Sanyu Ntulo Sepuya

2023 ended on a sad note. A mother, sister, grandmother, daughter departed and left a gap that in my view will affect many. 

I have fond memories of my aunt coming in from Saudi Arabia and bringing with her all sorts of provisions. These memories are stored well in at least two houses that served as homes for our stay in Kenya. Recently when we were coming to grips with the absense of our aunt at least in the form for which we have grown familiar, my brother sent us a photo that stirred up quite a lot from the past. She was smiling dimples in place with a red dress (possibly her favorite color). The three of us were looking goofy while Kezi the second born had a more serious regal demeanor. 

While in California i got to see her again although we did not interact much. She was taking a walk…i was visiting a library. She was visiting her grandchildren and talking to her daughter in law. I had just come to Los Angeles, California and was living on a street called Magnolia. Dad’s instructions to me were to think of my relationship with my cousin as one of father or in other words in loco parentis. 

On coming to Uganda much later, she was instrumental in my care and when i fell sick and was admitted to Mengo Hospital she made sure that i was presentable. 

She had a critics. She was firm. If you went through her hands, you were sure to later appreciate all the effort she put in helping you learn all sorts of things including work ethic and service. 

A long time friend of hers decribed her ss a blend between the old world and the new world at least in reference to Buganda Tradition and the modern day. 

She struggled with people who had treated her badly but those were contovertial times for all of us. But i think that this is a particularly delicate area for women. 

She spoke fondly of Obote II the second term that was served by one of Uganda’s presidents. When i pressed her about the possibility of some royal blood as some members of the family were researching and pursuing, she vehemently rejected this idea. Often she made references to past memories of growing up and living in the house in Menvu, Malebese. She had a troubled relationship with thw hospital that took care of her mother. A nurse through and through who was spoken of well by those who she took care of. 

She loved to read her newspaper and listen to the radio. 

Her picutres of her grandchildren brought her much joy and her very clean house seems to have resulted in a lot of joy. As many made reference, she liked ot spend time especially during holidays in her ancenstral home. Here she shared meals and cake with the young children many of whom you were certain would only if at all get to taste these kinds of things at events like weddings or introductions if they were ever to be allowed to attend. 

The people from whom i come have a belief that once you name the heir to one that has passed, the time of mourning ceases. The same people also bear little or no fear of death. The process or means of death may be troubling but i detect little or no fear of the afterlife. Instead many usually have a sense of satisfaction when relatives are named after them in a sense guaranteeing that they live on. Like dad i do not know if i will see you again in the form with which i was familair what i pray though is that you will have a sense of peace and comfort. 

I remember visiting you in hospital and leaving you behind even though you seemed to be seeking my help. I am grateful for those who also saw your value and sacrificed their time to take care of you. From what i know about our culture, you were tasked with taking care of the graves of those who had departed. When we visited i saw you do so even when you were aging. 

I ask for a journey that will be bearable and that the gap you have left will be filled with memories and joys. 

Daniel Bwerukya Musisi Kyanda

Today I attempt to put a few words on paper to represent what you mean to me and how I have handled your departure. Our rich language has a word for death that sounds like a violent drum beat. The word is, "afudde". I do not like that word because it denotes a kind of finality an end an inevitable completion. So I deliberately use the word "agenze" which describes a kind of departure...a long journey. The Baganda also have an expression regarding death that speaks of a transition where you become one with the winds that dry the clothes. It is better for me to think of you as having travelled and transitioned to a different reality. 

The news of your departure hit hard. I felt as though I had been immersed in a pool of very cold water. Everything from that point onwards was like a dream. How quickly you moved from being a person to being a body. From "omuntu" to "omulambo". How swiftly the crowds gathered and how news of our loss moved through the city and across the world. 

I described you as a colossus because of the depth and breadth of the life you lived and what my sister calls your impact. I had worked with you on several occasions in the past and had seen the content of your curriculum vitae which I was working on to see if I could come up with a book...a record of some kind regarding your life. 

