James Hill

For my mother,

Teopista Mbabazi Mugera

I love you
 James Hill

Contents.

Author’s note
Introduction

Part | The Cover-Up.

Part || The truth.
Part ||| Nirvana.
Part |||| Kampala Love letters.
 3

Author’s note.

Maybe the nature that Van Gogh was talking about with his friend Paul, has me up all
night, thinking, thinking about the nature that is in our minds, the nature that is
different for everyone else, for l wake up to a new day and see things differently from
how everyone around me sees them, and it confuses me, it puts my mind into chaos
as l can’t relate to most of what is relatable to other people, I get panicked for l can’t
fit into the perfect little squares that society bridges for me, I feel madness in my
veins for the patterns on my chase board are aligning but the patterns in my brain
aren’t, l lose sleep at dreams that l may never be able to catch, for the dreams in my
head are full of color, bright colors of yellow and hues of brown energy, radiating
through my entire body, making me nervous to move, or run to chase them well
enough, but if l can’t run, l will jog, and if l can’t jog, l will walk faster, all for this piece
of writing to get to you.

Yellow flowers for you my reader. I love you.

 James Hill

Introduction.

Poolside dreams, sinking into deep feelings, a Tim tom feeling, where did you go, l have
been searching but l can’t find you and I can't find myself either. Do you think the soft slow
beats in the song I listened to took my mind? I don’t remember, but it did sound graceful, the
song I listened to last night, it’s hard having thoughts of your own, thoughts of madness,
thoughts that blind the nerves in your body, musical thoughts, thoughts of flatlands, thoughts
of when l was lost on you, thoughts of meandering back to oneself from point A to point B,
and then from point B back to point A, thoughts of how Tragedy can lead you to Nirvana.
Happy thoughts are the rarest, just once in a while does one cross the mind, and a simple
smile then crosses my face. Oh, do l light up at the thought of you.
 5

Part | The Cover-Up.

Shit poetry l wrote at University.

My son, eat honey because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to your taste.
Proverbs 24:13

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 James Hill

it’s a plan,
she’d had,
for years,
and had
dreamed
of all her
life.

~ to be The Greatest Ugandan Writer ~

 7

The Greatest Ugandan Writer

The thoughts are pouring in,

river by river.
Like a heavenly satire,
a great voice of much people tintinnabulated,
"You can't help it. An artist's duty, as far as
I'm concerned is to reflect the times,"
and with that, the gods announced me, king,
they announced me a prophet.

Kintu wants to come out,

he speaks in the deep blue of
of the Ugandan Writer's nightly
dreams,
'the Boda Boda is safe now,'
'the yellow man will never die,'
'the kids are squirming in hunger for power,'
while the Greatest Ugandan writer,
seated on cold white rusted benches at Mulago Wandegeya stage
is trying to see far ahead of his long sharp shaped nose,
he seats daydreaming, inhaling the dust from the myriad potholes in the city,
getting into another old taxi, buying silver golden gonja
from the dark loud woman on the roadside, hoping to catch some
kind of a silver lining, relishing the mouthwatering purity
of the Ugandan Rolex, overflowing with Nyanya Mbisi,
his words gliding along with his delicious dark happiness,
cannot be repressed down anymore, they are spilling to the front, street lights at noon
eclipse, go tell home, bang bang,
the Greatest Ugandan Writer is here,
to reflect the times.

Still,
Nyanzi is up in the gulag,
she once said that
"unless you grab and squeeze hard, they are not listening."
'shssss,' 'shssss,'
the writer is the lamb, the writer is the lion,
they need the writer to be silenced like the lamb,
but I'll tell you what freedom is to me, no fear,
so I still rise, roaring like a lion with words,
painting yellow to Scarlet with words
in my PICFARE Champion Exercise book,
A4, ninety-six pages, Simply the Best, along
with my black inked Bic pen,
because yes. the yellow man will never die,
 James Hill

but neither will the words of the

Greatest Ugandan Writer.
 9

James 4:13-17

Come now, you who

say, “Today or tomorrow we
shall go into such a town,
spend a year there doing
business, and make a
profit”-you have no idea
what your life will be like
tomorrow. You are a puff
of smoke that appears
briefly and then disappears.

Instead you should say,

“if the Lord wills it,
we shall live to do
this or that.”
But now you are
Boasting in your arrogance.
All such boasting is
evil. So for one who
knows the right thing
to do and does not do it,
it is a sin.
 James Hill

Is it such a sin to want to be who lam?

 11

The air smells like

the turgid acrid taste
of madness,
like shit,
like marijuana cigarettes,
like sportsman cigarettes.

The bed feels like grit,

pillows filled with stones,
the one beside me
smells like a dead rat,
Hurrah! to the liquor stores
and the infinite pains and forfeitures
of youthful folly.

I don’t feel safe with my mind,

or around this continuum of
people, "friends."
Shit! l chose the red pill in the matrix
for Wonderland, but all am getting
is the naked truth and it cuts.
Scarlet is oozing out of my nose,
eyes, mouth, ears, and penis.

Starving for touch,

I lust over the memory of
your sparkling golden skin next to my
pale freckled skin under my dirty white sheets
on my narrow bed in July,
it was not about how your eyes burrowed holes
through me whenever you looked my way,
or how you brought coffee for me in bed
every mourning after,
I can't say it was about how l thought
you were a perfect piece of writing, a perfect piece of
chamber music, Ave Maria! Maria Callas,
break, break, perfect people break.

You bitch,
I could have
loved you.

What's it like?
to lose.
 James Hill

To lose someone
you love so much.

What's it like?
to lose.
To lose the love of your life,
To lose a mother to death.

It's a dark day to think and l cannot

navigate through these thoughts,
an avalanche of sorrow washes away
my ability to think one more thought,
Le Nozze Di Figaro, la folle journée,
break, break, a single day of madness.
Dear Wolfgang Amadeus, perfect people
break.

And so today, I will not think,

instead, I will let these fabricated
emotions kill me.

Maybe then,
I could catch a glimpse of
her smile again,
on the upper side.

~ thought express ~
 13

I feel like dementia,

I feel like Mathematics,
flowing endless numbers...
l am flowing through
graphs and lines and
equations,
into oblivion.

l am lost.

~ poems in maths class ~

 James Hill

I loved
him anyways,
for all
those seconds.

~ 1e16 seconds ~
 15

She listened
to Bob Marley
and read
Charles Bukowski
on horrid days.

~ jamming ~
 James Hill

Classes are full

and my heart
is empty.

~ classified outlaw ~
 17

Modus Vivendi

Lying down in my room,

curtains raised high,
the stings of quiet are loud,
like ‘27 guns’ and all their sins,
am lost in an ocean of thoughts of
how my hero turned to zero.

Maybe if I drank enough I could be

Charles Bukowski,
but I quit that about a year ago,
I tried to go out with the crowd but alas,
lonely people can have a house full of people
and still, be lonely,
so I chose to be alone, l choose solitude.

Maybe if I smoked on the ganja, from downtown Kamwokya,

I could feel closer to Marley, but Bob left me in this big bold world
because acral lentiginous melanoma could not spare him,
everything is heavy, smoking trees drove me to schizophrenia
about a year ago and l had to give up the trees,
so now all l have is therapy sessions, thoughts
of Sylvia Plath turning on the gas,
and I cannot stand another text message, another ‘friendship.’
ANOTHER GOVERNMENT.

nio, nio, nio,

I do not care what you say,
am taking the time machine,
maybe l get to see Kurt Cobain, maybe l get to sit down
with Maya Angelou and get to know really,
why the caged bird sings, for l feel caged,
will I ever able to sing songs of peace?

