I don’t think I know the meaning of freedom anymore. Growing up as a child, I had a dream of being independent one day, from my parents because just as any other kid, I felt like they made me do this and yet I wanted to do that, told me to be this and yet deep down, I knew it sucked. I wanted to be what I felt I wanted to be, not what they wanted me to be. But with all these thoughts of emancipation and unruliness swirling in my head, deep down I knew that I had to comply since in the African culture, a kid has no say when it comes to the kind of parenting, even though one that’s above 18yeatrs, the rightful age of adulthood. So long as one was still under the roof of their parents, they had to adhere to each and every rule, policy, and culture, name it, that was instilled in them by their parents. That’s what it means to be an African and I can never be any more proud.

Little did I know that the sought independence and liberty that I yarned for since way back was all a toddler’s fairytale. No one is truly independent of oneself, not at least in my country. No!!! We’re all dependent to someone, to something. Well, some may be independent but trust me, we’re all in one big ship sailing to a place called nowhere for those sailing are blinded by their own agendas. Instead of having compasses leading the whole team to a place called somewhere, a future worth holding onto, their compasses point towards treasure chests lying in wait for their greedy hands to hold. Their visions are cut short by their hearts’ desires. They sail us to where they want to go as they give us imaginary pots of honey, sometimes tangible but not long lasting which come smothered with consequences in the end, so as to quiet down the rage that slowly keeps building in our hearts for we seem to see not even a single sign of progress on our journey.

So I ask you this, do you really think am truly independent? I don’t think so. Are you truly independent? Well I guess that isn’t my question to answer.

Oh Uganda, may God uphold thee!!!

I don’t think I know the meaning of hard work anymore. Growing up as a child, we were taught the slogan, “hard work pays”, something I am sure most still hold onto unlike me. We were taught to always be hardworking, having qualities like optimism and resilience so as to achieve our set goals. We were given live examples of those who lived before us, the liberators of African nations from the foreigners, the likes of Nelson Mandela who liberated the now great South Africa to its independence, Jomo Kenyatta for Kenya, Apollo Milton Obote for my very own Uganda, a country that birthed me. Well, what they never put into consideration was that those were the days of those times and we live in a dynamic world. The world has changed greatly from the world those great personalities once knew. Yes, they had a dream which they did fulfill but they also had a future, which am not really sure if it came to pass. No one can really be sure if the future we’re living today at was the future Milton Obote saw Uganda at, at 2021.

 Am not certain anymore as to whether even if I strive tooth and nail to leave this pit I am in right now, to the pinnacle I grew up being told I would one day live to enjoy, as long as I followed their principle of “ hard work pays” is all worth it. Truth is, we live in a country where if we’re not having a taller shoulder to help us walk, we shall always remain in our pits. A father for a son, father for a daughter, brother for a brother, a sister for a sister etcetera. It’s just how my country came to be shaped in. I don’t really think the reason as to why we’re having a lot of unemployed graduated on the streets jobless is only as a result of the rapid unemployment plus the constantly failing education system.

I will ask you this again. Do you really think that I should keep working hard? With all those hard workers out there jobless? I don’t think so. More still, do you really think you should work harder? Well, I’ll leave that to you.

Oh Uganda, may God uphold thee!!!


Depression and anxiety are like cancerous cells that keep growing by the minute, if not treated. Some sort of burning bush that keeps engulfing all the life out of all that it sets its deadly flames on, and weirdly, the more one keeps breathing, is the more it keeps growing.

It’s bizarre how it all feels okay at the beginning. One who’s depressed and filled with anxiety always feels like his current state is his safe haven, the only thing that truly understands his current state of mind. Polluted state of mind!!! And yet in actual sense, it’s like a deadly virus that creates its own atmosphere and makes its host feel like that atmosphere created is of his own making and the only atmosphere that makes him feel really at peace.

One’s headspace is completely controlled by an invader. It’s a feeling as though your life and body is a car, but weirdly you’re sited on the passenger sit and somebody else is on the driver’s seat controlling the car as he pleases. It’s like you’re looking through somebody else life, entirely somebody else’s.

