Tag: death


27th June,

She is here, Grandma.

Today Facebook reminded me, i thought it will just be another memory

but then, Facebook doesn’t know which memories we like to re-read or not

i said i wouldn’t cry but now i feel my nose do that thing it does when i hold tears back hard

She is here!

she has her father’s smile and Bugingo’s eyes. she is Beautiful, grandma.

Just like you always said she would be one day

She is warm like her father and Jolly like her mama (haha)

I know you have seen her

she is petite too and has very beautiful hair

Ooh Lord!! she is Cake. And i love her

Yes i have too much of that to pour out

I have told her alot about you

and yes, she loves her names.


Still waters run deep and sometimes i feel like inside me is an ocean full of unsaid words

Murder , she baked #end

This man must have nine lives like a cat. he refuses to die and they plan on bringing him home. I hope they pay up a nurse because all his baby mamas are gone and i am not going to take the place of taking care of a vegetable every single day. He has delayed all my plans basically because i don’t want to leave the country before his burial. It will also not be as good if i don’t get to bury and hear the will and i wouldn’t want to return just to do that.

I know what to do. I am going to quicken him. probably cover his face with a pillow and wait for the nurse to announce him dead. And the newspaper headlines Front page will read “Mayor Dead” And then I will finally have my peace and get away from all this for a while. Nope, i aint guilty

Murder, She baked 15

Frank didn’t see it coming. Neither did I. He saw both of us come in from the distance. The girl is not an easy chap, he made his bed and is now lying on it. She wasnt ready to be kept behind shadows. I planned as she planned, she rejected his pleas of remaining at the back not in front of the camera. i watched them battle it out until, his pressure rose. He is at the hospital with her and honestly am not sure whether to be sad or not, am not even sure i want him to recover. I am glad he hadn’t changed the will as yet all the same.

He must be wondering why it’s not I at the hospital bedside, but why should i be, what would i be appreciating…he broke the vows long ago and there’s nothing left to keep. Anyway i have officially resigned, i am home, the media will go to hospital, they will print about the incident and when he gets to see the papers….so help hm God because next might be him lying in a box while passages are being read to him out of some holy book that he even didn’t acknowledge ever since fame cropped in.

Murder, she baked 12

Journal 7

Two bodies, one funeral.

I saw the therapist and I seriously need help but i cant promise i will go to my next appointment because while i finalised to move the kids (with his money) i played a role in him acquiring it, i got home only to find Frank had moved his “trip girl” and her child into my former bedroom. It’s however still my marital bedroom and his excuse is “we are just ceremonial”. What kind of sugarcane does this man smoke? Couldnt he wait for me to move the kids at least? And his mother, is in support just  because “i am no longer a wife because i don’t do the wife duties and as a man he needs to feel like one” What nonsense is this.  I felt like slapping her but i still respect her a little. Tomorrow both families are going to seat to try settle us but i wonder where they were when everything was still raw and i was trying to tell them while they said “Omukyala aguma”

Now I have to kill 2 humans just to make sure no one takes things that belong to me (so help me God) Did i say God? didn’t that guy leave me alone already?… Now 2 women in the same compound, one a young girl who thinks she will be happier here. She better hire her own maid because am going to fire mine and also resign from work, i cant focus even at the job that should pay my bills so before am fired….

Murder, she baked 6

When i got married, i didnt envision this kind of marriage. As a kid i envisoned a cinderella story and the christian in me didnt believe in divorce until this day. I know he wont allow. The mayor is that adamant but this marriage is going to kill me and yet am the innocent one. Am going to kill Frank, I will explain to God later.

Murder, she baked. Journal 1

Since no one believes me or thinks am suffocating. Its been a year since Naki gave birth. She gave him a son and i know he now sees her ofter. And Becky hasnt left the picture. I think she is due soon. And then that other girl that he takes on trips. I am living in a huge castle and i dont even know the last time we lived as husband and wife in private. We have managed to keep the public image of a beautiful couple. We hold hands and smile. Does the world know that two weeks after i collapsed he raped me because i denied him sex?.  But well, if my own mother doesnt believe me, how will the public believe me when they see a whole different picture. I only work and live for my children. The maid takes care of all his needs and everyday am worried that she will be his next victim. I wanted to take the kids to boarding school far away from all the drama but they are my only joy and hope. The reason depression hasnt killed me yet. I talked to my matron about it and as much as she doesnt think i should leave my marriage she supports boarding school.

I have thought of boarding school in nairobi but my babies are still very little. Lets give it a couple of other years. i hope Frank wont have killed me then.

