When theives are among us.

Am dreamer and in the near future I look forward to having my own children running around the house.
Walking or driving the kids to school. Playing in the compound , shooting toy guns and going for birthday
parties at the neighbors.
Changing diapers, telling them off when they are in the wrong and talking to them about the things the Heaven
would clearly describe.

I am not yet a parent and maybe not so soon but am a grown up. Some nieces and nephews look upto and take me as someone responsible. They are always asking me about my job and my reply is always "work hard and you will get better a job than mine."
Am not saying I didnt work hard but just to show them that hard work pays. There is this specific niece (she actually looks like me) who always asks to many questions.
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"I need a dress for my birthday, will you buy me one?"
"Can we bet? You love your girlfriend."
"Why are you a journalist? Doesn't a lawyer or doctor make more money? My dad is doctor and he already has two cars. He is still young."

There are many more questions that my niece will always ask me and each time I have an answer. As a child I always asked questions.
Education is one thing and today I went to pick my niece from school. Am her guardian because her parents leave atleast over 500miles from Kampala. They stay in a rural area that doesn't have quality education. I know Universal education upcountry is really pathetic. My niece is in boarding school. Yes. Primary one. And its Sir Apollo Kagwa Old Kampala.

When I went to pick her up she had some fungi infection and her body and wounds. She had lost so much weight. She looked tired and really drained. I remember the opening term of the season when I took her to school and she was healthy. Spotless with no fungi infection. Smiling and she was pretty excited about school.
Children are usually excited about going for their holidays but clearly on her face I could tell she wanted to leave this hell hole.

On the day I took her to school, I paid alot of money at the School canteen that it could take her two terms to finish this amount of money. I left the Matron of her dormitory with clear instructions that if anything happens she should let me know. Unfortunately she never calls yet some airtime is one thing I provide. Am the one who makes the calls and she never told me that my niece was having this fungi infection.
My niece told me about the dirty shower rooms, rest rooms and the terrible food. The school fees unfortunately doesn't match the services these children receive.

My rant against Sir Apollo Kagwa Old Kampala is that they need to style up and stop reaping us off. The child's mother who is my sister told me that she is rethinking and will have to change the school.
"I want to go to Namagunga boarding school. This place they do not care about us," my niece told me.


Talking points:
Working on a new Job application

Playlist:
Some MJ song "They dont really care about us"

  

A reflection that doesnt lie.

Some stories are very hard to tell. The explanation for this is that are ashaming, sad, horrific or even emotionally terrible. When you wake up in the morning look at yourself in the mirror, you see a complete person. One that could read or write. You can converse, ran around the compoud and most of all you have an education and knowledge.

At times a story becomes beautiful becomes you are emotionally involved, it touches your soul and evokes the tears from your eyes but all you do is watch. In many ways I find it hard to explain a story because it just has no explanantion. It is a lack of words, insults or diction that create a brain freeze. When we say we are noble, we hardly know what it means. When we make a difference in someones' life and appreciated we feel some pride. But what about when we claim we are being noble yet we are robbing in daylight and cheating.

I write this post while sitted in round house overlooking a lovely soft sipping waterfall. Its hush sound creates an urge for me to keepwriting. So I think hard as I try scribble down the event that had sucked me out of my skin. I felt a cold chill each time I persuaded myself to write something down. I would watch the birds and could hear them sing. I would feel like asking them,

"Why you always singing? Dont you have troubles?"

The chill would sweep in and I would then gather the courage because the skies were begining to ramble heavily and I knew that anytime the heavens would open and rain would just pour out. Quickly I begin to scrible down something.

Its a tale of a school started to help kids with special needs. A school designed to give hope to these unfortunate gifts that God hath set forth on earth. When such a school is set up you desire to believe that they are going to make a positive influence in these childrens lives but to your shock there is nothing to brag about. The school receives heavy funding from Donors and the Government. It clearly deserved to be very prestigious. The horror that sent me into disgust and anguish is that day when  we decided to go visit the school and see what happens. What I saw pealed tears out of my eyes. I watched this cook bring pineaples for these kids to eat (it was lunch time). They all sorrounded him like hungry lions, and instead of telling them to sit down, he poured them on the grass and you should have seen the swarm of kids eating from the grass.

The story gets worse as we notice the kids stink, the hair has a brown coating and the clothes look like the color of the earth. It is obvious the special needs centre is not worth it. In the compound is Water Tank that was donated to the school a year ago but upto now there is no water. A few hours later, (suck it up guys suck it up) a bell. The kids gather around and the  H/M tells them to start singing. Ofcourse they can. But one would wonder why you would ring the bell just to make kids sing.

It turns out "Muzungu" is around. Some british vistors had come to see the special needs school, so they take pictures of these children and leave a huge cheque on the table. Making money from the kids? Yes. The H/M will parade these kids and make them look stupid so he can get funding. But where does this money go? To him and whoever is in charge. He will boldly tell you how the school has no money to even set up a tank.

And then the rain. I will have to conclude this before the rain wets my paper. Its too windy and the ducks floating on the stream have disapeared. The drizzle is patting the leaves around and drop by drop the ground begins to get wet. I ponder and ask myself
is society a true reflection of what its government is? At times am prompted to say yes.
The rain is here.

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This week I got my final results(applause) and grad is next week on 2nd. I need cake. I love Chocolate or Marble cake...

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Listening to:

Asa's music......