{UAH} 1984 Nairobi

By Omar Mayanja 

At the beginning of '84, father got a job in one of Nairobi's biggest law firms, earned decent money and could look after his emerging family in exile.  Between the brides there were two babies now and two on the way later that year.  His request to visitors who could come and go between Uganda and Kenya remained the same.  One day, Kaddu Kiberu who was married to my eldest sister Baganja visited.  In lieu of material gifts, father asked the same thing of him – "ndeetera abaana bange abato".  The older ones could find their way and did visit on occasion without a chaperone. 

So come Easter holidays, another mission was executed, this time by 'Double-O-Seven' who recounted the journey when I ran into him one evening in February 2017.  It was one of those evenings when Leila sends a text saying she will be late, her way of saying "ssigenda kufumba, arrange take away for yourself and the kids".  

Coincidentally, my brother Asumani called about some business he wanted to discuss.  I asked him to meet me at the Cj's on Namirembe road from where I was to pick the food I had ordered.  When we arrived and before we were given a table I noticed 'Bond' sat alone over a pot of coffee and newspapers.  I had followed him for years as a champion rally driver but since he retired just before my time, I had never caught him alone like this.  I walked over and then leaned in to say "Gyebale mzee" as did my brother who was sticking his head out over my shoulder.  

'Bond' set his papers down, leaned back, undid a couple of buttons on his sweater jacket then asked "How old are you?".  We both turned to stare at each other and then back at him. 

 

"Why do you ask?" it was our turn to be surprised, or maybe we shouldn't have seeing as this was Bond and he is always ready for whatever.  I half-expected him to know me but not without first narrowing the slits of his eyes and looking in the distance to perform a search in memory.  He would have read about me in the sports pages but am not vain.  Moreover, even I struggle to place some of the younger and less remarkable rally drivers.   But like I already said, he was Bond and he knew everyone and everything that was coming at him.  

After a brief smile revealing a perfect set of teeth that was also a sign that we were not in trouble, the rally legend continued "Never mind…sit down….I thought you would remember this.  A trip to visit your father in exile…..we spent the night in Jinja because the last Peugeot out of town had space for just one…..your sister (Kanyange) who was at university took it leaving us behind ostensibly because she did not want to miss any of the safari rally action…...when we got to Nairobi I was relieved to learn she had checked in with your father before disappearing into the country. " 

He would have been twenty eight, no more than thirty at the time and a wheeler-dealer, and I wanted to know how much he was paid. "No I was not paid, I did not need the money….I was young and doing well for myself and it was no trouble at all...I was happy to do this, both as a favour for my friend and for the benefit of someone who did so much for my country.  ….your father loved children so dearly and these reunions reinforced his resolve to fight and come back home." he concluded.

If anyone could cut the silhouette of Sean Connery, it was this man.  He was one of the few people who could wear a full head of white hair complete with goatee and still look like he could kick ads.  In actual sense, when we met for tea he was going on sixty.  He was good looking, lean and fit, spoke easy and drove fast cars, it wasn't hard to imagine him outsmarting the 'special force' or the 'flying squad' its counterpart in Kenya.  In Frank Nekusa (rest in peace), Ow'ekitiibwa Kaddu Kiberu couldn't have picked a safer or smoother pair of hands. 

As it happened, both myself and Asumani had not been on this particular trip but the similarities were too many we knew it was all true.  We would also have killed to be on this mission with a real life super star and hero.  And so, on behalf of our brothers and sisters who were, we said "Ah…that was you?? of cos…cos how can we forget?!"  If Bond's BS detectors buzzed on that lie he did not say.    

The other uncle, the one we actually travelled with was unlike Bond.   Maama Mariam's brother Jamada was one of those people who said nothing the whole trip.  If he did it would have been to warn us to "do as I say and you might remain alive long enough to see your father again".  Uncle Jamada wore a shadow over his face I doubt anyone saw him.  He was also a diminutive figure, a Rocky Balboa without the muscles or Frank the Transporter without the Audi.  Uncle Jamada was the master of not drawing attention to himself, quiet and unremarkable but yet another perfect choice for running classified missions.  

