that, I am grateful dear granny, I hope you get to read this or I will just come visit you over the weekend only for the sake of hugging you.:)