Mountain Slayers Uganda: 7hills

#7Hills

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Suzan, Latim and Diana catching up as we walked through Kololo

Last weekend on Sunday, I , plus a group of 30 people, embarked on the longest walk I’ve ever made by far. We covered a distance of about 23KMS in approximately 6 hours. I was able to do this in the company of the Mountain Slayers Uganda who organized the walk.

Some of the slayers making the last stretch to the Lubiri. Palace of the Kabaka (King) of Buganda.

I was introduced to this group by a Brian, a friend who is already part of the group. Mountain Slayers Uganda are a group of people who are passionate about traveling, mountain climbing and hiking. The group was started in 2015 after Paul Lumala, one of the founders, had an amazing experience climbing mountain Rwenzori. The group has been to a number of places in and out of Uganda some…

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Slaying the home turf

Some time mid last year I joined an amazing group of Ugandans who go hiking and mountain climbing once every month. It was completely unplanned but now features high on my list of 2016 highlights. I have always thought myself an outdoors person and my wanderlust levels are above normal but I had never thought of mountain climbing or even hiking as my regular kind of thing. Clearly I was under utilising my outdoorsy self and I was about to find out just how much.

Enter MSU

Out of pure curiosity I said yes to an invite to go on this trip to go climb Mt.Kadam in Karamoja just so I could tick it off my list of places I’ve been to. One trip led to another and by the end of the year I was a member of Mountain Slayers Uganda . The most exciting thing about it is I got to see a lot more of Uganda for a lot less than I had ever imagined. Not to mention how much fun it all was. Just to show off, by end of 2016 I had visited and camped in (yes right in the middle of) Kidepo National park, climbed the Tororo rock, toured the Nyero rocks, attended an Imbalu ceremony somewhere in Sironko district and the cherry on top being climbing Mt.Nyiragongo an active volcano with the largest lava lake in the world!

Staring at the lake of fire. Photo credit: Timothy Latim

Have you heard of Kilembe? It’s an old, beautiful mining town deep in the bowels of Mt.Rwenzori. It’s a quaint little place with a rich history, it’s also my home ♥♥. That was our destination for this month’s slay .So 2 weeks ago we and a number of guest slayers, 35 in total headed out to Kasese for what was supposed to be a 34(or more)km hike from Simba Safari Camp on the fringes of Queen Elizabeth National Park to Kilembe Mines. It was a little daunting for me but I was mentally prepared for my longest hike. However, I assumed we would be hiking in the low lands and the last thing on my mind was climbing, never mind that I know how mountainous Kilembe is. I even switched my hiking boots for regular sneakers deciding that I wouldn’t need them SMH. I even neglected to do some necessary last minute checks like shortening my toenails because I thought it was “just a hike”. Long, but just a hike.

This is the only way in and out of Kilembe besides the mountains but somehow I thought “just a hike”

Now, if there’s one thing that keeps hiking with MSU fresh, it has got to be the spirit of rolling with the punches. I don’t know a more resilient bunch of people that takes on unexpected challenges with so much glee like these guys. Anyway, we left camp after a leisurely breakfast for the start of the trail and as we got off the buses with our FOMO at 100%, the guide dropped a bomb! Kilembe is a whooping 60kms away  he said, *insert collective jaw drop*. I must add he wasn’t the most enthusiastic of guides, in fact his declarations of 60kms seemed to be aimed at discouraging us but he didn’t know what he had on his hands. After some back and forth to establish whether he meant 16 or 60, we asked how many hours he thought it would take us to get there and he assured us that if we set off at 11am we would be in Kilembe at around 5 o’clock. Phewks! no way was that 60kms.

16 or 60 We go! We go!

 

It wasn’t 60kms and we got there a little after 7pm but for all the climbing we did that day, it might have as well been 60. I wasn’t ready!! However in true Mountain Slayer style, we took it as it came and slayed it good. Of course I had some near-tear moments and at some point the shoes came off for a while (RIP my socks) but it was all worth it.To be able to see places I had heard of all my life but never imagined I would see was quite an experience and not to mention the views. Those are always worth the pain. We have a beautiful country that’s enough reason to enjoy the outdoors as often as we can. 