Everyone is looking at their phones and what a scene,

I need to get disconnected, l need to find the sevenths heaven,
I am searching for Nirvana, and I'd rather be alone,
kind of Blue, l chose solitude.

Isolation and solitude is what gave me this book,

but I cannot lie,
l still hate the way Sam Auster handled solitude in the book
‘the invention of solitude’,
in other words,
l hate me for how often I have to cut out,
 James Hill

even the ones I love the most,

just so l can bleed on paper,
like Hemingway told me to do.

Thank you solitude,

I hate you, I love you so.
 19

He is tall,
he is dark,
he is thin,
he is wearing
dark glasses,
his speech is
funny,
he is Sudanese
and he is adorable,
meticulous even,

like Klaatu.

~ the day the earth stood still, 1951 ~

 James Hill

The way you love me,

that’s what I miss

~ 00:56 am ~
 21

1/90, Microsoft word

indicated, I sighed,
more than 100 is what
the heart wants, so l
typed more, click
garlicked away on my
big old Compaq keyboard.

~ writing is so sweet ~
 James Hill

Dreaming big is
all she ever knew.

~ and it never let her down ~

 23

The most beautiful memories I'll

ever have are those that l have
walked past something beautiful
or seen someone so weirdly beautiful
or been part of something amazing that
l wanted to film, or take a picture of
so bad,
but didn't get the chance so I had to keep
it in memory, to keep it in my mind, to
feel it in my soul.
These are the memories that have
raised me to where lam and the same
memories that l will take to my grave.

~ I went to a concert without my phone ~

 James Hill

Pain makes me feel so alive

and also want to tear myself
apart so much at the same
damn time.

~ The Throes ~
 25

Life is short,
life is long,

but once you

reach the pits,

life is simply
the day
you wake up.

~the pits ~
 James Hill

What happened to the woman,

the woman, bright as the morning,
the woman, fierce and dark as the
night,

where did her vitality go’

they say the dark thoughts took her,
they say depression ate her up whole,
they say she lost her mind,
they say no one cared about her
mental health issues until it was,
too late!

They say she failed,

they say she is
gone.

Gone, gone, gone,

and I miss her,
bring her back in my
dreams,
bring Seraphina
back to me.

~ Seraphina is pregnant with a baby alien ~

 27

Hello Martha,
It’s the end of the
month, l have been
thinking of you
since your last
text message,
the one in which
you said that the
band ‘Cigarettes
After Sex’ reminds
you of me, l want
to see a movie with you,
I want to sit next to
you,
I wanted to write to you.

~ love poem ~
 James Hill

It’s not roses or sex at all

when you do it all to me
without my consent.

~ it’s rather rape ~

 29

Soliloquy Of A Software Engineering Dropout

The computer cried error,

yet you kept conjuring up
calculations and other contrivances
on how to get it back up, playing hacker,
forcing it to respond.

Ada Lovelace programmed the computer

to work with your instructions, not the lack
of control in your bulging joystick,
clicking, and clicking and clicking
infinitely, while you can clearly
hear the computer tell you,
"Error, restart,"
"Error, ask me nicely,"
"Error, do not insert your virus
without directory permission."

At the Museum,
I see the Analytical Engine,
Z1, the Turing Machine, the Colossus,
the ABC.

My father told me that it's here I am

supposed to get inspiration to be
the next Mark Zuckerberg.
As I stand here,
all I hear are your keys hacking into my skirts,
your joystick clicking, and clicking
without permission into my pad until my memory
crashed down in my dorm room.

Schoolwork didn't suit me anymore after that instance,

my fingers unaccustomed to the slimness of a joystick,
or the bulge of the mouse on the pad of the computer.
 James Hill

I smell like shit,

how have all the
people am seated
next to not
sent me off like
some dog, am
dizzy, am mad,
am dirty and they
won’t chase me
away from them,
because they
think that am
like them.

But note,
am just another
dirty old dog
living among them.

~ the humans ~
 31

A stone, brown as hot

chocolate, on top of
the complete works of
William Shakespeare
makes me feel less shitty
about my shit poetry.

~ way to heaven ~
 James Hill

Oh, the throes

of knowing
and feeling
it in your bones,
how great you
can be, yet not
knowing how
to achieve that
greatness.

~ the red pearl ~

 33

Oh!
The horrors
of waking with
a river of words,
with a river of poems,
with a river of ideas,
and you cannot find
paper to pour it
into.

~ I hate my computer ~
 James Hill

I never got lucky to have

big spaces that were mine, or
where l could be free, so my mind
became the only amazing big place
l had as my own, the only place l
could grow all kinds of flowers
l ever dreamed of, the only place where
I could build whole cities by myself,
the only place I could write amazing code,
the only place where l could run miles,
the only place that was entirely mine and God’s,
the only place I could run as wild as I ever wanted,
the only place that made me feel
alive and free.

~ free ~
 35

What we dread,
finally comes,

and so?

The best thing

to do,
is to prepare,
even while surrounded
by fear,
of what is to come.

It is this way,
that we prepare
to die,
while
we live well.

~ die, to live ~
 James Hill

To be uncertain, to not
know what the outcomes
are going to be, to not
know what there is in
tomorrow, to not know
life, to not know death,
is the ultimate act of
living, just like
the old saying goes,
“to live is to risk dying.”

~ electric dreams ~
 37

Last year, this time around

is the time that things began
tumbling down and this year
round, this is the time that
things are beginning to place
themselves in order.
Perfect order Maybe.

~ modus vivendi ~
 James Hill

Swish, swish,
a broom sang to the
African woman.

Crack, crack, the wood

she carried on her head
made her feel like a queen,
and at the village well,
she found boys who looked
at her with glaring eyes
and so she loved going
to the village well every
evening,
when the sun was now
beautifully, a pink sunset.

Swish, swish,
a broom sang to the
African woman.

~ The village well ~

 39

Death is a game
where no one wins.

~ ding dong ~
 James Hill

Any medicinal advice

mother ever came up with
worked for me, a literal
healing miracle worker
my mother was.

What is it they say

about parents being
our God on earth?

~ Dear God ~
 41

There some things you say in

your local language and people don’t
take you seriously, so you say it in a
foreign language and everyone takes you
seriously.

~ ndeka, a Luganda word for ‘leave me’ ~

 James Hill

I tried to reason
with you but you
were indefatigable.

~ boy, bye ~
 43

My body is on fire
and only you can help
put out the fire,
because only you
could ever start
a fire so big.

~ to the stuff, we lost at sea ~

 James Hill

We bought a tent and some sleeping bags,

Kampala park, a taxi, three thousand shillings,
before the sun came up, had breakfast at Gallup,
and there she was, Sihanouk island,
It was all a blur because we were so in love.

~ Sihanouk island ~
 45

My mind is
on fire for you,
for the way you
speak to me
silently’,
for the way
you touch
me tenderly.

~ night king ~
 James Hill

I thought I saw you in class today, you

are somewhere else, I know, that was my
mind, because I cannot get you off
of it. You keep lingering there like
you are right here.

~ dead brain ~
 47

The thought about the thoughts

I have about you at 3 am almost
shatters me.

~ in the starry night ~

 James Hill

Whatever feels right for your heart,

like it’s worth your time, pursue that,
work on that, love that, do that.

~ that, that you most desire ~

 49

Aren’t you a masterpiece though,

with all your flaws, your
blindingly imperfectly well
put. You're a hot mess. And you
keep watering those thoughts,
the few positive ones, and
everything will be alright.

~ a fight between the boy and Wankoko ~

 James Hill

It is as beautiful as it gets,
the beauty in just stepping
over into simple living.
Oh, the pleasures in simply
looking at a rising pink sunset
and listening to the sounds birds
make at around 7: 50 am on
a lazy cold hot Sunday.