Every so often someone comes up with a record, a video a picture of you and a memory of the life that you lived and the effect that you had on them. These are now fascinating and also frightening reminders of how close and also how far and fleeting life can be. The last time we spoke we were at the hospital getting you checked in. I did not know that that would be the last time we would have a conversation. What I am grateful for was that at least I got to see you and possibly come to terms with the eventuality of your passing. 

Because of your work I now often refer to myself as an ICT Consultant. We wrote many proposals and shared ideas for projects from all over the place. I got the opportunity to work for you during your time at Ndejje University as well as for the All Africa Conference of Churches. Later on I helped you with the writing projects that attempted to capture fragments of the work that you had created covering all sorts of topics. 

Many are comforted by the fact that you have at least left them with 'reminders' or children that bear a resemblance to you and that you can continue to live through us. 

I am saddened that I can no longer hear you clear your throat or shuffle through the corridor. That I cannot hear your voice as you harmonize with mother to the tune of your favorite songs. The yard you planned for and took care of is now an empty space. You loved to walk around taking photos of your favorite flowers as they bloomed. Sad that I can no longer share with you some of the cakes that I bake or any other sweet treasures. You knew the yard so well you often warned me what parts I needed to avoid as we walked. I am fighting not to have any regrets but it is hard. The numerous photos you took and others that you asked me to take are some of what I ow have left and will cherish. 

They called you Daniel Bwerukya Musisi Kyanda. Bwerukya means sunrise...what we see though, is a time when the sun has set on our household. We are confident by faith that you have moved on to a better place and that our Eternal Father has us safely in his hands. I hope that your entrance into the next world was peaceful. Rest well Dad!

Kenneth Luyimbazi Serufusa

Dear Ken,

I have not said much since you left us. I have books in which for the last few years I record some of my projects and transactions. One of these books is full of references to the work I did for you. A set if receipts, a few unsent emails stuck in my Drafts folder, a subscription note from hArvard Business Review for 12 months, a Twitter Account i often visit to see what you might have been thinking prior to your exit. For that opportunity to work with you, I am grateful! I also have your business cards for the two promising businesses that you were working on. The website and the changes you requested, the meals we shared at Mebana's near Nakasero. 

The first meeting we held at Java's on Bombo Rd. your fashion sense, your humor, and expression filled face. I remember all of that. I also remember getting help from you when I struggled with certain part of my mathematics work at Aga Khan Academy in Parklands, Nairobi, Kenya almost nine years prior to our meeting in Uganda. 

You loved truth and were afraid of nothing. We talked on many subjects from leadership, to development to Kingdom stuff. We talked about the Kings both living and present. We talked about Buganda. We talked about a King so revered and feared that they named him"Mukabya" or "one who brings tears". I shared my interests in philosophy and our current political challenges. 

We talked about your latest projects which at the time were about inroads you were making in construction. I remember driving with you to purchase some of your new fittings in the Industrial Area. The things we talked about. Your family, your affection for your sisters. Your work for your Father. We parted ways after sharing deeply. I was and am still amazed at your level of bravery. Our traffic filled roads often upset you as did the inexperience of our many drivers. 

You loved wraps and that is what you had when we last met to talk at the Restaurant that was a great hideout and that was also frequented by quite a number of notable lawyers. 

I hope that there is a better place with fewer frustrations but am certain that you are deeply missed by those you left behind. Your daughters are growing and their resemblance of you is astounding. 

Rebecca Kwagala Matovu

A few days ago we celebrated your birthday. 

I have not forgotten you and the role you played in my life. Without your input I would never have made the trip to Texas where I attended a bible school that was responsible for the better part of my adult development. Here there was an intense focus on practical Christian Ministry. I also fondly remember the music that you brought when you visited Kenya which included sounds from the Brownsville Revival in Florida. The American experience was not made to be forgotten and you played a major role in making sure that I was comfortable. I remember the money that you sent me in the my new home in Mission, Texas, the generous gifts of clothes that were part of my first few days in what at the time was a strange country. I remember my first trip up state and the encounter with snow. I remember hearty meals in your house and the counsel you shared while we were together. I remember how you facilitated my trips to North Carolina and Ohio and all the useful tips that you shared. In retrospect I now see why your sudden departure may have played a role the bouts of sadness that characterized my stay in the U.S from that day on. 