Ps: Check out the MSU Facebook page to have a look at the exciting 2017 calendar, drop them a message and let’s #TembeaUganda

A Psalm

“Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” – Isaiah 43:18-19

That verse is scribbled not-so neatly on the 1st page of this year’s note/prayer/scribbling book. The one I carry around in my handbag everyday so I can write down stuff that I don’t want to forget. Somewhere in it’s pages are budgets, reminders, calculations done and redone when pennies were tight, stuff. Other pages carry hilarious moments frozen in ink saved for later. But most of the pages have prayers, honest from-the-heart prayers that read like the Psalms of David. Many are prayers of thanksgiving.

It’s been an interesting year of many opportunities, wins, losses, challenges, lessons and amazing experiences. I am grateful for all of these and I am also grateful for all the wonderful people I met in this year, people who added so much colour to my year and enriched many of the experiences. Friends whose stories of triumph strengthened my faith and were the cause of many ululations .

One particular prayer stood out and I will reproduce it as it is written in the notebook.

Father in heaven you have been good to me!! You love me with a love like no other. Even though the last few months have been tough we have NOT lacked for anything, not once. You have provided not just the basics, you have given us the very best. 

You have come through for me in amazing ways I look forward with expectation and excitement for what you are yet to do. For what you have already done but I am yet to see.Your presence surrounds me like a warm,cozy blanket. Your love for me is palpable. My heart if so full of joy it could burst. Your peace is draped over me like a cape.

You have opened doors for me in the most unlikely places, you have made me sit in high places. You have put a constant smile on my face even when there might have been sorrow. You have shown me favour in the big and small things, in the hard and easy to miss things.

You care for me, you care about me, you surprise and you spoil me. You do amazing things that leave me speechless, you are always with me, your goodness overwhelms me. Thank you for the wonderful experiences and the huge promises. Thank you oh God  for you are faithful.

Looking back on the year I can see just how many times the above verse became true for me. Not everything I was hoping and praying for has happened but the Lord has been wonderfully generous with me I can’t help but be thankful over and over again.

To my close friends who have had a tough year, especially those who lost a parent, may the Lord continue to heal the pain of that loss. May His face shine upon you in a special way in 2017, may His love surround you, may He be exactly what you need Him to be for you.

Post Cards from China

More Power to You

There are many reasons why people become single parents. Divorce, death, failed relationships and choice. I know a number of people that have chosen to adopt and raise a child(ren) on their own. Single parents male or female generally face the same challenges although single mothers have to deal with the extra burden of stigma.

There are many single dads who wear that badge with pride and do an amazing job with their kids. But allow me to focus on the single mothers because of all the flak they have to take from every Tom, Dick and Harry. Look, every single mother’s story is different. People don’t go to a school somewhere to learn how to be a single mother nor do they catch it like some disease.There is always another side of the story that you might never and don’t need to know as you peck away at your keyboard in your crusade against single mothers.

Most of  All of the single mothers I know are decent, hardworking and all round awesome people doing the very best for their children. Some are the very best in their spheres of work. Some of the most fantastic people I know were raised by single mothers but somehow society has found a way to blame its problems on single mothers. There are people who have made it their life’s mission to belittle,despise and denigrate single mothers every chance they get. Never mind that children don’t fall from the sky. We see women stuck  in dangerous and abusive relationships because they can’t leave for fear of being labeled single mothers. They can’t live with the whispers in the village or the insults of strangers (women and men alike) on the internet. They stay, they suffer, their children suffer.

