No

I want you

But not like this

Not for five minutes at a time in a room so dark I can’t even see your face

I want you

But not like this

I want to miss the safety of your heart more than the tenderness of your chest. A dime a dozen ,chests can be a dime a dozen. It’s easier to find where to lay my head than to find who to hold my most precious.

I want you

But not like this

Not these conversations. Not these walls. Not these barricades. Not this vanity.

The earth was shaken on its very foundation. The curtain was torn. Access was bought at a very dear price.

I want you but this isn’t it

Everyday is Thanksgiving

There’s a black mark right under my chin. It looks like one of those things you’d get if you don’t bathe often or properly. I do bathe however, often and properly. It’s a scar. It’s positioning is strange and was at first confusing. It’s positioned where I assume you’d have a scar if someone held a sharp knife to your neck.

The day after the accident, I was confused about a great many things. I couldn’t dwell on them however because the adrenaline had worn off and unlike the previous night, I could feel the extent of my injuries. Everything hurt ; really badly at that.

I couldn’t stand straight, I needed support to walk, lying down was painful too. I had a thick bandage on the left corner of my head. It was sort of red from all the blood even though the wound had earned me a number of stitches. I had small scrapings on my right knee yet it was swollen to about the size of the juiciest Mango you’ve ever seen. It was also throbbing.

Everything was such a mystery to me because up until this day I only remember making the decision to get on to that bike and waking up surrounded by doctors shaving off the hair on the side of my head where I was injured.

The pain had me asking questions however. What manner of fall was this that had my entire body screaming in pain. Did I fall on my back? Possibly, I couldn’t even sit up without incident. I knew I had hit the back of my head. How then did my right knee get so messed up? And what in God’s name caused this little cut on my neck?

Last night, for the first time in close to six months, I was able to kneel. There was some discomfort. We’re not yet at a hundred but oh what joy! I could kneel. There are moments I wondered if as a bride, I could be exempted from kneeling when it came to the traditional function. Dramatic, I know. Six months doesn’t seem like such a long time when you’ re making annual plans or trying to beat a deadline. However when you think of every day, every hour, every minute . Every night I couldn’t sleep because my knee hurt, every time I had to brace myself when faced with stairs, every limp since the accident, every car ride that felt too long because I needed to switch positions often, six months can be some time . My mind sometimes went wild wondering if this was it.

Last night however, I knelt besides my mother’s bed to show her something I’d bought and it didn’t occur to me until a few minutes in that I was on my knees. I’m sitting with my right leg crossed over my left as I write this. Some months back, this too was impossible and incredibly painful.

Every day is thanksgiving.

Oh, I later figured the cut on my neck was from the strap of my bag. It’s a cross bag and while I have no memory of the actual incident, every account I’ve heard tells me it was pretty bad. I was wearing my bag and somewhere in all that mix, it must have pressed into my skin.

God was watching out for me that night like He always is. I mean who hits their head on tarmac so hard, blacks out immediately, gets a massive wound that bleeds out a lot, hits their knee so bad after 11:00pm on a Friday night and gets to write about it?

“Hallelujah, every breath is a second chance” Always – Switchfoot

 

Pepper Spray

I stood at the bottom of the hill and started checking my bag for the pepper spray.  I remember thinking Becky paranoid the day she gave it to me many months back. Today it made me a little braver.  I Put the Nokia 2330 in the front pocket of my jeans.  There’s some comfort when the phone is not expensive. It is however my mother’s phone; a phone she has graciously lent me for the past couple of weeks since mine was taken. IT mattered that i didn’t lose it. I got my last 2k and put it in the left pocket along with my ATM card; then wore my work ID around my neck. It kind of felt like overkill since that would be the easiest thing to replace but we’re almost getting into cantata season and I don’t want to be hassling with HR.

Today was the first day I bothered to find out how the pepper spray works. Constantly on my mind was the fact that I had to keep it far from my face as I figured it out. No one wants to be the person who shoots themselves with the gun they bought for protection.  This was the plan. If he grabbed me from behind, I would close my eyes and unleash the pepper spray. If He attempted to pull my bag from the side, I would just let him have it. After all, the only thing left there in was my bible journal, lip colour and deodorant.

I was breathing through my mouth by the time I got to the scene of the last crime, treading carefully wondering about my weak knee. I stole a glance at the pathway I believe he emerged from the last time, perhaps hoping that if he came at me I would just hand over the bag so that he leaves me alone. I do not know how to shout. Fear paralyses me.  I was praying under my breath.

“I’m accepted in the beloved” I repeated over and over hoping God would at least remember that part and maybe cover me.  I wasn’t sure. I‘m not sure of much anymore.

I turned the corner and saw a young couple at the half built fence chatting away.  I breathed easy again. At least there were other people on the road and I could see home.

I fell off a boda and it took me a while to feel safe on the road again. About two months later my bag was grabbed from me about two minutes away from my gate.

