THE GATEKEEPER

Kampala has all kinds of jobs. From the cobbler to the bank teller, from the teacher to the surgeon. The streets of Kampala are full of people seeking to either make their mark or earn their dime. However, none of these jobs is ‘arguably’ as fulfilling and yet as frightening as that of the gatekeeper. Often times, these officers (normally they are men) are feared more than the traffic cops. They will toss you up and down and seem to relish when you are squirming in panic and urgency (especially when you have an appointment). Let me explain

Scenario One

Venue: The Court

You are rushing to the court room. The trial judge is known to be a stickler for time. He is the kind who will dismiss the case or adjourn it sine die if you are not in the courtroom in (not ‘on’) time.  When you have finally negotiated through the traffic, you reach the court room and the bored looking gateman slides like a snail to your car door. He might take your temperature or squirt a few droplets of alcohol sanitizer into your hand before whispering behind a fading GOU mask – Where are you going Sebbo? He grunts. ‘To the Courtroom of course !’ your mind screams. However, you know that you have to keep your cool if you are to be let in. ‘Afande, I am appearing before Justice ….’ You say this with a smile which cannot be seen behind your mask. ‘There is no parking’ the guard mutters.  ‘Afande, the judge will dismiss my case, if I am not in by 9am,’ you plead as you desperately look at your watch. Then the negotiations begin

 

Scenario Two

Venue: A commercial building in the radius of the Parliament

 

You drive to the gate and wait. The tall lanky angry looking guard literally growls at your vehicle. He has been disturbed from his lunch. You ignore looking at his face as he tries to mouth those horrible words – ‘there is no parking space.’ He walks to your car and there is an exchange of words. ‘I am not going to park Sir. I am here to pick up Ms. ….’ you plead. He bellows that there is no parking and that you should look for parking elsewhere. All your negotiations seem to hit a rock and fly back at you. The gate-man is so angry with you for even questioning his authority. You recall what happened at a nearby shopping mall where a gate-man shot a customer dead. You opt to keep quiet and call the passenger you have come to pick-up. After a few minutes, the passenger strolls down the stairs to the gate keeper. He is now seated on a worn-out stool inside the shed. They exchange a few hot words. He then rises up, gives you a bad stare –the kind that can easily pluck out your heart, and then opens the gate for you. As you drive in, you thank him. The battle might be won but the war is still on.

 

The Case for the Love Committee of the RCKN

 

A Love Sub-Committee of the Membership Committee for the Rotary Club of Kampala North? What exactly is that? Is it really part of Rotary business? Don’t Rotarians already have enough love at their homes or with their Anns and Andies? What more is there to offer? Are we encouraging relationships within the clubs? What exactly is going on?

In most home settings, the mother tends to bear the weight of running the family. With the exception of the single parent led families, most of the mothers will be seen running to take children to the hospital, buying food, rushing to pick the dry cleaning, or washing dishes at night, etc. In some cases, they will also have extended families to look after and might be involved in other social causes – be it mother’s union or rotary. As a result, often times, the mothers will neglect their own health and self-promotion because they are taken up with looking after the rest of the family and the world. Similarly, one can argue that the members of Rotary Club of Kampala North are like mothers in society. They are often involved in making the lives of others – and society better. They attend various meetings, visit projects, rush to attend to emergencies, sit for hours to come up with new projects and ways of resolving the challenges around them, and in the process, often ignore themselves and those dearest to them

It is for this reason that a love sub-committee of the membership committee of the Rotary Club of Kampala North was formed. This is targeted at tending to our own members, by ‘applying bandages to our wounds,’ or ‘placing a cool cloth on our feverish bodies,’ etc.  The love committee complements the Club’s efforts to follow up on its members, especially those whose attendance of fellowships is inconsistent or who have failed to pay membership fees, amongst others. The committee, which is led by the amiable M.D. Petwa Rwamushoro, seeks to cause us to ‘stop and smell the roses.’ 

