A handful of years back on the 17th August, I turned 17 years of age. It was all like the movie 17 again because I felt the man of the moment. I truly was because I have learnt how to milk the day as I was taught. CARPE DIEM. Judging by my height, I was nothing close to your average 17 year old Muganda as I was 5’10. Metaphorically, by the look of things, I was fooling many people because there was to me than met the eye. I was 17, looked 14 on the face and the body length suggested adulthood.
I took pride in all these confusing facts and had let people sort themselves out figuring out where I truly lay. It was all fun and games until the man of the house took it upon himself to inform me that my time in the BIG house had run nigh and was beyond Ferguson time. The elapse of Ferguson time just smells like trouble all out because by that time, the fat lady is doing what she does best-sing and confirm the end of a pursuit. I thought he was joking til I looked at his senile face then I understood that he meant no jokes at all.
Being the mischievous homo-sapien I have understood myself to have developed into, I argued with myself that I couldn’t leave just yet. I still loved my mother’s cooking. That’s the lady of whom I was child for a scintillating awesome 9 months like she enjoys to narrate to me. I wasn’t about to vacate the direct source of such stories that made me 100% proud of my years as a toothless dim-wit. Truth be told, it was because of that food that I have been to settle at conquering the world in my way and putting it where I can command. I was not about to alter that proceeding-not because some old nigga wanted so. I loved it there, the rest I was sorry. “when you hang around a barber, you get a free haircut.” I did hang around one, but this time not a barber but a nice cook and I can duly report to you that I have become an awesome cook and Edith can attest to that. She enjoyed that meal that I prepared specifically for her.
As I was busy having the time of my life with mummy, little did I know that daddy and his girls were hatching that Frank Tumwebaze hit on Lord Mayor Erias Lukwago-Kick Lewis out of here as soon as soonest can possibly be. He had turned from the once Mr Nice Guy we all knew him to be that saves damsels in distress to one Mikaelson vampire that’s gives not a thing what happens to you as long he got what he wanted. It was a well laid out plan as he very well knew what his son and loved and went on a spree of buying electronics in doubles while stocking Boys Qz. I had to remain stubborn to see how far he would go with this his sinister plan. All of a sudden, the girls at home started taking a keen mark of all Telenovelas on Tv and as if that was not enough, these creatures drew time tables for each and every Telenovela. That only meant that a brother had to hit the bar as frequent as tear gas and Arrest are to Dr Kizza Besigye to catch even a mere sports highlight show.
I would return from wherever my long legs would propel me to only to recall that the Tv wasn’t mine to watch and therefore if I wanted to catch a soccer or rugby game. It hit me to retaliate by not subscribing for any bouquet only to learn that the big man does subscribe two months in advance. Leave alone those instances in the Old Testament where the Pharaoh of Egypt was pig-headed even after the plagues that were pronounced on his people, I had to kind of give up this pursuit of happiness. I am not a person that usually gives in but this was surely Lionel Messi versus Olivier Giroud- a sure win and probably over and above the accepted for the former.
Head held in my palms and tail sagging with loss between my legs, I had to move on and embrace the new life that had dawned onto me. Change is a fact of life. That was one hell of an experience I had but I think it only had the best in it for me because a few years down the road and look at me now……you can be the judge.