Of Women’s Day, ekitaramo, and miyaayu love

The hardest thing to befriend are cats, worse, wild cats – the kind that we know as miyaayus. One of my 2025 resolutions was to play government in my span of control. This involved a feeding programme for the miyaayus that ply the streets of Naalya. Now I know that everything and everyone has a price. It may not be money, but there is a price. And that is how one of the miyaayus cannot get over me. My own version of emyooga has placed it on a love high.

Of course, this muyaayu love has consequences. Now I cannot enjoy the outdoors without it tagging along, but it is also a brand equity issue. How will I be perceived? Some dude in a 3rd world country having a muyaayu for a pet? Iwe Mwana we, yetware!

Part Two: Ekitaramo and Orutindo

Last weekend, I visited the land where milk flows on the streets, and honey drips from the taps (literally and figuratively) – it was to send off a friend and former workmate – Ainebyoona aka Mukyala Professor. The kuhingira was in Bushenyi, but we chose to stay in Mbarara. As a Chwezi elder, I joined other elders in the Ekitaramo at Buffalo restaurant.

We discussed the bridge in Katete. Why had the black civilisation lost the art of building bridges? What had become of our civil and structural engineers? Mbu the first sign of civilisation is how well a society builds bridges, aka orutindo. It did hit me later (with less sobriety) that the rutindo my fellow elders were talking about was a totally different one. Next day, we hit the road to Bushenyi for the great Kuhingira. I soon noticed that until the ‘Mugamba’ has transferred to the groom’s family, it is never placed down. You know omugamba is that kit which escorts the bride as she starts a new life. This kuhingira was special, firstly because Ortega was present, but above all – a Professor of Mechatronics had scooped a Mechanical and Manufacturing Engineer. You can trust that the rutindo they will construct is a firm one.

Part Three: Of Women’s Day, women interiority, of women strings

Busy sugaring on my eshande from the West, I woke up to a message from Boss Baby, aka Rosie Babe. ‘Gwe Ortega, there is Women’s Day coming up, can you pronounce yourself?” Now where would I start? At Nsambya hospital? You see when we were younger suffering with that penchant for English purity from the great Resty Nalyazi, you had to cook your imagination to make an impression on her. One student during an English composition test about ‘the day you will never forget’ took the high risk and wrote about the day he was born. He recounted; “I vividly remember when the birth pains hit, my mother wringing in pain, the whole family running in mix of confusion and excitement, she is being rushed to hospital, then I was born, I could not believe what a wonderful world it was…”

We all agreed that this student had taken his imagination beyond the streets of Rwenjeru. You could also blame it on Nalyazi, it was never easy to pull marks from her sack of English purity. I must confess when the Rosie challenge came about, I could not help but think like this student.

What about women? I too can remember that day somewhere in August at Nsambya Hospital when Saint Florence Ndagire dropped me into this world. I remember when great Matriarch Elizabeth Birabwa assured my grandmother upon my father’s death that the children will study without issue. See, I cannot run out of these great women in my life, I would need more than a column, a whole issue of this newspaper. I could talk about people like Sarah Sabano and tell you how when women have believed in you, nothing can stop you.

I do not know what it is about women, but all it takes is for your wife to whisper to you at night – but Ortega, do you know that if you got serious, you could be President of this country. And trust me, you will awaken a Mufasa in you. I could think of my lovelies such as Juliana Kaggwa, what a woman!

And what would such a newspaper issue be without something from Nikki Giovanni. What a force! When I first encountered Giovanni in that conversation with Baldwin, something within me gave way. Would I forget Lauryn Hill? Miseducation? Would I forget Sade? And how would I forget the fictional? Women such as Anna Karenina. Where would I leave Ray C or even Sheebah K? Wait, Sheebah, that one broke my heart. Would I be silent on the Vinka voice? That power it exudes. Would I be settled on who I love more – Juliana Kanyomozi or Iryn? Would it matter?

I guess, if I had to say something on women, it would be this interiority. It is the thing that has always intrigued me about women. Women interiority is not just a world, but a universe, a galaxy. I admire the art with which women weave complexity upon complexity without losing the script. This ability to open many books, develop many threads and not get lost in the journey. I would write about women friendships, and this covering. See, the pages would never be enough. Rosie trapped me! Wait, I take this back, lest Rosie quotes Khaled Hosseini to me mbu, “like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.”

I would need the whole Alphabet, English, Chinese, Amharic, to write about the women in my life and why everything about me would collapse without them – they are the bridges!