In support of the efforts of the Family of Rotary Committee, the Rwamushoro Committee helps us to re-visit those members who were last visited when they were being inducted into the club or who last hosted a home hospitality. It is our hope that our membership shall feel loved once again and considered as valuable members of the Club and not mere statistics in the wider Rotary International fraternity

We love you all

Daniel R Ruhweza

Chair, Membership RCKN

That Scare

That Scare

 

It was probably about 11 pm or midnight when she called. I don't remember well. All I recall was being woken up by my wife who had picked up the phone. I do not fancy late night calls. They always indicate an emergency or urgency. I braced myself and waited as the lady on the other side talked. My wife clicked the loud speaker button on the phone so that i could hear. The lady on the other side – let us refer to her as J- was surprisingly very calm and collected. I could however deduce the urgency in her voice. Something which made me twitch - or so I thought. We spoke and my wife advised that I should drive over to wherever J was and find out what was wrong

I am unable to detail how I got to J. Thank God it was dead in the night and so a journey that would have lasted over an hour was accomplished in almost half the time. Or was it less? I do not recall now. Neither do I recall where I exactly met her but we did nonetheless. J looked tired and worried. She wore a scarf and sweater over her medium sized body. Did I see tears or smudged lipstick? Anyways, she spoke in a low tone. She had failed to get in touch with her husband. Let us call him P. His known phones are off. She had just returned from a work trip upcountry and since it was so late, she feared to walk the long eerie path to her home. P normally picked her up from the taxi stage. 

We drove to the house in silence. Eerie figures in black quickly running away when touched by the car lights. A drunk man lumbered on, falling into the bushes as our car approached. The home in which J and P lived was located in some sort of valley. It was more of a reclaimed swamp. This is a common thing in Kampala especially as the growing population keeps looking for more land to build and live. The neighbourhood was dead silent. Only the crickets and a few frogs  seemed to be awake. We managed to open the gate and drive in. We reached the house and tried to knock and call. Nothing. Their home was part of a collection of four semi-detached houses. It was a weekend and therefore most people had either travelled or where ‘hanging out’ into the dead of the night. No vehicles were in the parking yard of the compound.

I tried to look inside the house. I pressed my face to the window, and tried to look through the parting curtain. I shielded my palms on both sides of my face so that a light from the neighbour's shed didn't prevent me from looking inside. Though it was dark, I could see what looked like P's his legs sprayed out on the carpet facing up. The rest of the body was shielded from my view because of the coffee set. There was trickling of light coming into the room through the kitchen. My heart started beating, and I feared the worst had happened. I told J what I had seen and as she tried to take a look, I called my wife to brief her. She was surprisingly calm. J was also calm and I wondered whether I was just fearing for nothing

We somehow managed to work through the back door and open it. Adrenalin rushed through my veins as I made out the clear form of P splayed out in the lounge. The light from the kitchen now made it easy for us to see. We rushed to him. Empty pill packages in aluminium blisters were laid on a side table together with empty bottles of local crude gin. All the movies I had watched came rushing back to me. We tried to wake up P to no avail. I wondered whether he had already passed on. I do not recall checking his pulse. We instead decided to take him to a nearby clinic to confirm our fears

I managed another call to my wife. She was still calm and reassuring. ‘He has simply passed out’ she asserted. I probably said she was not there to tell. The man looked dead to me. Being a rather heavy man, we heaved and shoved as we dragged his limp body to the vehicle. It felt like he weighed 200 kgs or more. We must have been quite a sight. Like criminals trying to take away a body. If any police man had walked in, since we had not called in for help, prima facie, we were guilty of whatever.At some point we dragged, at other points we shoved at some point we managed to lift and put him in the vehicle and then drove off to the clinic. 