~ pink sunset ~
 51

It was a cold hot Sunday

when I made my first trade
to get money to buy me
food for supper that day
and lunch the next day,
life never looked so bright
and so beautiful,
making me feel important
and all, trading and all,
but as money goes, I lost
myself in it, l loved it
way too much.

~ rich and lost ~

 James Hill

I still remember the color, texture

and design of the tiles we lay
on that night, still, I remember
the taste of your mouth from
when we first kissed.

~ playing darts ~
 53

Airplane mode and you're still

calling and texting me directly
to my heart.

~ style ~
 James Hill

With your expensive bottle of wine,

standing above me, asking me if you
would sit down beside me, at the cliff,

You had been making jokes earlier and l

had got mad at you, screaming that
I did not want to watch the waters flowing
through the lake with you anymore.

So you stood there, begging to sit down

with me, and that memory makes me smile
sweetly, into other dimensions.

~ l can love you ~

 55

Am the coffee that the buyer

bought and never touched,
so it turned cold, towards
all the other boys and men
because the one who claimed
to need and want coffee so much
when he was ordering for me at
the coffee shop did not actually
want me at all. And it’s tragic,
because my heart breaks at
the mere thought of it.

~ brown coffee beans ~

 James Hill

The delight one experiences

when they fall in love the
first time bewilders the mind.
It had many colors and many
eyes, the animal of love that
I encountered that night.

~ love ~
 57

The serenity there is in

being next to you makes
me whole.

~ Nanjuba Delia ~
 James Hill

A big evil force called Resistance

keeps eating part of my heart,
every time I try to wake up to
do something meaningful, it keeps
telling me to check how high up
my twitter analytics are every other second
in lieu of concentrating on the work put in front
of me.

It laughs at me every time l take

a while without a phone in my hands,
it laughs quite big and loudly, because
it knows am peaceful without all
the pain it brings, all the negative
thoughts and bad vibes it inserts in my
developing brain, yet I usually give It the way,
usually, l give in, usually l leave school
without having learned a single thing in
class, too tired over nothing to catch up later,
and so repeated modules here and there, unhappy parents,
usually, I let it take me even to the darkest of places,
depression, anxiety, hateful love, rushed romance with boys that l loath,
cigarettes that make me sick and long nights battling with the evil thoughts.

But that's not the end of me,

right?
no, there is a warrior within me, that has not given up
on the big picture of who lam yet, still fighting,
still writing shitty poetry, still going to the beach and trying to breathe there, still being
open-minded about most topics, still full of love like I've never been hurt, still letting out the
tears that want to come out, still calling mama
to say hello, still, still, trying to live a life of
purpose, a life full of wonder, and laughter.

~ still ~
 59

Do you know what it means having a gigantic

crazy mind in such a small round earth,
in a well rolled up perfect square society,
it’s tormenting as it is rewarding.

~ overwhelming thoughts ~
 James Hill

My heart is made of
stone and l will hit you
with this stone, if you
want to play around
with it.

Yes, l have
had enough of that,
people who do not know
the amount of energy,
it takes to have
one.

~ a heart of stone ~
 61

Young,
restless,
desperately
trying to create
a life l can call
my own.

~ the orchid, is producing flowers ~

 James Hill

Endless dreams of summer,

endless dreams about love,
endless dreams of flying like
a mockingbird because for
dreamers like me, what else do
l have but for daydreams, lucid
dreams and shit poetry,

~ nothing ~
 63

The bruises I got through

doing what I feared the most,
loitering around alleys in the dark,
battling with my thoughts,
darkening my lungs,
spoiling my liver,
are what l count when l
speak of my brevity.

~ drunk ~
 James Hill

Last Night, l had unprotected with you

The next day I was in a psychiatric hospital
Because l could not stop asking everyone if I
had AIDS or not!

A couple of months before the event, you had told me with

ocean eyes that your father was sick with AIDS, l had not
known what to say thereby simply crooning next to you,
and we had nothing much to say, so we had such a hot make out
session on my small hostel bed. Oh, Olympia.

So when we did it without a condom on that beautiful

night, with that beautiful music at your house, the next
morning I began to run mad, l began connecting the dots,
“his father finally died of AIDS in January, God!, he has
the AIDS too, and now that l had unprotected sex with him,
l have AIDS too!” It was not the thought about the AIDS
alone that was bothering me, I was also very worried that
l may be pregnant.

I was so worried what l would do with a child and AIDS at

my age that the neurons in my brain could not connect
anymore, hence finding myself in a psychiatric hospital.

This is not a poem about AIDS, this is not a poem about your
father having died of AIDS.

This a poem in honor of my father that passed on before

I could even recognize his face, he died of AIDS too,
this is a poem about what l should have told you when you
told me with Ocean eyes that your daddy was very sick with theAIDS,
this is a poem to say that l tested and l did not have the AIDS and the
doctors told me that if you did not come in me, then it’s impossible to
be pregnant, though l should not test fate again by having unprotected
sex.

This is a poem in honor of my mother that is living with

AIDS and is healthy as ever because she takes her
drugs religiously, this is a poem in honor of your
father who died of AIDS in January, this a poem to shout out
to all the parents of the past generations that took all the
necessary precautions to see that our generation could be born
AIDS-free, a poem to shout to everyone who has lost or is
living with anyone with AIDS and they love them no less,
a poem to plant a flower for all AIDS victims, this is a poem for you,
a poem to remind you to use a condom the next time you do it.
 65

My mother put herself on a cross to

send me off to university, but
sometimes it all gets so crazy,
and depressing and gloomy, that
l get wild,
l know it would break her heart if she saw me
this way, and so I keep hurting even
when am screaming on top of my lungs, calling
out to my friend to pour me another shot,
to pass me the blunt.

Tomorrow is Monday,
and today is Sunday, and am faded, too weak
to make it to Calculus class Monday.
Am sorry mom, but l care for what you care about
and besides these mishaps, l will do my best to
make you proud.

~ withered with love ~

 James Hill

She said to me,

my mom,

“never let any woman nor

man, make you feel like
they own you, because only
God can.”

~ feeling alright ~
 67

Somewhere in being 21, l went down to a little rock town called Kamwokya. I think it's a
certain thin tall Rastafarian that l immensely loved looking at for hours pretending to be
smoking weed( which is my best friend but that’s a story for another day, lol, am sorry
alcohol, but l love you too, lmfao, how did this story become yet another drug story, shaking
my head in disgust but smiling about it too).

Anyway, it's after my day internship job, the skies are a pretty shade of pink, in the most
beautiful way, so with all my frustrations of being frustrated, full of hunger for a change, full of
hunger for an adventure that night, l enter the smoke-filled room down in Rock town, feeling
like a queen. On entering the tiny smoke-filled room down in rock town, "netwebonga ko, na
mutima," with most of the people in the room, now, maybe it was my hunger for an adventure
that night that was hidden secretly inside the deepest parts of me, or it was just my good day
with the universe, l do not know, but somehow the only remaining seat around the table was
an inch off the bench next to this man, with white hair, white beards, a man in almost his
60's. The old man smiled at me and l could not help but smile back, he had an energy about
him, almost youthful, yet so wise! hello, hello, and a few other chuckled pleasantries, he
asked for my name, no, no, he went like "ah, uhm, my name is James, what's yours, l go like
"am Bridget," he goes like "what, you said Barbra' what?" over the other people talking so
loud about their business too, l shouted, "Am Bridget, James," and he goes like, “Oh, okay, l
get it, Bridget, nice to meet you, so what do you do Bridget?,” on giving him an answer to this
question, l go in strongly, clinging to being a student, because everyone at internship and
generally everyone else around me had made me more than anxious about the future after
school, how it’s mostly paying bills and intricacies like that, which had made me a bit sad,
you know, humans, we don't take facts and reality so well, at least l count as human, so
yeah, a student, 21-year-old next to a 60 something year old.