Nairobi felt like a happy place for us and for father but it had its own challenges.  To begin with, there were so many Ugandans roaming the streets and frequenting the same places the political exiles did.  Some of them were government spies who also liked to dine at the one place you could enjoy authentic Ugandan cuisine.  Lucky restaurant was owned by Yusuf Mukiibi who is a brother to Hajji Ssebankyaye of Wandegeya and the proprietors of 2k restaurant in Bukesa.   Good food is all over the branches of their family tree.  

Father gave up the delicious meals that were also on the house for him because it was easy to be monitored or even poisoned in a place like that.  And even if his personal car had been smuggled into Nairobi, he did not drive it, opting for public means.   Back then as it is now, to drive a car with Ugandan plates in Nairobi, is to place a target on your back. 

The other problem was father's health.  His heart was in a poor state and necessitated surgical intervention.  Stress was at an all-time high and father was smoking like an older police truck, the one that delivers guards at VIP residences.  The doctors promised they could fix the heart but made it clear he would have to stop smoking.  But after checking into hospital and signing the indemnities, the surgical team almost choked in their masks when he lit a cigarette.  The way he saw it, it was a dying man's wish – in case he didn't make it out on the other side.  But if he made it, of course he would quit the habit.  Either way this was his last cigarette in life and they should be filled with compassion and possibly stick around to witness it.  

Lying in the hospital bed after the operation that was judged a success, father contemplated the possibility that he might have passed over to the other side and left twenty nine mouths to feed.  This number was below his wish, prayer and mission for fifty but left on its own, he admitted it was rather large.  

The reason for mission 50 by 50 was that our grandfather also left a family behind when he had been held in captivity for an extended period and when he came back he found nearly all the children had died of Kawumpuli (Plague).  Jjajja Kakyama and his first wife were both of advanced age at that point meaning grandma could not bear more children.  Following the foresight and wisdom of our ancestors, Jjajja mukyala sent for the mulamu, her younger sister who would conceive and deliver 6 children including my father and become the Jjajja mukyala we all know.  The first Jjajja mukyala died shortly so the younger children including father never really knew her.  When he heard the story, my father promised his father, that he would make it his duty to make up the numbers that had been lost to the Plague, in other words insure the blood line.  This was decades before Nadduli's call.

   

With the war of guns raging, and the one of HIV rearing, the situation was not at all dissimilar to my grandfather's period at the turn of the century when our blood line was almost wiped out.  Jjajja Kakyama made it out of captivity and started a new family but for father that was not consolation enough, he could not stomach the thought of coming home to find that any of us had died. What if he did not come home alive?     What if he didn't make it out of that hospital? 

In a moment of clarity usually associated with staring death in the eyes, father made a firm decision.  Rather than hope to have more children at an advanced age in case he lost us, he would now work to ensure provisions, health and safety of the twenty seven plus two on the way.

At that point he called the doctors in and asked them how much longer he was to remain in hospital.  They said he was still their guest for a while which was longer than he needed to heal from a vasectomy.  

"Great….Do it!"  He ordered, as he turned to his side and pulled back the covers for a nap before receiving another set of sutures.

--
Disclaimer:Everyone posting to this Forum bears the sole responsibility for any legal consequences of his or her postings, and hence statements and facts must be presented responsibly. Your continued membership signifies that you agree to this disclaimer and pledge to abide by our Rules and Guidelines.To unsubscribe from this group, send email to: ugandans-at-heart+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Ugandans at Heart (UAH) Community" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to ugandans-at-heart+unsubscribe@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/ugandans-at-heart/CAJgJtm3uj2Jp06pBvPsxDvhZtnpLEyHThbFjjJ6uhZzYZtMGtQ%40mail.gmail.com.