To the single mothers,

Don’t let the opinions of ‘society’ make you question your worth as a mother or as a human being. You’re bringing up another human being, taking care of them when they’re unwell, giving them an education, shaping them, protecting them, feeding them etc all by yourself!! It’s no mean feat. Grown men run away from it all the time. Bring up your children to be good human beings, that’s how we win. Some of these people that despise you can’t even keep a pet fish alive for a week. Keep your head up.

That girl friend, the chief whisperer, the same one that is always giving you the ‘worried eye’ because they are afraid you’re going to “steal” their man lol, because for them a single mother is to be feared, that one is not your friend sister girl, cut them loose. Make no time for the dude bros that show up because they think you’re easy pickings. Raise the bar. It’s okay to be choosy about who you let into your life. Do it for you and your child(ren).

To the single mothers who have chosen to be a mother to a child who would have otherwise been motherless, I salute you. You didn’t have to but you did anyway. You chose to give a precious child a home and change their lives forever. You gave up everything because when you get a child, they take over your whole life. It doesn’t get any more loving than that. Bless you.

To the other mothers because you never really know when you will make that choice or life will make it for you, just raise your children to be decent human beings. To be kind, to treat other people with respect.

 

Don’t go just yet

Her name is Fleur, her friends call her Flower mostly because they are anglophone but also because it annoys her hehe. It’s been an interesting few months of #UgandaDecides for her. Much as many people can’t wait to see the elections season gone, it’s quite the opposite for her. “I wish it would last a little longer. For me and my heart” she says.

While some of us have a #MCM, Fleur has a #MCE(veryday). It might be a lot more than a crush she suspects. But it hasn’t always been like this. There was a time when he was a lot more than a crush. They were ‘a thing’. “We never quite defined what it was but it was all flames I tell you” she giggles shyly. It came at a time when she was a very shy girl. He on the other hand was so sure of his every move and had a near overdose of self confidence it was contagious. He broke her out of her shell. She loved that about him. That and many other things.

For a wild 18 months they were lost in a yummy bubble of love, dreams and white hot passion. She discovered parts of herself she didn’t know existed. He scratched itches she didn’t know were there. She wasn’t ready! She blushes as she remembers. She gave and she took as much as he gave and took. They were good together. They dreamed and made plans, they were going to conquer the world together odds be damned.

One day, reality came knocking. “Actually it had been knocking for a while but we weren’t listening. Our bubble was air tight or so I thought” she says and shivers slightly. It took a few arguments to burst it open and after that, it became one fight after another as they tried to hold on to whatever it was. “We still had crazy hots for each other, but we were quickly learning that we needed a lot more than that” Another sigh. Slowly they started to drift apart. “It was as if we had taken our passion and put it into the fights too, we made love and we made war. Life’s hustles and distance didn’t help either, so we stopped trying and we stopped talking like we used to”. She smiles sadly.

“We haven’t had a good conversation in a while. We hadn’t actually said a lot to each other until the campaigns came around. Now we talk everyday” she says. He loves politics. She doesn’t like it that much but because her friends are always talking politics it has sort of rubbed off on her. They don’t know this because she rarely contributes when they’re going on and on. She only discusses politics with him. It is their safe zone for now. They go back and forth, they agree and even disagree but they don’t fight. And when he is trying to make a point her calls her ‘babe’ like he used to and she goes weak in the knees. “I can’t believe he still has that effect on me” she tilts her head backwards as if the sky will explain that paradox to her.

She wishes they could talk about other things too but this is good enough for now considering how wide the chasm had been before this. I ask what she will miss the most when this period is gone and she says “I will miss talking to him everyday, but then again I have missed him for a lot more than this before and I lived” oh and she will miss hearing him say “it’s politics babe, it’s politics”

 

Rollercoaster Ride

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails” – Proverbs 19:21

That 1st part of the above verse has been on my mind since January. Indeed many were the plans in my heart but….  When the year began all I had in mind was to take out a few days of my annual leave, take a holiday and come back to work well rested, with renewed energy to take on the year at work.

