My time here in Entebbe is nearly up and what I appeared like a century when I arrived last Thursday with the kids from Tororo for the school third term has vanished like a whirlwind. When the kids asked me to spend ten days with them while their mom is away on a working trip before I return to Tororo, I wondered what I would be doing in the house all alone by myself each morning they left for school.
Monday was particularly challenging. After I had dropped them at school, got them registered and escorted each one of them to their classroom, I visited our future family home which is less than half a kilometer from the school. There is not much semblance of a home there anyway but a vandalized foundation and fence, (column twisted bars and barbed wire were cut off by thugs looking for scrap metal), banana plants, a few trees and a bushy garden that is beginning to take shape despite the weeds. When the state of that foundation vs. what we left behind the last time the builders where on sight begun to depress and make me angry; I decided to check up with the metal fabricator who is making the fittings for our house. Having made no appointment with him, it was no surprise that I did not find him in.
No matter what I tried to do on Monday, I still found the day too long compared to my schedule back home in Tororo where I sometimes wished the sun could delay to set by some more hours, thus often working in the garden up to 9pm having returned from the farm probably about 6pm.
Tuesday morning started with a stern warning from my son not to break my promise and slip off to Tororo while they are at school. Although, I had toyed with the idea of breaking off to Tororo for a day or two, Tuesday found me armed with a program that would fully banish my anxiety beside the routine that I was already getting familiar with.
The Muslim morning call to prayer at 5.30am from a nearby mosque has been my reminder to leave bed to get the kids ready for school by 7.15am, the time the school van arrives even though I wake up much earlier than that.
I usually start my day with two hundred stretches of my feet (lying on my back) which generate a sweat before I leave bed. From bed, I get to my knees for a prayer/devotion before I brush which get me to 6.15am, time wake the kids up. We start with the toilet, followed by teeth brushing, bath and into school uniform depending on the day of the week before we hit the breakfast table. I usually get the break served in between bath and dressing so that nobody complains that any food is too hot or not served.
Once I have seen the kids off to the van, I slide into the sofa to watch Hurricane Irma on TV and the devastation it has left behind in the Caribbean. I had my taste of the taste/vagaries of nature earlier this year when the stream bounding our farm burst its banks and floods swept away more than two tons of fish, kitchen, goats and a perimeter fence worth millions of shillings which I had just completed. That, for me, was more than baptism by immersion but by storm. I had not experienced anything of that kind in my life but slowly we have picked up the pieces and trying to learn lessons.
So much for CNN, off for a brisk morning walk before settling down to my PC to browse and edit photos, read mail and revive my Facebook account; things I had not done in a very long time, which in a way have got me blogging again.
You can imagine how packed my day is now, with so much on my mind that has been revived by my stay here which I need to write down before I return to the farm.
I break off from the PC to a movie or a TV series like “Supreme Justice or Preachers of LA”, before napping. Before I know, it is nearly 5pm and I have to prepare the children’s fruit salad and have their changing clothes ready and here they arrive, each with a set of questions right from the door-way; “Have you spoken to mom, have you been to Tororo?” The girl accuses the brother of rushing ahead of with his own questions making her forget what she wanted to ask. Another day is gone and mom is nearly here to take over.