Of Hymns and burials

Of Hymns and burials

I shouldn’t trust my childhood memory that much but all seemed to happen very fast. I recall a big number of people appeared in our compound that evening. My mind cannot see their faces anymore but they were many. Some seated, others standing, while some busied themselves with this and the other.

Kaaka had been staying with us for a while. She had been bedridden and therefore I never saw her stand up. On one or two occasions, we had visited her in the hospital. I recall her sleeping on white sheets on the hospital bed. I could hardly see her face. I was still short. I recall fearing to approach her though. I wonder why. I have seen kids do that too. Then on one of those days, Mom and auntie Monica rushed into the house in tears. There was something major that had gone wrong. I can only recall Mom pray. ‘Oh God, you always tell us to give thanks at all times’ she cried. ‘How do I do it now?’ she moaned. It is probably one of my first Scriptures to remember to date. “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18.

We were too young to know the details of it all. At least I was too young. We figured out that Kaaka had passed away. Suddenly the sunlight in the sitting room seemed to fade. I was probably too young to cry but the memory lingers on. At some point Dad was now home, planning to inform our school that we shall skip classes for a few days, and then the people started arriving. We kids were hardly noticed. People huddled in groups. The evening fire was lit in the compound. What a huge log of fire it was. I must have lingered on in the night a bit. Seated with an Uncle or someone. I must have dozed off at some point. How did we sleep in that house? I wonder

(To be continued)

COVID 19

COVID 19

Books

More books

And other books

Quarantine

Prayer

Facebook live Service

Bible App

Quarantine

Prose

Poetry

Long essays

Quarantine

Internet bundles

Mobile Money

Call bundles

Quarantine

Cakes

Star fruits

Akaaro and firinda[1]

Quarantine

Chirping Birds

Rare flowers

Beautiful rain

Quarantine

Stolen long walks

Rope skipping

Fasting

Quarantine

Stay Safe

Sanitize

Touch not

Quarantine

D.R.Ruhweza

May 1, 2020

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[1] Finger millet and peeled beans stew

Why Do I Write?

Why Do I Write?

I recall that ride to London from Cambridge using the National Coach services. I sat by the window and my mind drifted from the book I was reading to a couple of the friends I was blessed to know over time. I pulled out my pen and notebook and started scribbling an appreciation for all that they have done for me, inspired me to be, given to me, or been there for me.  On and on I wrote as the bus (or probably train) rode on. I would later finish that poem when I arrived at my friend’s house.

For as long as I can remember, I have used writing (and drawing) as a means to express my deepest thoughts and reflections. To an extent, I could argue that this has been my primary way of expressing my deepest joys, revealing my conflicting thoughts, and expressing sorrow in times of grief. Words have helped me build those bridges, pick those flowers, treat those invisible wounds, churn out my heart’s cry, and even desperation when lonely. I recall writing profusely all my romantic thoughts -when I fell in love -as though I didn’t want any of them to escape. Similarly, when people do horrible things, my pen has come out to wage war on my behalf. Inspiration from God, the Bible, and people with amazing stories also inspire me to write.

It is not always easy to write though. There have been times when words do actually fail me. When anger or frustration blinds the flow of expression and chokes your throat and freezes your hands. Yet, it is important to write even in those times, lest one forgets how one felt. Writing helps capture the moment even if it is only for my own benefit sometime in the future.

That is why I write.

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