James asked me everything from which course i do at University to what makes my heart
truly happy(you can imagine the number of questions that covers the distance between
endpoint University to endpoint happiness) and l answered each one of them cheerfully
because it felt like bragging off of my youth to this 60-year-old man who had lost his youth to
time, but alas, this man right here gave me the story of my youth, the few things I remember
from all those hushed conversations over the disturbing noise of the other people in the
smoke-filled room are;

He said, “I have a daughter, going to university to do Development studies, uhm, she wanted
Journalism but she saw that everyone wanted that too, and she was like no dad, that is not
my kind of stuff, let me opt for something not everyone is running to, something that is not
too crowded,” and James, says he let her, follow her heart, and that i reminded him of that
daughter of hers.

l chuckled and laughed and almost cried for joy or rather shame, because, unlike his
beautiful daughter back home, l was here, in this tiny room, lusting over the thin dark
Rastafarian and not necessarily thinking about my lungs’, he went on to ask me where i see
myself, i was like in how long? and he goes like nuh nuh, you gotta think big, one year before
you finish University, so you gotta be clear of what you want, because when you stay
focused, nothing can go wrong, he told me about an interview for a job he got while he was a
 James Hill

very young man, full of energy, how he wowed everyone at the interview, the interviewers
had asked him what the full form for AIDS was, in their time, AIDS was still a new thing, but
he was a curious young man as he says, that always went around reading books and
newspapers on different subjects, so he had heard about this deadly disease and he gave
them a straight answer and a very good explanation, but the reason he told me this is that he
was not ready for this question, he is an engineer, so he had gone looking for an electrician
job in UMEME, and here they were asking for what AIDS was in full, but because he was
focused, he was not put off, he gathered his thoughts and gave it to them, as if he had
always known about it.

Anyway, he said he did not get the job, but they sent him a letter through the post office(he
mentions how in their time, there were no phones, and l laugh at this more than necessary.)
James goes ahead to tell me that l need to be smart, sharp and alert, that l always need to
identify myself to police and everything will go smoothly, and in cases of chaos, where
everyone is up and down, not breathing, that it’s better to always stay cool, calm and
collected, to breath and think first before taking any step around chaos, and for all my
frustrations, depression, and anxiety, this soothed my nerves.

About staying cool in chaotic situations, James's left hand had about just 2 fingers, the little
finger and the thumb, the rest were gone, and in a haze of thick white smoke, l had gained
back my youthful vibrancy, to ask him about his hand, l actually touched it and asked him,
"Hey James, what happened here?,” almost feeling pain while l asked, because it did not
look so good, James went on to tell me how the machines he works with within his
engineering career(he was into printing business, large scale) had eaten the rest of the
fingers and that l should not trust anyone, neither humans nor machines. l took this all in with
pure admiration, l made a joke i don't remember, it was about machines and James bellowed
out with laughter and choked on the smoke he was inhaling, somehow, I joined him and we
laughed together.

A few moments later, I told him where I saw myself, and I told him about an on school job at
a startup in programming that l had got and he was proud, as if he was my own blood, he
was like, “you stay focused on all of them, school, the job and the fun, you stay focused and
balance all the madness and no one will ever touch you, the world will be yours to take.”
James later asked if l was from the Buganda region or from the Western region and l told
him that whenever i tell people that lam from the Buganda kingdom, no one believes me, he
blew his nose for a while, and then said "haha, you know how shitty this small big world is
becoming," and am like how so? James goes ahead to tell me that you know, I got a wife,
she comes from the Buganda kingdom but everyone thinks she comes from the Bahima
kingdom, and he laughed a bit more and said "you do not need to conform to anyone's
thoughts or opinions or any culture or any way of life, just be you, God's creation," l was bit
dizzy because of being high off a good conversation and what this 60-year-old stranger who
had just made a friend with my heart had just said to me, at this point, my thoughts were
endless, my dopamine was high, and l was seeing life right in front of me, feeling alive with
all the Tinybitsofmadness inside my body, we talked more about the evils of this world, and
all it’s beautiful wonders, which when carefully searched for, can be found.
 69

He told me to take care of myself, that God should have mercy on a girl like me, and help me
with my struggles and while i stood up to leave, and “kwe bonga” with everyone else in the
room, he was the last man standing, “l wish l could stay forever and have this conversation
with you James, but no, this 21 year old blood is boiling and l gotta go put it to work” i said,
he gave me the biggest smile of my life, took my hand in his and told me that it was a
pleasure to have had that time of his life with me that night, I walked out of the small
smoke-filled room, feeling like a thousand bucks, wanting to cry of happiness, wanting to
shout for my deepest hunger for an adventure had been satisfied, my heart jumping up and
bouncing like a ball inside my true happy human form in that beautiful moment.

That night, I did not go back to my cheap tiny hostel room immediately, instead, l walked for
about 2 hours through the loud city, thinking to myself, how one can be so full, so happy, and
so in love with life and be willing and ready to die.

~ For James ~
 James Hill

It was a chilly Tuesday night walk through the city and somewhere on the sidewalk, l saw a
boda boda man trying to put his hands on a pregnant woman, l do not know what she had
done, but he was trying to beat her up and I had never in my life felt so capable of killing
someone, l shouted at him like “if u do not leave that woman alone, l will kill you,” my voice
was shaking but l know l meant it and maybe he felt that energy too because he got back on
his bike and drove off, leaving the woman alone.

~ For Justin ~
 71

I will be writing you

in all my poems.

~ lost on you ~
 James Hill

My anger of you leaving

made a fair ass poetess
out of me,

now that all that anger is

gone, who am l to rest my
love on!

~ moving on, in a flash ~

 73

In times of danger,
do not freeze,
it’s time to be a
woman,
time to be a g.

~ dear sister ~
 James Hill

A billion light-years away

and i will still crave
the way you cried while you
kissed me back, after l had
cried in your lap, begging
you to love me more,
begging you to make me feel
loved, begging you to
take away the pain of
lifting all this love
I had for you, all on
my own.

~ my candle is lighting away ~

 75

Red,
green,
Brown,
four legs,
Omo,
lighter,
Dust bin,
tap,
Sweater,
scorpion,
Nas,
that’s how
you make feel.

~ Like a madwoman ~
 James Hill

Computer people would rather write code

that writes code than write code and l
think am a computer person because school
has made me that way, and I hate it.

~ The machine people ~

 77

I hated my country
the time I wrote this,
for l heard of more
murders than inventions
for most of my young
youth and it hurt
to act like
everything was fine
when my parents
laughed with joy
at the top
of their lungs
at the good little
roads he had
put up.

~ the president ~
 James Hill

Who said you

cannot fly and
still be humble?

~ maggot brains ~
 79

I will love you so big

or not love you at all.

~ voices ~
 James Hill

My sister
was my
mother,
and l hope
l was hers,
we both had
two mothers,
our sweet
real mother,
and the mothers
born from our
bellies so
that we could
always help
each other.

~ when in need, l call my sister ~

 81

A margarita pizza with

a nice cold tusker lite,
charmed my taste buds,
but that gonja,
and African tea,
served on the streets
of Kamwokya will make
love to your taste buds,
in a way no books
could ever hold
all those pages of
passion.