Depression and anxiety make us brain dead. Yah. The inability to differentiate between what’s right and what isn’t, what’s worth holding onto as a human being and what isn’t. One becomes a slave in the making. A slave to his conscious and subconscious. That tinny little voice that apparently seems louder than even the actual voices of our loved ones and those around us, telling us to do this and that and we do as we’re told. One may think he’s doing it on his own accord and yet the actuality of the matter is that he’s serving an unknown master. One whom he shall even go beyond all lengths to fulfill his wishes and thoughts. Living a life of servitude unknowingly. Now here’s where it becomes the most frightening.

That little voice in us can cause great pain to those around us, without us knowing. That is, through us maybe harming ourselves, growing more distant by the second, acting like there’s nothing more to life, trashing all the dreams we had as we grew up all for nothing, becoming emotionally dead, searching for ways to die etcetera.

One ought to seek medical attention, therapy I must say, for a depressed soul filled with anxiety is a soul that wants to be understood for what it’s truly going through. Talk more to friends. Do what you love to do best. Learn to cope with life and all its mischievous fists as well, for those shan’t ever end, basing on this life we’re living.

Well, I believe we’re all depressed and filled with anxiety, one way or the other. But it’s absolutely normal to feel so if one isn’t portraying all the above. You’re just a stressed out human being that needs a little break from all that that is outweighing your shoulders. A little break from what the world constantly makes us each and every single day. Just try having fun and living the most out of what life you’ve still got.



Lost souls roaming the earth is what we are

Being swayed up and about to where our broken hearts lead us.

All I ever wanted was for you to hold me while you wait,

For not once had I ever imagined you leaving my love behind.

With all these thoughts of being lost on you swirling in my mind,

Am constantly blinded by this uncontrolled river of tears

rushing down the very check bones you once adorned with your kisses,

As though with a mission to completely drain out your thoughts

Forever out of my very existence.

Only time can heal our wounds into bruises

Though some just never seem to fade away,

For they unsiezably keep creeping into our headspace,

Maybe reminding us of the battles we once had, for we were invincible.

Don’t get me wrong. I still crave for the times

When I was someone you loved.

I only hope the day when I’ll think of what we had as just something borrowed

Never gets to meet daylight.

But before you go, I just wanted you to know that

I still love you. Maybe then, you’ll undo this heart break.


To that kid out there feeling all alone in the world. Feeling as though the life he’s living today is a complete reflection of that of the day before, and the day before that day as though one in a maze, for every new corner one gets to is as completely similar to that before, and it goes on and on and on. The very streets he’s walking on, filled with pain, with sadness as the street lights, lighting to a path filled pain and distress. The very steps he takes feeling as heavy as the ones before, only that there’s a times a difference in the weight that increases with some steps, for the burdensome dust on his shoes he picks up after every twist and turn overweighs his entire body. You’re not alone!!!

To that kid out there feeling as though the home he lives in is a dark mansion filled with less of banter, but more fibs and fiascos from his kinfolk. The walls of the home becoming smaller by the minute with some sort of music without rhymes and beats. One who’s completely inconspicuous to the rest, as though a cent in a rich man’s bank bill safe. That feeling of wanting to be wanted and yet all you get are cold grins as though a form of good riddance to that in front of them, making you fill like baggage on top of the emotional baggage you’ve carried for God knows how long, to the extent that you familiarized that other part of you, opened up a room for that other you and made him all warm and cozy in your higher home for trying to chase him out is a wild goose chase. You’re not alone!!!

To that kid out there that branded himself a bottle as the only thing that completely understands him, a safe haven he’s gotten so fond of, for with every pour, does his tongue wobble and wabble as though one attending his last feast as a bachelor with completely no responsibilities and worries drowning his soul. The cold sizzling rush down his throat as the only feeling of comfort he has known in a long time, for with that comfort comes a few more hours of merry making and jolly joying, a ticking shield I must say, that protects him from his problems at hand that have been haunting him in broad daylight and in the dead of the night filled with soberness. One who has found some bit of pleasure in the bright dawning smothered with hangover from the previous night, for we are all creatures of consequences. You’re not alone!!!