I guess you understood why I had come to that great country and some of the steps that I needed to take to progress and advance.

You have left me pleasant memories watching how you mothered your children and loved on them. I am thankful that we have three perfect representations that you have given us to remind us of who your are and what we can all be. Liz, Vicky and Gil are all people that we now treasure and the children and families that they have now become a part of a amazing gifts that we can now richly share. 

Your departure is a mystery that belongs to the all knowing one. All our hope rests in a better more peaceful place devoid of fear, worry and doubt. But we have to balance those aspirations with the massive gap that is left in our hearts. The inability to show you physically what we have become, the fruit of all your prayer and faith, the end result of all your labor. 

You are missed, cherished and not forgotten. 

Hon. Peter Nyombi

I met your Father for the first time at that special Hill that is home to the Kings College. I had accompanied dad (the former headmaster) to an event where I hoped to find out a little more about why he is constantly talking about the School and why so many of his peers and students alike are also so fond of the place. This was the first encounter that we had but people in the public space are really not strangers...at least we feel like we know them. He was introduced to me and was smiling with his son in tow. I was dressed for the occasion and donned a particular tie that I can only call Victorian. So there was no likelihood of my forgetting the encounter with your dad. Other meetings would take place at our home in Mengo immediately after dad appearances became few and far between. He was keen to have me meet your Father but this took place right at the point when the Law Society had taken its tough stance against him. 

That was a family storm as you have described and I am afraid not many of us were willing to bring our boats too close to such a massive ship in distress. Our conversation with your Father Peter Nyombi was brief and if I remember correctly we traded business cards. He told me that he was glad to meet me although he was saddened that had he met me on the street he would not have recognized me. It is that part of the conversation that has stayed with me. 

A few days ago while reading I came across a piece of paper with a poem that best summarizes some of his and our challenges should we get to live that long. 

It was written by Rudyard Kipling and is titled, 'IF'.

I hope that you can derive as much as I have from it. 

If

By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same:.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings,

And never breathe a word about your loss:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Eva Josephine Nakabiito Mulira.

I met your sister around the time after I had arrived in Uganda. Mother was keen to have me meet her friends to see if I could design web pages for them. You see that was and still in some regards is my business. The area was new to me and so I needed directions. The location of the office was between Kintu Rd. and Clement Hill Rd. right next to the HQ of MTN. There were actually two clients in one place and I was filled with a mix of enthusiasm and expectation. 

Your sister is a beautiful human being. I say that deliberately because she was beaming with what I now know to be the intelligence that had her spend some time studying law both at Makerere and Oxford University as the first graduating class in the former and naturally no better more distinctive school in the latter. 

We talked at length on a range of subjects chief in my mind was ofcourse the nature of my business and the hope of designing a page for one of our own...a former student of the prestigious King College Budo where my Father was the HeadMaster. I confess that I did not expect her to know a word of the Ganda Language but to my surprise she mastered a lot more than I expected and even threw in there a wise saying which I gobbled up and went on to memorize. 

We were talking about proposals when she stated, "Ensiba mbi Edibya Mutele". The translation of this is loosely, "Packaging Matters" (when you package wrong, the goods will not sell). When she said this I was sold. We would go on to have a few more meetings but the message had already sunk in. I would go on to develop and create much more with a greater tenacity and focus on great products and packaging. 

Later I went on to meet her team whose enthusiasm for their jobs was notable but whom she also had a great deal of respect for. We have since gone on to maintain a relationship with some of the same team members some of who still work for Black and White. When I learnt that she had spent some time in New York in Real Estate and now in Uganda, I was keen to find out more and held on to some of the brochures when they landed on one of our shelves amidst Dads collection. I was also interested in the principles which she used to sustain her firm as well as her additional work regarding land ownership in Uganda. 

Our next encounters were few and far between but her hold on me was sure. I remember her as the lady with a captivating smile and an active knowledge of Ganda sayings who reminded me of the important relationship between quality and product.