~ gonja ~
 James Hill

I was listening to chemistry

by Arcade Fire, when
l got a silly little message
from you, something about
how you like my messed up hair,
and for me, in that moment,
agape, cherries, sweet bread, apples,
gonja, milk, and love,
in that stupid little moment,
you had defined for me the feeling of
a young love, you had defined for me
what makes of youth of unending
stories.

~ chemistry ~
 83

You made a fool

out of my innocence
and i still loved you
resiliently,
what a fool l
was.

~ Dead, dead young ~

 James Hill

Even when am high

I feel the lows,
of depression and
anxiety.

~ kind of blue ~
85
 James Hill

Listening to music
is where it’s at
for my soul.

~ big bad sound ~

 87

It was coming to twilight

and she glistened in
all that bright darkness,
with about a hundred
and three years on her
strong back, she told
me stories of strong
fancy women in Rwanda,
she told me of the heroes,
the chaos, and everything
about the Rwandan genocide
and my heart still
and will forever
shed a tear and say a
sweet prayer for everyone that
went down because
of that chaos.

~ conversations with my grandmother ~

 James Hill

The thing with computers is that you can make it do something stupid so easily but you can
also make it correct that error so easily, something that is totally different from the human
race.

~ one incident can change a lifetime ~

 89

Love opens you

up like a flower
that is starting to
bloom.

~ orchid ~
 James Hill

The way you said that

you were attracted to
me on that night in
July, l will never
forget it, even in
death.

~ love is short, forgetting is long ~

 91

I was blessed with love

to love you and I will
not waste any of it, not
loving you, l will be loving
you always.

~ time ~
 James Hill

If there is an issue,
don’t you think l
deserve better than
hearing it from a
strange person!

~ conversations with my sister ~

 93

He wrote me a note, the day after we had met, it read “Yeah, I did, Besides, I had a fun day.
Glad I met you,” and l do not how the joy that I got from that note never gave me my death. I
laid in wonder at the feeling of new fresh love for a new fresh person and my heart hurt in the
most beautiful way there could ever be.

~ strangers ~
 James Hill

The stars must have felt our

our fear, for somehow, from a dark
night out in the wild, where we
had got lost in the merry of
our youthful cherry pop love,
the sky grew a sensual rush of
beautiful little sparkly stars,
stars of different, countless
colorful and colorless beams
of light, shone out on us while
he led the way telling me
stories about his great soldier
grandfather, and l following
he blindingly like a true
Muganda would follow the Kabaka
Muwenda Mutebi, the great king,
I have never been so in love
even in a million lines of
code of time to come.

~ sparkle stars ~
 95

Paper,

stupid
paper
mixed
with
staples.

oh, a horrible
meal of the
lies that
depression and
anxiety feed
us is like
that made of
paper,

stupid paper
mixed with
staples.

say no to
paper stupid
paper mixed with
staples.

~ swim away, slowly ~

 James Hill

Internet boys
were dreamy,
she had
written down
in one of her
writing things,
she continued
to scribble
down another
far fetched thought
and wrote
“but the not
Internet boys,
were the dreaming
it’s self, those
dreams in which
you fly.”

~ love letters ~
 97

I do not remember
anything about you,
I remember everything
about you.

~ matrix ~
 James Hill

Imagine a world,
Where everyone
Is cared for,
even the
Mentally ill.

~ heaven ~
 99

You know, when I was younger, I used to admire the warmth that my mom gave to the
people she spoke with on the phone, so in my young mind, l was like ‘yo’, l can’t wait to
reach University and own a phone, like my big sister, and now am here, at University, with a
phone, making calls to my mother, so madly in love with the heart of that woman.

Lord, her warmth, it feels like soul train.

 James Hill

Breath in me ...deep,
that I might breath...and live,
and hold me close that I might sleep soft,
held by all that you give.

Come kiss me, wind,

and take my breathing till you and I are one,
and we will dance among the tombs
until all death is gone,
until no one knows that we exist,
except for the one who blew the breathing
that hides me safe from harm.

Come kiss me, wind,

and take my breathing till you and I are one,
and we will dance among the tombs
until all death is gone.

~ kiss me, wind ~

 101

Dear girl,
give your
self more
credit.

~ for that’s how you turn into a woman ~

 James Hill

A shot of whiskey,
I drink, every other
fading day,
every other broken
dream,
in celebration
of family and
true friends.

Am socked
in the love of
my mother, more
so the reason
for this book.

~ caps lock love ~

 103

I cannot hear your eyes

I cannot see your ears

~ sex with you ~

 James Hill

If l was a boy, l would never allow myself to be the one, making any girl or woman feel like
what they carry, what is growing in their golden bellies is a curse, or some kind of unwanted
thing, like something to be ashamed of.

~ because I cannot think of a more painful thing than to be made feel this way ~
 105

The way you jump off

the ground and twirl,
and dance seriously
to yours and my favorite
songs, makes me fall for
you in insane ways,
maths could never
bring these numbers to a total.

~ I fall for you infinitely ~

 James Hill

I want to grow up
I want to stay this
young.

~ on the edge ~
 107

Lying down in your bed,

you were wearing a t-shirt,
with the word ‘college’ scribbled
around the stomach area,
you were not breathing alright
and I wasn't breathing alright
either.

~ Kevin ~
 James Hill

The world is
crazy and we all know it’

yet,

we still
survive through
all the little
intricacies of
life’s
tinybitsofmadness,
and the worst
of cruelty.

~ and that’s how you know that you are a whole lot better than you think ~
 109

Nakuya spent
most
of her nights
with the clouds,
the dark blue
clouds always
performing the
most
beautiful
dances for her,
while she lay on
her back in shorts
and a blue striped T-shirt,
watching the sky with its
clouds dancing and it’s
stars shining,
on all those nights,
she praised the lord
for Topi.

~ Teopista Mbabazi Mugera ~

 James Hill

While most people throw away their pain or try to make it fade, writers and poets are
struggling to remember it all, to keep it in their pens that flow through unto paper, into books.

~ love yours ~
 111

I do not know if
it was the money
or the desire to
prove my existence
that l got into
it.

~ selling dope ~
 James Hill

Psalms 38: Prayer of Pardon.

} A psalm of David. For remembrance. {

Lord, punish me no more in your anger,

in your wrath do not chastise me!
Your arrows have sunk deep in me;
your hand has come down upon me.
My flesh is affiliated because of your anger;
my frame aches because of my sin.
My iniquities overwhelm me,
a burden beyond my strength.
Foul and festering are my sores
because of my folly.
My loins burn with fever;
my flesh is afflicted.
I am numb and utterly crushed;
I wail with anguish of heart.
My Lord, my deepest yearning is before you;
my groaning is not hidden from you.
My heart shudders, my strength forsakes me;
the very light of my eyes has failed.
Friends and companions shun my pain;
my neighbors stand far off.
Those who seek my life lay snares for me;
they seek my misfortune, they speak of ruin;
they plot treachery all the day.
But I am like the deaf, hearing nothing,
like the dumb, saying nothing,
Like someone who does not hear,
who has no answer ready.
LORD, l will wait for you;
O Lord, my God, answer me.
For l fear they will gloat,
exult over me if l stumble.
I am very near to falling;
my pain is with me always.
I acknowledge my guilt
and grieve over my sin.
But many are my foe without cause,
a multitude of enemies without reason,
Repaying me evil for good.
harassing me for pursuing good.
Forsake me not, O LORD;
my God, be not far from me!
Come quickly to help me,
My Lord and my salvation!
 113

Sade is playing in
the background,
while she takes a nap,
from all that brain work
she has been involved
in lately,
reading books on whatever
tickled her mind.

~ Mama Africa ~
 James Hill

Her laughter was always hearty,

she was incapable of laughing
any other way.

