The One I Never Got To Bid Farewell To

I’m Ugandan. I proudly say so. And I love almost everything that is Ugandan. I really do. But one thing ranks high among the things Ugandan that I’ve grown to dislike and fear at the same time and it’s non other than the roads and the beastly machines that utilise them unsparingly. Hate, because of the clumsiness of the drivers and the poor state of these roads and fear, for how ruthlessly the accidents seek to out do malaria as the chief executioner in this lovable country.

During my senior year, I lost my decker-mate Harold (R.I.P.) in one of those multiple carnages on the damned Masaka Highway. With less than a year left for him to end high school a bright light was rudely put out. I was inconsolable back then. It was like I had lost an arm or two. I still don’t think life has ever been the same without him. It is even more traumatising for me because by the time we parted company, Harold and I had just had a rather bitter argument while playing soccer. He was the goalie and I was the defender, we conceded a rather stupid goal which brought the blame game into play. I like to blame it on the passion we both had for our team. They always happen all over the world. I know.

But we didn’t kiss and make up after. A sad way to end such a friendship!

I also had my own close brush early this year when this stubborn driver of our taxi decided to compete with a fuel truck…….I get cold chills when I tell this story but so you must know, nothing eventually happened. But the old lady sited next to me wasn’t taking anything lightly and in so doing took a dim view of everything when she decided to rain blows and age old insults on the crazed driver. I haven’t even talked about what the extremely frightened passengers donated to the sponge they were seated on.

Now here I am looking at the photos of the game we played in Harold’s memory just over three years ago to this date wishing he would have been around to witness the Queen’s visit. He badly wanted to witness that day. As a piece of considerably consolation, I scored in that game and pointed to the sky, optimistic that Harold was sited up there…and that I was still in his good books.

I miss you Harold.

P.S. I have decided to run a separate blog for my escapedes in a Ugandan lecture room...check it out.