Dear His Excellency, Please Chase Away Silver City

First of all, they are outside countries’ people. And you said something akin to outside countries’ people and things being responsible for the increased disappearance of money from our wallets. That is reason one. They are foreign. You need to motivate us to follow your example in using only locally made things. Like the soon-

to-be-defunct-Ugandan-made-sugar. Tikwe?

Uganda-where other things are responsible for our dire economy.

When they had just opened shop in Uganda, which was around 2007, all was well. Like how in 1990, the country had better roads than it does now. The food was excellent. The waitresses and waiters were masters at treating the customers like royalty. Things were going bulungi. We loved them because they made us feel like we were experiencing a bit of movie-sm in our dusty city. Men unlucky enough to be running after a campus girl at the time must have cursed the place. You asked the girl where she would like to have dinner, convinced she was still excited about Nandos’ free pizza Tuesday. She said Silver City. You panicked. But then, you asked. The sharp ones carried chips and liver to her room. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

The car is HOT. The man is NOT.

Silver City however started to kumanyiira us. Because we are hospitable people. Because we have maalo for new joints and restaurants and will frequent them just to walk away when another joint opened its doors. Ask Cheese bar. But we were nice to Silver City. We kept going back because this time, we were ready to commit. It helped that they had the juiciest pork ribs this side of the Sahara. And we really haven’t tasted the ones on the other side of the Sahara. But wah…they did not treasure us. Us, the girls who had to put up with I know-I’m-boring-but-I-have-a-car-and-money-men just so we could escape another night of Wandegeya food. And the poor men who spent money and fuel (in those days, it was cheap) to dine a ka girl who just side-hugged you and skipped off to her room. Kampala girls. Msssccchhheeewww.

But the excellent food made up for the lack of common interest dates. Then they decided that because they have been here for one term, they could become so Ug and start being bulala. At least they should follow your example, Mr. President, and last three terms before going haywire. How do you serve a chicken breast between a stale Hotloaf bun and majestically term that a chicken burger? In these hard times where people give up lunch so they have taxi fare home, how do you charge UGX20,000 for a meal that consists of 12 fries(yes, I counted) and said horrible burger? What sort of idiot clears your plate away; intact with most of 

the meal and then asks if you enjoyed your meal?

My meal looked NOTHING like this.

The Silver City sort of idiot. Three times of bad service and horrible food isn't a bad day. It’s a pattern. They go back; we use the space to grow sugar.

Spur Ranches-The Uganda Version? SUCKS.

Dear Life. (Rated R. For Some-What Strong Language)

Friday;
Dear Life.
Thank you. For the chance to live out this story. Thank you that I have been blessed with the amazing opportunity to be part of this dance. I have lived. I have loved. I have been blessed. I have excelled. I have learned. I have been loved. By friends. By family. By lovers. I have been at the receiving end of some good loving. Ans spoiling. Thank you for family that has loved me, supported me and stood by me. Thank you, Life for the gifts I have been blessed with. My way with words is not only my greatest gift but my greatest release. When I write, I put into words the things which would otherwise choke me. Thank you for friendships. The ones that have lasted years, the new ones and especially, the unexpected ones. Thank you, life for the love of books and all things written. Thank you for Maya Angelou and Liz Kobusinge-two of my favorite writers.
I thank you, from the bottom of my soul for rock music. For performers who speak from the heart. For Life House, Joshua Radin, Ingrid Michaelson, Amylee, Ne-Yo, Eminem and Christina Aguilera. Thank you for The Weepies, Sara Bareilles and Rob Thomas. And Lyfe Jennings. And Beyonce. I cannot leave out B.
Thank you for a heart that can love, has loved and still loves. Thank you for the scary but very-real ability to open my heart and pour all of me into loving others. Thank you life. For the chances that keep coming my way. Oh, thank you for another shot at my dreams. For Lucie and Liz-who pushed till I got my writing out there. Thank you for the ones who take the time to read my work. Thank you for whispering the words that put my aches and pains and fears to life. Bless you, for coke. And gin. And meat. And sleep. Yes, sleep...
Thank you, for forgiveness. That I have received. Especially the one I have given.
Thank you life for the story that is Makuba Muhairwe Nagasha Maureen. The story that is still being written.

Momo!