~ Olivia ~
 115

My room was
on the third floor,
dirty windows,
blue sky, with a few stars
indicating the coming
of the night king,
and that is when the clan
of mosquitoes would come to visit.
I hated that clan anyway,
7:30 pm found me in
tiny decorated cafes,
drinking lattes and hot chocolates
acting out my character of
a woman in Italy on my way to the cafes,
l listened to music from the Godfather movies
it felt really good to be a University student,
it felt so good to be so young and feel so happy,
liberated, a bit of freedom,
it felt so good to be alive in all those cafes.

~ Endiro Coffee ~
 James Hill

He was always standing up

in the hills, green all around him,
late in the night, while I watched
the blue silky skies,
through the windows of my cheap tiny room,
he would appear, shifting my focus from the beautiful skies,
l would watch him and l could tell
he lived for all those nights,
he stood there, always a book with him,
me watching him, him knowing that am watching him.

~ endless hours of Netflix ~

 117

If asked what
love is, i will
always mention
you.

~ James Hill ~
 James Hill

Girls fending off

their boyfriends
from kissing them
in public, people
mourning the loss
of their objects
by thieves, an empty
road at 3 am, reflections
of the entire city
through my windows.

~ Muhika hostel, 2018 ~

 119

The storyteller says

that the moment she
stopped waiting on
anyone to do big
things for her,
nothing was ever
the same.

~ Greta ~
 James Hill

Am not confused about

anything that involves
my heart honey.

~ not anymore ~
 121

She grew up on
Kampala streets,
chaos around her.
Yet still, she
survived.

~ street child ~
 James Hill

I think I'm ready to

let you in,

Together we are fire,

we can burn higher.

Please darling,
For tonight,

~ stay over ~
 123

You are both

the worst and
best I have
ever had.

And l do not
need any of it
anymore.

The
worst or the
best, you can
have it all
to yourself

~ tired from loving you ~

 James Hill

Spray paint
the stars,
so the
little ones,
can see you.

~ Dear lord ~
 125

He was the kind

that you wanted
to spend endless
hours with.

~ Okucu Tyan ~
 James Hill

Hours go by
and l go by
too.

~ evolution ~
 127

Smoking cigarettes
at concerts but
getting high off
the music.

~ choose music ~
 James Hill

I guess Sundays
for her, were for
reading books
in detail, while
listening to music,
watching the
bright little yellow
flickering lights reflecting
off the suncatcher
that Cleo Delia, the
goddess had given to her.

~ Nanjuba Delia ~
 129

Meditation is a form of prayer

And prayer is a form of meditation.

~ meditate to pray ~
 James Hill

Black man,
Black suit,
Black shoes,
Black city,
Black soul.

The man l
met in the
black nightfall
was blue.

~ oceanic ~
 131

Life hit
me in the
guts.
I was just
too young
for anyone
to believe
l could have
such problems.
And so, l turned
to drugs, drugs
didn’t ask me
any questions.
They just kinda
helped take the
pain away.
And for someone
who doesn’t ask
why, it was a done
deal for me
and the drugs.
Only problem
is that drugs kill
and l would
rather a good
death given
from wherever
that is,
not me, killing
myself,
no way it’s
gonna be
these pain
erasers or
temporary
happiness
Givers.

~ am better off ~
 James Hill

Call me, l will come

Tell me, l will listen
Teach me, I will learn.

Am not a boy but

I also know that am
not a man yet.

The truth is l do not

Know what lam,
the reality is
I do not know
what to think
that lam.

I want to think
of you and me
as me.

~ lost, on you ~
 133

It leaves the tap

and travels fast
to the yellow
medium-sized
bucket that
he used to
vomit, the
water, the vomit
of sickness.

And it hurts
knowing
that your sick,
for the love we
share makes sure
that l cannot breath
knowing the pain
you must be enduring
to be sick.

Get well soon.

 James Hill

I breathe so
much better
without you
here.

You almost
broke me into
two but alas.

~ cigarettes, bye ~
 135

Scooping me up in your protective arms just like you were Rhett Butler carrying Scarlett
O’Hara in Gone with the wind.
It felt like I could never not love you with such intensity. But that is all yesterday for it was
nothing but lust baby.

~ cigarettes after sex ~

 James Hill

It’s blurry trying

to quit them,
but my body
feels better
without them,
so I guess
I will try harder,
it’s love that
I would want to
kill me, not these
lung spoilers.

~ flushing cigarettes down the loo ~

 137

She was no poet,

but whatever she said,
sounded like a song.

A soft voice resounded

in my head, like a choir,
it kept singing a love song.

A voice so tender,
A voice so warm,
A story to tell for
ever,
feelings from hips,
and emotion in the
words she said.

I can’t look away,

I need to keep you for
ever.

~ Anyango Eunice ~
 James Hill

I feel constantly overwhelmed by

my thoughts and that’s why I write.

~ passage to relief ~
 139

With you,
it’s the rage of
the titans and
the calm of the gods.

~ Muhereza Liberty ~
 James Hill

For you, a thousand times over,

my heart is tugged over you,
and it’s color and sound everywhere
now in my head.

~ Navugga Martha Ann ~

 141

I quit my first job

to put more effort
and time into
writing this
masterpiece of
shit,

But mostly to write more.

~ deflated ~
 James Hill

I imagined the
beauty of a
true friend,
like that of
a mother
and i cried.

~ dear mother ~
 143

It’s crazy
and
flowers,
the world
in my head.

~ kids on drugs ~
 James Hill

Pass me
a shot of
whiskey baby,
and l will
pass you a
blunt of this
young
juvenile
heart.
Let’s kiss
at bars
into love.

~ young juvenile heart ~

 145

The next time you ask,

I promise to dance for you,
with you.

~ last dance ~
 James Hill

Boyfriend jeans,
multi-colored t-shirt,
thin waist,
J Cole on shuffle,
with dreams on the
verge of life and death.

~ the girl was stone ~

 147

It is like a tendency for inertia.

At the moments you most need
to go, you find yourself crippled
and terrified. Trapped.

~ anxiety ~
 James Hill

I did not mean

to make you cry,
I didn't mean to
tell you lies.

~ will you ever forgive me ~

 149

I will remember
to look up at
the stars, and
not my feet.

I will try to
make sense of
what l see, and
wonder what
makes the universe
exist.

I will be curious sir,

all my youth, all my
life.

~ good night king of physics ~

 James Hill

You were offline,

when my heart,
got an attack,
requiring,
a text connection,
to your love.

~ moonlight ~
 151

You were
my first
love and
I loved it.

~ Seraphina ~
 James Hill

You are so perfect,

look at all your
flaws, damn,
how l love all,
your imperfections.

~ imperfectly perfect ~
 153

A broken girl,
full of broken
dreams,
put down
the cigarette.

~ quit ~
 James Hill

Ask a person that smokes

to tell you about the dangers,
of smoking and then you will
understand that in this big
cruel thing called life, something
can be dangerously bad for
you, and you still love it
to your grave anyways.

~ time kills ~
 155

When am with you,

am sure i can fly,
l just choose to stay
down kissing,
with you.

~ the power of choice ~

 James Hill

The real scandal is that,

most people want to be loved
and not to be owned,
yet the same people want to love
and to own at the same time.
Yet, in this world, no one owns
nothing but the creator himself.

~ round balls ~
 157

Walking back from

the village market,
with socks in my
backpack,

and the only thing

I can think about
is how well your
feet looked in your
blueberry socks,

isn’t it absurd that

such a simple activity
reminds me of you!

~ blueberry socks ~
 James Hill

They lay down,

with the lights,
down low, she told
him that she was
tired of poets that
wrote about unreal
stuff.

That night, he
wrote her a poem,
the poem was about
a blind boy.