For the first time since, I walked up the hill without calling home for boys to come pick me up. Progress.

You should get out more

I’ve got to ask. You and Edmond?

Edmond and I . She sighed more than said the statement

Anything there? he persisted with a lifted brow

Edmond. Not really. I mean I wanted there to be a something. He doesn’t. So yeah.

Silence.

He told me early on. Truth is I was just recovering from the most painful break up ever and I wasn’t ready for another rejection. So I held on way longer. I have been hoping yet seeing reality

It happens sometimes.

What’s your story?

Well, I write stories for a living .

Do you make any money? She smiled as she asked that. I mean who writes for a living in Uganda?

It was a joke but not really. She remembered the day her and Lilly had vowed not to be decieved by the romanticism of struggling artists. Or Men who just didn’t have it together, thirty and sexy she had called them. She almost laughed out loud at the memory.

He laughed at the candour.

Dammit. His voice was distracting. Who laughs and they sound like caramel and honey reside in their throats? Was it even possible to have laughter tinged with an accent ?

Well, writing for a living in Uganda looks different . I do some copywriting but ghost writing is what pays the rent believe it or not. A lot of people want to be known as authors without necessarily doing the work.

Does it set your heart on fire?

Does it have to?

What’s the point of pouring your life into anything in this world that doesn’t?

Avoiding starvation maybe?

They both laughed.

Careful there Kisakye,she thought to herself, you’re entering dangerous territory.

Bandaids 2

May I come in? I have some chest pains and I’m looking for a good feeling is what she wanted to say

Hey. she said instead

Hey. He said back.

They stood and stared at each other.

Tough day? he asked and she simply stretched out her hands for a hug.

Tough life. She said against his shoulder. She squeezed and he squeezed back.

I don’t see you often enough. It would be nice to see you more.

She smiled at him and wished she believed him. She remembered quite clearly how desperately she had begged God to make him hers. The future she had imagined, the hopes she had held on to and the reality she was forced to face. All of it was so fresh in her mind.

What’s stopping you? She asked the question she already had the answer to and regretted it immediately. This is not why she had endured such a long boda ride to his place. Tonight wasn’t for sense and truth telling. So she laughed it away and her lips found his.

Tonight was for good feelings.

August 2017

I almost cut my jeans today. I had it all planned out. You see, I have this theory when it comes to clothes. If you don’t want to wear it, get rid of it. The jeans are quite old. They don’t fit well anymore and any time I have worn them in the past year has been an entire day of regrets and being self-conscious.

I looked for the scissors and set about cutting them into shorts. That way, I can only wear them at home, to do things like laundry. I was going to cut them and then write a blog post about letting go of old things and giving yourself space for the new. Except I didn’t. When I got the scissors, I remembered I was due to go to the tailor to re-adjust some skirts and wondered if I couldn’t do the same for my jeans as well.

I was supposed to come and talk about how it is okay to release things. It is the beginning of a new month and probably the best time to let go of certain things.

However, it’s okay if it’s the beginning of yet another month and you are not ready to let go just yet. It’s okay if a relationship ended and you are yet to change your whatsapp wall paper from a picture of the two of you to…what do you even change to? It’s okay if you are not ready to decide whether you should return or burn all the letters you ever received from the other person. It’s okay if you are not yet ready to decide how you want to pray about this. Just because it’s the beginning of a day or a week or a month or a year or a new age does not mean everything else in your life has to be ready.

Today I stayed home most of the day. I did my laundry. I actually just washed two pairs of bed sheets. I scrubbed the bathroom. I decided on and tried out an outfit for a dinner I have on Saturday. I removed from the line and ironed previously washed bed sheets. I made my bed. I spent an evening with two friends drinking wine, eating ice-cream and talking about life and then I came home and I changed my whatsapp wallpaper.

I don’t know if anyone ever knows when they’ll be ready. I guess the most we can do is hope to be ready by a certain time. You can work towards being ready if it’s an exam or a tournament you’re preparing for. However, I don’t know if anyone ever knows beforehand when they’ll be ready to let go.

I guess I just came here to tell you that it’s okay. Take time. Think the thoughts. Feel the feels.

Joel  told me last week, “Sometimes we need lemonade. Yes. I mean Beyoncé . To go through it all. To feel the anger. The pain. The loss. To want retribution. To come to a final place where Jesus and only Jesus can take the wheel”

 

Bandaids

What are you thinking about?

How past trauma constantly gets in the way of living in the moment. I mean I should just be here, right now. I should kiss you slow, passionately and with abandon.

You’re not here?

I am

But?

But…I’m stuck trying to choose between just laying my head on your chest ,simply enjoying having my body wrapped up in yours ,kissing you and…

…tomorrow is not promised to any of us.

You’re holding back

…because I don’t want there to be much of a difference between the days I get to kiss you and the days I don’t. I want to enjoy it to the very core of my being yet walk away as easily. I don’t know how to do that.

I’m not dying tomorrow.

Yeah, but this might.