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When I thought my Christmas was boring

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Antelopes are a common sight in Lake Mburo National Park. PHOTOS/ SOLOMONKAMUKAMA

December is that time of the year when we evaluate the last 11 months and operate in a very slow but swift mode. The concept of having the above months but still panic-planning for the festive in three months is a good Ugandan concept. It is still that time of the year when we are reminded of our inner circle in the name of our loved ones, the ones that we choose to spend Christmas with.

At 5pm sharp on December 23, I closed the laptop, and for all the right reasons; the rest of the "I hope this email finds you were for December 27, morning since our finance guy had chosen to be nice. I travelled to the Pearl of Uganda, Mitooma District on that same day. A place I call home. My anticipation was delayed by hours as we waited for the head of state to make his way on the Express highway. We were held up for so long and it was one of the not-so-many moments that we saw a patient boda boda cyclist. We were set free close to 8.30 pm and I found my way to the Busega Taxi Park. I was sure that I would at least make it to Mbarara City. However, the gods had other ideas and I spent the night in Masaka.

The celebratory mood at midnight left me with something remarkable: I had a full meal not that Kampala type where you are told: “one piece 4k and 2 pieces 6k!”

The night was smooth and dawn welcomed us with a downpour for hours until the drizzles settled yet we had to hit the road. Hardly had I stepped out of my hotel room, than I beheld someone with whom, we would be spending at least the first or second Christmas with. But the winds of change sent her to another home and deep-throat sources say, it would be her first Christmas in her new home.

It baffles me how you jump from literally talking to someone every day to not talking at all, from having someone’s number off head to having no moral authority of dialling it at all. From setting goals together to having no idea what transpires in their lives.

The man of the moment offered me a lift to Mbarara. Apart from the weird journey, I felt I had lost enough aura points to add another.

By the grace of the havens we were in Mbarara and what welcomed us was the replica of Najjeera, Kira, Bulindo or an equivalent of Kyaliwajala, Kireka- traffic. It took us 40 minutes from Igongo to Mbarara city.

Crammed in the car to Mitooma

The beauty of the vehicles that ply the Mbarara-Ishaka route ( Toyota Wish cars) has never changed. Paying Shs 20,000 to just bend your back with 14 other people for 60 minutes is something I am yet to get over. And the chemistry that these drivers have with traffic officers, is a research topic for school. They would literally stop for a handshake and be let free.

Mitooma is the new Kabale. For some reason, home was cold and so were the complaints of the persons that were yet to be accustomed to the environment. Maybe God was punishing us for something or we should immediately get serious with climate change and the green economy concept.

The mood this time was different, the place was quiet since my siblings chose to stay in Mr Erias Lukwago’s jurisdiction with their families. The emptiness of not waking up to child play or various people making noise humbled me and that is always the core of Christmas. I was ‘my parents’ saviour’ but even in my presence the air of boredom slid deep into every nerve.

New money

The same boredom forced me to move around and I was captivated by how people are serious about their welfare in terms of houses and cars. In my 20 to 30-minute drive, I noticed seven houses whose respective bills of quantities might not be below Shs300m and cars whose invoices or receipts are likely to be Shs150m and above. I stepped back to what Uncle Mo calls ‘cars that do not notify you which door to properly close’.

And in church plus love matters…?

Christmas is about food, church and family and I noticed that: “People that have come from Kampala…” syndrome has never left our churches. But meeting people that you barely and traditionally meet once a year was refreshing. I did not miss the magical annual question of when are you marrying and the big man reminded me that in their era, they did not have the concept of healing from a heartbreak, if that is the lame excuse that I was putting forward. I was equally happy seeing my friend, Joseph pick his bride and reminded me of whether men are trash or women are scams! Nonetheless, love will always be a beautiful thing

Refreshed with a plan

My stay was wound up by a gate pass to Lake Mburo National Park, a whole new calm world and refreshment of the air. The three hours in the wild set off my journey back to the noisy neighbourhood of Kampala. For some reason, I hope to make it for a third consecutive Christmas; this time, fulfilling my mother’s wish of receiving a warm welcome in plural form.