I remember when we were so little, wet behind our ears. Young. Shaking us awake at the crack of dawn to prepare us for school. How we would stagger out of our beds and find breakfast ready (at 6:00 am), and our Yamato uniforms clean & ironed. And proceeded to see us off to Kazo Parents School to study alphabets and algebra.
I remember in high school. In Mbarara. How you stuffed our metallic suitcases with ‘grab’ and, later, shoved measly pocket money in our khaki pants’ pockets and said a prayer and begged us not to be suspended and to focus on books and kept checking on us through that famous callbox and sent more grab on visiting day and handed us our asses when we failed Chemistry.
I remember at University. On that hill. At MUK. When you treated us as toddlers and pampered us. Always calling whether we had lunch or supper or found our way to the lecture room. And on my first job at New Vision in year two, I remember you blessing me, hands on my scalp, and released me like a dove and told me, “Go get ‘em.”
I remember, as a grownup now, in my early 30s asking me (every day) whether I will come back with a female ‘friend’ in December. How I keep disappointing you, sadly. How you remind me how dad and my big brother are sick and how I should put my shit together and marry and slow down on the sour stuff and put on my big ‘old’ pants and give my life to God.
Mother. I remember.
Happy Mother’s Day.
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