To that kid out there battling with all sorts of chronic diseases. Feeling as though each day that he live is his last, for optimism and hope are a few of the words that have completely been erased from his vocabulary. One who’s known by name by the receptionist and all doctors at his hospital, for if relapse was a person, he’d certainly win that Grammy. One who battles to enjoy the few things left in this earth that haven’t yet been priced, sadly ending up to paying for them as well. One who has completely derailed away from his original form as a result of the world’s deadly fists hitting too hard for him to continue resisting. You’re not alone!!!

To that kid out there dealing with addiction. Dealing with that feeling of always being summoned from time to time by that irresistible urge that constantly demands and takes at its own will. One who has given up on the meaning of choice, for what the body wants, the body takes. One who constantly bleeds out on every war he wages on himself, an act of trying to combat his current enslaver but all in vain, for with every blow he gives, he receives twice as much of the impact as he has given. He is now completely hopeless at the thought of ever getting back to the driver’s seat, for his life feels more or less of a man in his own mind, but in the passenger seat, as a complete stranger takes over the driver’s seat. You’re not alone!!!

To that kid out there confused about what to believe in, that kid battling with finances, tuition fees, that kid out there who didn’t get the girl, that kid out there who has never felt the true meaning of love, that kid out there who has never tasted true success in his life, that kid out there suffering from dementia, you’re not alone. Hang in there, grab a hold of something, maybe the only thing worth holding onto in your life and patiently wait on God for that long awaited opening, for He has never and shall never forsake you. You’re not alone. There’s millions of us just like YOU.


Cramps! Cramps!

The tormentor of the feminine.

They whine, twist and turn at your own bidding

Without a cure to you, they shall always beg for your leaving

A day dreamer’s fairytale, yes, but one that brings comforting.

It’s as though a starving dog clinging to the memory of a dry bone for a day’s meal.

If attention is all you want, then you certainly got it.

Cramps! Cramps!

The tormentor of the feminine.

To all, you hit differently

But to most excruciatingly.

The seven hours’ sleep feeling like twenty four

For the games the muscles play seem endless.

As if with an aim of preparing them for the greatest match they’ll ever play, child birth.

Cramps! Cramps!

The tormentor of the feminine.

With you comes some bit of certainty

“I am with no child”, so she tells herself

After every month’s strike.

God! You should see the smile they give after their predicament.

Indeed the most beautiful of things are those that have tasted the fangs of ruin.


And there she was, lying on my arms

Without a single breathe left in her lungs.

Her once pink and bright face, all pale from her current predicament

With blood oozing out of her cold lifeless body

Filling the air with some sort of faint metallic smell intertwined with the smell of death itself,

Over powering her sweet scented cologne.

Her once tear laden eye, now blood shot, looking askance,

As though trying to communicate her murderer’s description.

The sweet melodious chirping that we once enjoyed was no more

For the quiet was never louder, hitherto.

Sluggish movements of icky red liquids, still warm, were slowly

Gravitating towards the surface with an itchy and sticky sensation

On my hairy hands as though reminding me how I was fifteen seconds too late.

The sound of a passersby’s phlegm striking the floor as an act of disgust,

Like a buccaneer disgusted at the sight of his foes

Suddenly broke the silence, leaving me incensed

At the magnitude of his disrespect for the departed.

Sorrow and grief, somewhat coupled with brimming rage arouse in me

At least the grass, out of all things paid their respects

With an act of obeisance to the wind’s direction.

Her bosom’s movements that I had grown very fond of

Was now static for its once rhythmical thudding that had been my melody,

Now filled with a dead silence I’d never dreamed of ever knowing.

The thought of her six feet under was something

I’d never make peace with,

For she was my muse,

My sense of purpose,

My life.

Something I shall forever cherish

Till the day I breathe my last.

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