Two weeks into the new year everything seemed to be going according to plan. My plan. In fact when one of my Aunts fell sick it didn’t seem like it would interfere with my plans. Of course I was worried about her, I prayed for her and hoped she would get well but the plans in my heart continued without a pause, accommodation was booked, tickets bought and all other preparations. Then a few days after she was taken ill, the dreaded phone call came, the kind that you hope and pray won’t come. Aunt Lilian had passed on.

I hit the stop button on my plans for that day. Travel arrangements to an unplanned destination took over, alongside finishing the day’s work assignments, a dash to have the car serviced for the long journey etc In that craziness it hits me that I have never had to ‘keep right’ on the road before, I push it out of your mind. I mean how hard can it be right? All I have to do is stay on the ‘wrong’ side of the yellow line(s) and we will all be fine. It wasn’t as easy as I thought, the junctions and roundabouts are a trick!!

That Thursday evening as the sun was setting, bathing the beautiful city of Kigali in its warm orange light we laid her to rest. Such a pun. We sat in a tent on that quiet hill at Rusororo, we watched the coffin go down into the ground and listened to her friends/fellowship group say a prayer over her and say to God “akyira umugabekazi wawe”. *sigh* I looked at the sunset it was beautiful but I didn’t take a picture. I was trying to remember what I had been doing at that exact time the Thursday before and wondering where I would be the next Thursday. I couldn’t remember and I didn’t know .

I looked over at my Grandma and wondered what was going through her mind as she buried her 4th child. She sat with her back straight as if refusing to be bowed by death. Her face was unreadable. I looked at the cemetery workers in their green uniforms, they sat in the distance chatting, just another day at the office. I looked over in the direction of the city and I knew that life hadn’t stopped. People were out there living their plans, others catching up with theirs. This race doesn’t stop until one’s time is up.

In the true spirit of life and how it never stops, we had to leave the next day because a cousin was getting married that Saturday. The lows and highs of life had chosen to squeeze themselves in back to back for us. It was an emotional rollercoaster for everybody. While we were still mourning, life was telling us to celebrate something else. We had to.

Like life would have it, the next Thursday found me roaming the flat vastness that is South Eastern Kenya admiring the open plains, the zebra and elephant herds of Tsavo National park and eventually ending up at the coast. That day’s sunset was beautiful too, it’s light bouncing off the Indian ocean but I didn’t take a picture either, I was sitting at the beach without any gadgets, looking at and listening to the waves, thinking about where I had been the Thursday before. This time I knew exactly where I had been. Same sun, 2 sunsets, worlds apart.

It’s been a interesting mix for me this early in the year. I have said goodbye to a few people and things, not in exactly the same way but goodbyes nonetheless. I have already celebrated a few people and things. And my 1st lesson/reminder of this year is to commit my every plan to the one who holds my life in his hand because ultimately, Proverbs 19:21

7!

Google image

I was woken up quite early this morning by a loud knock on my door, someone needed to come in and use the mirror. She turns 7 today and she needed to check whether she had grown taller during the night. After a few twists and turn in front of the mirror she declared “I feel bigger! and I am so tall I can’t see my feet in the mirror”. It’s a table top mirror nobody can see their feet in it but there can’t be any raining on people’s parades on their birthday. So yes she’s bigger and taller and I am older!

Time flies. I know that’s such a cliche but it really does. And nothing reminds me of it more than celebrating my child’s birthday, I mean I don’t feel like I have changed that much physically, if I ignore the few gray strands that are bringing kajanja but when I think that it’s been 7 years already I marvel at how quickly time flies. I remember it like it was yesterday, me standing in front of a mirror looking at my very flat belly and wondering whether the lab results saying I was 7 weeks ‘paged’ were a joke. And then wondering when it would get big so I could start wearing maternity clothes hehe. The bulge took it’s time. As did the labour, 36+ hours. With everything taking it’s sweet time one would assume that the process of growth would be the same. Nothing!