I didn’t hear the toads and tickets any more. Just the pumping of my heart. I do not recall how we got there… but at some point we were driving past a police station and I wondered whether we should first inform them before we sped. What if he passed on as we tried to do paper work? I mean – what would we say? What questions would be asked and how would we answer them? I marvelled. The pressed the accelerator. Thank God hardly any traffic on the road. Time check? I do not know

At the clinic, I drove in asking for help – a wheel chair a bed on wheels- something… anything. The medics seemed slightly hurried but calm. We soon heaved P out of the car, onto a wheel chair and as J made attended to the paperwork, we rushed P to a ward. The elderly nurse in white uniform listened patiently as we shoved P onto a hospital bed. She then drew the curtains to avail us some privacy. Another nurse who seemed to have been awaken from her sleep walked in, and quickly meticulously pushed what looked like a huge grey cannula into P’s right arm. A part of me begun to calm down. J walked in. She was still calm. She had said a few words since the whimpers at the window and some cries of desperation when we found P at sprawled on the floor

The medicine was pumping fast into M’s body. Three four bottled down the line. The man was back to us. I could have punched him!

The Scare -

….

Beware - the Culture of Honour

One day, whilst talking to a lady who mans a photocopying stall at the School of Law, Makerere University, i cracked a joke which made her say something to the effect that she didn't expect me to do that. She went ahead to say that she remembers me as a young innocent student who would hardly hurt a fly. Whereas this lady (we call her 'mulokole' meaning one who has given one's life to Christ) has probably forgotten this statement she made, it is amazing how, many years down the line, I still recall what she said. On another occasion, one of my former lecturers who now works in the judiciary reminded me of the time I was at the law School, Makerere University. My former lecturer then went ahead to narrate various instances in which we had interacted. This former lecturer has never hesitated to recommend me for various opportunities.

The above stories have reminded me of a recent instance where some of my students acted dishonourably. Whatever instigated their actions and behaviour, out of the abundance of their hearts, 'their mouths spoke'. Later on, as I reflecting on the occasion, I was reminded of how important it is to act honourably at all times. One is not able to tell when and where their actions will either promote or damage their future prospects.

During a recent meeting, someone made an unfortunate truth - according to them, however good one might be, one error or omission can damage them for life. Whereas it is true that we do forgive and are encouraged to forgive and forget, often times the world does not act or behave in this way. William Shakespeare, in Julius Caesar writes “The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.”

 

Do Your Part

 Do Your Part

... and do it afraid

It is a season to be merry and yet a season to be cautious. Why? This is because COVID-19 is here and the reports and predictions are not very encouraging. In the midst of all this is a campaign for political offices which have unfortunately been mired with a lot of violence from both the state and individual actors.

In the midst of careless and often threatening talk, some people have suggested that we ought to look for ways to stay safe and only comment and observe from a safe distance. My view is that we all have a part to play in ensuring this fight against COVID-19 on the one hand, and political blackmail on the other, is won. What difference will your lone voice make? One might ask. Well, I am reminded of the story of the little boy at the beach who was throwing starfish that had been washed ashore in the night, back to the sea. A passer-by asked him what difference he thought he could make since there were so many star fish that were ashore. The young man kept on throwing back one starfish at a time and saying, 'it had made a difference for that one, and that one, and that one....

Sometimes, all you need to do is to be the David who kills the first giant and then others will pick up the courage to also become giant killers. Therefore, in this season, LET US DO OUR PART- and do it afraid. Encourage someone to wear a face mask always, tell people to sanitise and/or to cough into their arm. When someone begins to speak hate, doom or gloom, rebuke them in love (Proverbs 17:10 A rebuke goes deeper into one who has understanding, than a hundred blows into a fool.) or with the honour they deserve (1 Timothy 5:1 Do not sharply rebuke an older man, but rather appeal to him as a father, to the younger men as brothers). Whatever you do, do something. Do now cower away and hide. (The creation waits in eager expectation for the revelation of the sons of God Romans 8:18).

So, like the boy at the beach, go ahead and do your part ... and do it afraid