A blind boy that fell

in love with the girl
at first sight.

~ Blind Man’s Society ~

 159

The way you found me

and chose me and
decided to love me
the way that you do
moves me to tears.

~ kind of crazy ~
 James Hill

Demons chase after me,

but there is an angel l met
within me and trust I've
got nothing to do with
demons no more,
so l run faster forward.

~ move on ~
 161

Always on the right side,

Always on the left brain.

~ levity ~
 James Hill

Statistics of the game

of darts on yellow stickers
on my wall.

~ Biko, Bridget, Neil ~

 163

such things as mathematics give me a headache but excite me as well.

{ f(t) = -(t^2) + 6t – 11 = -(x^2) + 6x -11 }

~ complexion of you ~
 James Hill

Pain as deep as
stone, pull it out,
of my heart,
pull out my heart.

~ bleeding ~
 165

Even if it makes me blind,

I just wanna see the light.

~ in my room, praying ~
 James Hill

Be honest in
everything
you do, keep
dancing and
learn that time
is always here,
now is the time.

} there is no time {
 167

Hey,
in case your reading this,
I want you to know I miss you,
and l hate that we are never
going to listen to music off the
same phone, with the same
earphones, or hold hands,
kiss in public places just
for the sake of being annoying,
or ever get to do all
the stupid little things
that we planned.

But all in all,

I wish the best
for you, and that all your
dreams come true.

~ Dear first love ~

 James Hill

Independence.

At the break of 4 am, the society flag of expectations was lowered,

And the new flag of independence of hers, of faith, hope, and love
was hoisted in its place.

Illuminated in the floodlight’s intense light,

Nakuya who was Rwandan because her mother was Rwandan,
Nakuya who was a Muganda because her father was a Muganda,
Danced to Nina Simone’s “I put a spell on you” in her white subtle
lighted room.
Some of her colleagues said that this made her so western cultured,
the music that she danced to.

The turgid and bitter acrid taste of madness, of depression, anxiety

and psychotic breakdowns, all went through the door, on the hour of
her independence, at 4 am.

Any woman that lets go of her mistakes, her tears, her fears, her false
imaginations has the most special of resolve, miss independent,
once again, earns her sobriquet.

Dearer than love, faster than time, sweeter than joy,

her black hair combed backward and plaited in two long, loose braids,
she stands judged, she walks looked at by many eyes!

“Why is she so different from the rest of her fellow girls?” they ask,
And she walks with her head more poised because only her knows
that the flags changed at 4 am, that she is an independent man now!

Not a Munyarwanda, Not a Muganda, Not a Western cultured black

girl, but a citizen of the world, the World of Socrates, A citizen of
the divine, a great world of women and men that have found the
gold inside their hearts, the world of great men and women that
know of Martin Luther King’s words, the great world of men and women
that awake each morning and choose to be different, Seth Godin’s purple cows,
the stone that the builders rejected, the cornerstone, independent.

4 am, one hour of madness,

To be absolved from previous ties and conventions,
l from mine,
and you from yours!
Happy independence.
169
 James Hill

Part || The truth.

The truth about my University Experience, trying to digest the hidden truth and put into
context the poems in Part 1, kinda laying myself down, putting my hair down, cutting my hair
off.

Are you patient enough to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear?
Lao Tzu, Chinese Philosopher.

{
 171

The crackle in your voice...

Did we lose our way?

Or rather, did l lose my way,
because it feels that way.

A while ago,
I was walking and a big black gate
closed up in front of me,
it seemed to close out most of what l loved to do,
for l do not seem to be interested in nothing no more,
the hallway with the scratched marks from decades ago,
is endless into blackness, flashbacks of my ashtray that l
left in my favorite hostel room, life seems over,
l go to sleep and the dreams of the past won’t end
until the sun comes up, did l do wrong to change
or did l change for the worst?
because nothing works anymore,
even the tears, they are hot under my tired eyes,
flowing unto my now fat cheeks.

Gone are the days when l was skinnier,

days when l dreamt of beaches and the sun,
biking solo, psychedelic music, it’s all visuals and jukebox music,
my waking up in the morning is harder.
The phone rings and it’s you on the other side of it,
the crackle in your voice wakes me from the hypnopompic state,
you say that it’s been long since we last talked,
you don’t sound like you miss me,
it looks like an ostentatious call,
but maybe that’s the depression talking,
it has turned me against everyone l used to know,
when did l last see the moon?
when did l last see you?
I used to love it when you called me,
not anymore,
but that does not mean that l do not go crazy
without hearing from you in so long.
 James Hill

My first job.

It is not so late in the morning or so late in the morning, the music in my earphones is right,
very right actually, the table am seated around has the rest of the clinicpesa team at work
busy doing stuff on their computers, it’s at a job l got through my internship, where l got
retained as a front end developer, a platform to help the uninsured save for health,
Clinicpesa. I would not say l love to work so much instead of hanging out with my friends at
university or in our beautifully decorated rooms, having a good time, you know!
But with this opportunity to work in a group, to know how to code better, to know how to
wake up a bit earlier than usual, to work on something that has an impact on an awful lot of
people, it’s a tremendous feeling, just as it is Nagging.’
I am a final year software engineering student at Makerere University, and l can easily say
that my internship, where l ended up being retained has given me a profound education than
that l got through the last 3 years at University.
But that is not all bro, I have to be at work by 8 in the morning, so l wake up a bit earlier than
l used to while with a normal class schedule, and after 4 or 5 hours of work(glad this place of
work understood that l still had school and let me make it part of work), so after 4 or 5 hours
of work, am off to school to attend evening lectures, to try and catch with whatever is going
on.
And after 9 pm, l head back to my hostel room, with missed calls and text messages that l
haven’t seen or heard, and boom, a group of friends who want to get drunk or get high, and
of course this has to go down because you know,

“Life stops. And it can stop at any moment.”

|| Paul Auster, The invention Of Solitude ||

so basically, there is a lot on my plate, l have a constant nagging feeling that l do not need
money at all, which l have grown to understand and love as a lifestyle, money is indeed evil,
and am happy to have nothing to do with it, and all this luggage in form of a job opportunity
in an area of my course of education and a special passion in computers and coding, it all
seems like a big quick money-making scheme for me, like am running too fast than l should
be, like am about to do more than l should be doing, but i know the root of all these thoughts
is because of a deep-rooted lazy bone within me that l myself cannot manage to trace.
Amidst all this frustration, depression and anxiety, I am not myself but l know deep down that
l love to write, tell me to leave a calculus class to come write you a poem or something of the
sort and you have totally figured me out.
The same thing goes with understanding code, writing code, changing code, fixing errors,
dancing around my computer thinking of a way of making that JavaScript snippet of code
work or playing around with data using mongo, all of it, it makes me feel alive.
But the big question is’, how do l pass all my modules without any retakes (because you
know, it’s not my money yet, it’s from my lovely parents, and so l gotta make it in the
academic world, l actually love to learn, a lot, but school just gets too much sometimes, you
know,) so how do l balance school, a job that l actually love and is giving me literal skills that
school cannot give me even if it wanted to, and also have time to write a book and look for
publishers and also make myself known to most of my possible readers of the book, l pray
lam able to get published in the near future, it’s crazy, because l haven’t even mentioned the
 173