Once they are out, you blink and they are crawling. Blink again and they are running and then talking non-stop and asking endless questions. No level of smartness can cover the whys of a 4 or 6 year old. They will drive you nuts but ironically many times they will be the very reason you stay sane. When work gets tough and money gets scarce, when life just refuses to be pliable as it often does and pushes you to the edge, you might want to give up but then you remember that it’s no longer about just you. There’s a little person who depends on you keeping it together. In their eyes you can not fail, they don’t even know failure so how can you? You gather your marbles together and keep going. Then you win.

I have learned more from being a mother than anything else I have ever done. It’s the hardest course done at the university of life. And it doesn’t come with lectures or notes, just course work and tests. But it’s a lot of fun! I have learned a lot about myself because she is so different from me and also from watching not just her but all the children in my life. The life of a child is one open space filled with endless possibilities. It’s full of colour and brightness. They never approach life from a negative point of view. Children speak the language of love everyday and they will teach you the art of forgiveness better than anyone ever will. I am blessed to be learning from mine even as I hold her hand through life.

Tonight, chocolate cake (she loves everything chocolate) will be cut and eaten without apologies or worrying about waistlines. Those were sacrificed 7 years ago. As we raise our glasses later, we will be praying for many more years full of her seemingly endless sunshine and energy.

Happy Birthday Keza.

 

 

A Rose by any other name…

I am a picky eater. But I am a picky eater with huge foodie ambitions and dreams. My notebook(s) have all sorts of ideas and recipes for dishes/things I am always planning to make not for myself but for ‘my people’. I love on people by cooking for them and if they enjoy what I have made for them, that’s their “I love you too” to me. They don’t have to say the words, I will say them to myself every time I hear the mmhs and aahhs or the words “this is fantastic” or “this is so yummy” (my nephew steals my heart ALL the time!).

So you know how they say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? Yes, my apple didn’t fall very far from this tree. I got a picky eater complete with pips. From age 2 to date, meal times have always been a mini war zone. I tried everything from cajoling to threats to making good of the threats to flying little aeroplanes into her mouth but nothing ever made meal times easier. Then one day, a friend advised me to try coloring the food to make it “interesting”. So I show up with a whole rainbow of food colors ready to dazzle her. The first time I tried bright yellow rice it backfired so badly I didn’t bother trying green or blue rice *shudders*

But recently I discovered something that has changed things for us, yay! Names and stories. I found that if I give the food a fancy name or call it by a name she isn’t used to, the adventurer in her takes over and she will gobble up whatever I serve. The same thing happens if I tell her a cute little story about how my mom used to make that for me when I was little blah blah blah. Works like magic!! So I have been on a spree, using all these vernacular names she doesn’t know or making up not so creative names for others haha!

Things have been going swimmingly I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before! So, don’t get shocked if you visit us and we refer to the potato wedges on your plate as ‘baby potatoes’ haha. See, I was going to use baby potatoes to make the wedges but that’s all she heard so I played along. It worked and the name stayed. But here’s the thing, my coleslaw gets eaten real quick when I call it ‘coleslaw’ instead of plain old salad. Even posho seems tastier when we call it ugali. Who wants sweetpotatoes when they can have lumonde?

My biggest win though, and this is a testimony of sorts (yes it’s been that bad) is she finally ate pawpaw!! I got her to eat pawpaw! In all her 6.11 years of existence I had tried and failed to get her to eat pawpaw. Not even when she was a toothless 7months old baby. All it took this time was me calling it “pawpaw pudding”. Then I went about adding passion fruit to it and squeezing a lemon over it and sprinkling a little sugar. This is my mom’s trick really but I did it with so much flourish I could have been on a Food Network set. My target was so impressed the pawpaw went down her throat in record time. I am still basking in that win as I think up other ‘tricks’. I want to try ‘kale’ on her to see if she will eat sukuma wiki without complaining. Pray for me.

PS: To the any frustrated Mamas/Papas out there, try the coloring trick it might work for you like it did for my friend. Or you could play around with names like I am doing now. If nothing works, just keep flying those planes until the little one outgrows it. They usually do.