Saturday;
Dear life.
Please. Stop. The pain has become unbearable. The aches have the strongest holds on my heart. My dreams-the dreams you put to life, the dreams I have fought tooth and nail for, the dreams I gave up all comforts for, the dreams that have been putting the light in my eyes. Those dreams? They are crumbling before my eyes. The passion, the words...they are getting away from me. The voice that whispers the rhymes...that soft voice? It has gone still.
The pain of the ones I love the most eats me up. Burning my soul, squeezing my heart...the pain in their eyes, the questions I cannot answer, the past I cannot undo. The price for sins not my own, I cannot continue to pay.

Please....?

Dear life,
It should not be this hard. The search for the love that lasts, the smiles that stay and the laughter which never fades...it should not be this hard. My heart should not have to be ripped out just so you can test if I'm still alive. My soul should not be burned just so you can teach me yet another lesson-on faith. The begging should not be this demeaning. I should not be brought to my knees just so a few prayers can be answered.
No, I'm all out of tears to cry. I do not have enough spirit to even begin one more battle. I have not the faith to believe in miracles that take decades to get to me. No, I do not want to beg just so I can die. Yes. Die. Because when it gets this difficult, what is the point? To live with no light in my eyes, no spring in my step, no song in my soul...no. That is not to live.
I will take blackness. I will be glad to never wake again. I will choose the unending darkness. I will give back to you this...life. This life you call a gift to me, I will give back to you. Because it's no gift.
It is a burden I can carry no more.

Sunday;
But life.
WHAT THE HELL??
At what point do you stop? At what point do you draw the line? How do you go and give me something and then turn it to a burdensome load? Because now, I am mad. I am screaming and cursing you. Because you are a shameless bully. Because you love to complicate things. Because if its drama-free, you go and create the drama. Just for your private entertainment, you play chess with me and then smirk away as yet, another battle I lose. But not this time. My begging fell upon your conveniently-deaf ears. The pleas faded away,past your century-old and battle-hardened heart. That I offered to return the gift to you, was not enough. That too, has to go according to your timing. In the meantime, you poke. And prod. And pinch. And squeeze. And to lace it off, you punch. But man, have you picked the wrong person.
Dear I-do-things-my-way-even-if-someone-has-to-bleed-so-I-can-have-my-way aka life. I can bitch pretty good. Scratch that. I bitch awesomely. You push to the edge,I push off the cliff. You throw punches, I fight to knock out. You drain, drop by drop, I suck dry.
O Life. I learnt from the best. And I am a fast learner. I do not lose my lessons. You will stab my heart but my dagger will draw your heart out. You think you can rage? You should see my tantrums. You believe your tornadoes and storms will wear me out? You have not seen me blind and mad. I leave nothing un-turned. Not a single leaf.
Life. I am done. Begging, pleading, bargaining, waiting, hoping, false-smiling, pain-hiding. I AM D.O.N.E.
Two can play this game. I am grabbing you by your thick-dare-touch-me neck and I am not letting go. Until you relent. And let go. Of my dreams. My heart. My soul. My joy. I am taking back what you happily gave me all those years ago. My Life. I am taking it back. And I am going to live it out-loud. You will either join in the merry-living. or you will sit by and look on. You are not in charge anymore. I am.
Dear Life.
It takes two to tango.
And boy, can I swirl. And twirl. And jaba. 
Dear Life.
Leave me the fuck alone.

SOD OFF.

For Isabel. And myself.

At His Knees.

I sat before God…

I sat down at my maker’s feet…

Grabbing on to the only one that remains solid

The One whose love is without question.

                                             

I sat at my maker’s feet

I asked the one who watches over me

Where He had been lately

Why He had been silent

And why my heart was aching

Because the pain was numbing me

And the nightmares were now frequent.

I told Him that loves my soul,

Him, the lover of my spirit

I told Him the truth

The truth I could tell no one else

That I was all wrung out of strength

The fight in me was burned down…down to cold and lifeless ashes

I told the one whose love I had come to depend on

Told him that this time, I was out of my element

This fight, I could not take on.

I sat at the knees of the one my soul loves

The one who redeemed my lost self

Told Him I was losing my way. Again.

I told the Lord, the Lord of my life

Told Him I was spent

And, could use a lift.

From the dumps. From the hurt. The mess.

I sat at the feet of my maker.

And asked Him to make it better.