Nemu – the hair dresser


So today I recalled a lady in my village. she was a real village belle. She was called Nemu (read Name). Nemu was my hair dresser. The best on the village. She plaited my sister and i from when we were little. One Christmas, she plaited us and decorated our finished hair with metallic buttons as opposed to beads..(oh! how beautiful we looked).

Nemu was like a moving hollywood actress. She was a slim figure, had the kind of body we thought was only for models. She was like Aamito just lighter. About 6 feet (i don’t know because i was very little). She rented a single room down in the ghetto and was too clean and smart that if you found her at the bus station you would think she just came out of a mansion. Her poise…jeez!. She always wore heels even when she was going to the market to buy one tomato. She wore only bodycon dresses,pencil skirts….clothes that sketched out her curves. Her nails were always done and she never forgot the red lipstick(i didnt think she cared about the brand, it could have been the Irene we use lately). she was the First MUA i ever saw because all the village females with parties to attend passed by her veranda before going out to parties or weddings or bars. She didn’t charge for the make up because she believed in women looking good and she only charged UGX 7000 for my hair then.

On many occasions, the men in the neighbouring village called her a prostitute but she was just that woman who was probably a fan of spice girls and dreamt of living in France or Paris at a point. She did enjoy her cigarette but also only drunk when she wasnt working. She just loved being a woman and having all the attention. As years went by, Nemu shifted and later news reached us that she passed on. She was unmarried and had no children but was happy.  Today I wonder why people called her a prosititute because of the way she choose to present herself? can’t a woman just look good and enjoy her life with no one thinking it she is doing it to seduce men?

Nemu wore her “mivumba” just for herself. She choose the perfect ones for her body and when she walked out, she wore a smile and walked like she was moving on glass. She had her own red carpet laid out in her mind each time. It didn’t matter if she was heading to the market or to buy the braids for her clients. she often said “nze nekolera byange binsanyusa”. She always had her head high,shoulders out and protected her crown. She had no reason to fix yours yet hers wasnt exactly straight and she knew.

Rest in Peace Nemu

Love-Letters – 13


Dear i must be mistaken. I don’t know how to address this.

At the beginning of this week, a soldier departed. I met him once or twice at babishai or one of those writing gatherings and the impact was not the same. I kept following him online and I silently read his blog. Mahnn….he was a writer. One of a kind. He was a warrior and as much as “he has fought a good fight” sounds cliche….He really has fought his. I watched his discussion on tv with Josephine and was overwhelmed. Writers have written wonderfully about him and i only wish he could read every beautiful thing said. Joel send regard to Fiona for me. Se battled like you did and came out a victor.

A dozen of roses is all I need;

1: For the broken-hearted

2: for the fallen soldiers

3: for the rainbow babies

4: For the single mothers

5: For the teen mothers

6: For the parents that have loved us unconditionally

7: For the siblings we can’t trade

8: For those with poor health

9: For the orphaned

10: For the bereaved hearts

11: For the spouses

12: For all the lovers

“It’s okay to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all”



She Lay….

She laid down with her face up

clad in her beautiful lace dress

lips painted with a mac ruby

and her foundation well pressed not to trace a pimple

She lay with her eyes closed

like she was avoiding the rays of the sun from hitting back

yet the sun had been blocked by all the shadows standing besides her

glaring down at her like she was a piece of fine art

like they were trying to find out if her breath wasnt air yet

“can’t you see that I can’t move?” she thought.

She looked at him weeping

his hands slowly caressing her casket

He was in deep sorrow

She wished she could wake up

as much as she enjoyed the attention she got

the lies and truth being eulogized

But also prayed she was really dead

he was the reason everyone was gathered and not having tea.




She walked slowly like she didn’t feel it

her clothes soaked and her hair dripping

her head bowed that she couldn’t see where she was going

it almost knocked her

and all he did was stop and scream at her through the window

she didn’t lift her chin even for a sec

she walked on

past the men at the bus stop taking shelter from the rain

she didn’t even hear the insults they made

how foolish and reckless she looked


just one woman


a lady almost her age

walked up to her and allowed to get wet with her

covered her with a shawl and led her to a chair by the road

she held her too close

like she was trying to offer some warmth

and when the rain stopped she said

“they took it all.

My dignity, her life

and I failed her once again.”d76ad978bccdd0bfe0d3b01b36c3a278.jpg


The heart breaks in the most beautiful and musical way yet tragic.

The sound it makes is so soft that only God can hear.

The tears roll down like rain that has just hit a glass window,

the noises from within,

the traffic in the mind is louder than all the people that surround us.

How can we explain a kind of love unexplainable?

                                                                What is love?

How can we describe a pain very indescribeable?

How do we look up the stars and just smile?

time heals all wounds?

How will it do so when the clock just stopped ticking?



My heart sinks, my doll rests. If love could bring you back