Culture Shock.

The children (my daughter and nephew) are having a ‘Culture Week’ at school. It’s been on going all week and all the children have been doing research about their various cultures, writing about them, drawing things and designing flags. It ends tomorrow with a finale of sorts, so they will have to go to school dressed up in their traditional/cultural dress and there will be dancing and singing and stuff. Mostly they have been shocked but they have enjoyed themselves learning all these new things. But they have learned one more thing they didn’t know. They have learned that they are different from each other.

I think it is a beautiful thing to teach children about their culture. I enjoyed seeing the shock which would quickly turn into excitement every time they would learn something new. One thing hit me though, up until this week, the children had no idea that there was such a thing as tribe. I think they have always thought they are all the same. And I don’t mean them as cousins, I mean them and their classmates. For the first time in their lives someone placed them in different ‘cultural’ groups. I imagine they don’t quite get it but children will find excitement in anything so it’s exciting to discover that so and so “is Buganda” lol and the other one “is from Northern”. They say it with so much wonder in their voices. It’s as if they can’t believe they are in different groups.

This gave me a few OMG moments of my own this week. See, it just dawned on me that in the 6 years of my child’s existence I had never told her what tribe she belongs to. In fact she had no idea what the word tribe means. Sure she knows what nationality she bears but the word tribe was completely foreign to her. My fault completely but no regrets whatsoever. Tribe has never been an important issue to me mostly because of the way I was raised. I grew up in a mixed heritage household in an even more mixed society and neighbourhood. We weren’t raised in any one particular culture.The only time culture comes up is when someone is getting married. Even then, the traditional functions may have a certain cultural feel to it (the dressing and the dances) but they are mostly tailored to suit the sensible and practical more than the cultural.

We were raised in the culture of Ubuntu, that was more important than anything else. We were never told to behave in a certain way because we belonged to this or that tribe. We speak and use four or five different languages in a single conversation switching between them without taking a beat and even sometimes mixing it up in a single sentence haha. Real katogo. So, never had it occurred to me to bring up the subject of tribe and culture with my young one. You can’t imagine my reaction when she walked in and asked “mommy what’s my tribe?” Thankfully before I could ask why, she added “I have homework I need to write about my culture” phewks! We did the homework without much trouble. But with a cultural mix like hers where all four grandparents are from different places, the homework raised more questions. I had to explain why she has never eaten what’s supposed to be her ‘traditional food’

Me: Er because I don’t eat it and I don’t know how to make it.

Her: What?! Why don’t you eat your traditional food?

Me: Actually it’s not MY traditional food, it’s your dad’s.

Every answer led to another question, at some point I had to make a phone call or two for back up and much much later she had most of her answers but I think she was left flabbergasted. How can all these people who are her family not have the same culture? She will learn as she goes that we don’t have to have the same culture to be family. It’s a love thing.

This whole thing left me a little conflicted. It’s good for us/them to know their culture but how important is the issue of tribe? And can the two be separated? How important is tribe to us who are trying to be and to raise global citizens? What value does it add? I am all grown up and I still don’t understand why I have to fill in my tribe on a police report. And no police officer can answer that. I mean, is it going to help in the investigations? Will they catch the thief sooner if I tell them I am an Acholi or a Mukiga? Besides feeding a stereotype, why would anyone be interested in another person’s tribe? To place them in a box before they can deal with them that’s why! Every time I call someone for the first time and introduce myself by both names, I usually get the question “Mutesi from the East or from the West?” My standard answer is I am Mutesi from everywhere.

Anyway, now that the kids know they are different, I feel like I have to do a lot more teaching. They have to understand that they may belong to different tribes but they are still the same. They need to learn more about others’ cultures so that ignorance will not lead them to fear or hate other people because they are different. And that there’s fun in diversity. They need to know that their culture is important but tribe is NOT important. Ubuntu above all else because we are all abantu.