constant sentimentality for the past, about hanging out with my friends, my constantly moody
and depressed boyfriend, traveling or just the ability to have a day with the beach and
myself, it’s all bogged down in my brain and because am thinking like Sherlock about nothing
and everything, how, how, how do l handle all this that is on my plate?
I break down, l cry like a child, l tremble, l shake, l get taken to the hospital by my mother
and what everyone is thinking is that am not eating enough food, the male doctor also has
his thoughts on my situation “oh, girl, do you have a boyfriend? He asks, and before l can
answer, he goes ahead “you gotta talk to your boyfriend, he must be making you sick with
thoughts,” this is partly true but this very intelligent man forgets that some girls have a whole
bunch of dreams and shit they want to achieve that takes such a toll on them besides
thinking about or having so many thoughts about the boys they are with, it’s insane, l thought
that a man like him would know, but alas.
Anyway, l was checked and the bacteria that causes ulcers was non-existent, and this test
happened because to everyone, my extreme anxiety and depression was ulcers, not eating
enough, my mom even ordered for the doctor to check my blood for Aids, for l looked too
thin.’
Needless to say, neither the HIV virus nor the Helicobacter pylori was found. H. pylori is a
type of bacteria. These germs can enter your body and live in your digestive tract. After
many years, they can cause sores, called ulcers, in the lining of your stomach or the upper
part of your small intestine. For some people, an infection can lead to stomach cancer.
“At this point, I was ready and willing to die of frustration, my hands were swollen from
piercings of needles and whatever l ate tasted like blood because l hate injections.”
The only thing am proud of doing during this period was not going to work or to school or to
my boyfriend or anyone for a solid three days, I lay in my narrow bed in my single room at
Muhika hostel in Kikoni and cried to my pillow, l played very loud music it almost blew my
head to pieces, l ate fruits extravagantly, l tried not to smoke so many joints because in my
head, I thought l was finally catching the cancer from smoking all those sportsman and dun
hill cigarettes for the last three years. I cried to God about all my sorrows, i prayed, l did
everything automatically as my heart ached, along with my muscles and bones.
Somehow, on the fourth day, when l felt refreshed and a bit in control of my thoughts, l went
to work, with a smile on my face, a genuine smile, because l knew deep inside my heart, that
no one had called me or forced me to show up, it’s me who had come knocking on this door
for a job, well knowing that by the time l finish my final year at University, this job would have
shaped me into the developer and software engineer that l had always dreamed of.
And within all this chaos of trying to do what’s right by me, however much hard it seemed to
be, my senses were alright, almost laser-sharp, l could hear the sound of car tyres whenever
l was walking to work in the morning, l could sense that the words in my head required to be
put down on paper, a very nauseating feeling, for you know what you want to write down, but
somehow, time isn’t on your side, and you would rather call and text your boyfriend
obsessively begging him to stop ignoring you instead of at least putting down a line or two.
I think am coming to a conclusion that most young women and men do not know exactly
what they want, for once you find this out, l do not think any kind of depression, anxiety or
emotional issues can tear you down, we need to keep digging deep within ourselves to find
that, that we truly desire and want.
 James Hill

J Cole was right when he said:

“I understand this message is not the coolest to say but if you down to try it, l know a better
way, Meditate.”
|| Friends, KOD. ||

A breakthrough always comes if you care enough to be patient and go through the
heartbreaking shit with a not complaining attitude but with a grateful heart’ attitude, because
if you come to think of it, life is all we have and our only job is to live it, to live each day with a
full heart that contains love for everyone, with a zeal to become better than yourself from
yesterday, because l was like l don’t care what happens, lam young, and l have both the
brainpower and physical energy, so l worked for four hours straight at work, and spent about
2 hours of my day which was usually at night after classes to write my poetry and other
material, anything that felt like it had to be written, l wrote, l woke up in the morning to run, l
made more phone calls with my mother, l committed to my evening classes at university and
contributed to my class’s group work with full force like l was so interested in school work.
This only went on for about a week, ‘me pushing myself through hell to do what l really
wanted to do’ and it was a Saturday morning, after l had blacked out from a heavy night out
with friends when l woke up and thought about how much programming or writing code
connected with writing. I thought to myself “girl, you use the same computer to write poetry,
to write code for work, what harm is there to think about writing code the same way you think
about writing poetry!”

But damn, how can a brain that is my own begin to make code comparisons with a beautiful
sanctifying activity like writing poetry, huh!
I was really mad at myself and my senseless brain, so l even started to hate coding with an
immense hatred, hate that puts my whole being to shame, for how can l be this naive and
close-minded to hate the things that l love just to prove to myself that l can live without
money or that l still have my parents to cater for me, so as l can stay around my cheap
hostel room hanging out the whole day with friends.
This hatred did not last long though, as the CEO at the startup, Mr. Chrispinus Onyancha
pushed me in the most unforgettable way to finish the project he had assigned to me, l
started off with, ‘i cannot do this project in just these few days your giving me,” “am not the
best developer there is, why don’t these people just hire someone else and leave me alone,”
“fuck, l wish l was with my friends instead of wasting my time writing stuff l do not understand
fully,” the list of excuses l had at this particular moment go deep as the sea, not even a book
of records could handle to pen down all the pages.
All this negativity was only in the mind though, not in the physical(one reason why l have
learned to drink so much water, walk all my journeys to my hostel, my workplace and to the
University, to eat fruits extravagantly, to care for my body) because with the help of my body
and it’s energy, I kept coming into work, l learned every small detail of Angular JavaScript,
MEAN stack, Mongo DB, and finally handed the CEO what he had wanted me to give him
after a week or so, besides all the emotional clutter and a constellation of questions that
were wounding my mind with a lot of negativity and bad energy.
 175

This project that he had wanted me to give him, had been given to me at the start of my
internship which took about 3 months(1st July- 19th August 2018) and l had failed to deliver
the end product because l believed coding was not for me and that l was a very slow person,
but within a week of pain, within just one week of thinking straight about my core values, just
one week of letting myself feel all the thoughts that were coming to me, just a week of
listening to my mom about working hard for whatever l wanted, and her asking me questions
like, if you cannot give someone your time at a job and full commitment, then how are you
going to handle stuff or business that is your own, huh!
I came to a realization that l had been waiting on someone to come save me, for someone to
come do my very hard modules for me, for group members at University to do all the
assignments for me(as if they were not humans like me that were most probably going
through harder stuff than l might have had at a time, but since you know, everyone only
wants to think of themselves and am ashamed for having thought that l had better dreams or
thoughts or problems than my friends, hence leaving the entire load of assignments to them
under the pretext of being too busy at work or some other lame excuses) for someone to
come and help me start my career, for someone to come and help me be flexible and
productive at work, and all this waiting had not yielded a single thing for me but endless
depression, maddening anxiety and a lot of injections and all.
Everything is possible if you truly want to achieve it, and l like to dwell on my few little
experiences and this powerful quote from the book alchemist by Paulo Coelho that goes
“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”
Shit, it was crazy coming to terms that l loved writing poetry and that I had also signed up for
my engineering course after doing Physics, Mathematics, and Economics at A-levels
because l had been fascinated by the world of computers and an immense desire to
understand how they work and how l could manipulate them to create stuff, all the stuff it
could do, and yet here l was with the greatest opportunity in my hands, which was the ability
in this moment, to write poetry, write code and go to school at the same time with ease, at a
young age while still at University, yet somehow, a big evil force, called Resistance and all
the troubles that come with youth were tagging me down, making feel less powerful and less
imaginative, instead more lazy and nonchalant’.
Fortunately, with a bit of solitude from the chaos of the world and help from the ones l
thought hated me for giving me opportunities, I beat the evil force.
It is not so late in the morning or so late in the morning, the music in my earphones is right,
very right actually, the table am seated around has the rest of the clinicpesa team at work
busy doing stuff on their computers, and am writing this article, yesterday night, l wrote the
one hundred and sixteenth page to my poetry book that l hope to publish by the end of the
year 2018, l have a meeting with my group members at school at 5 pm that am excited about
and I got introduced to the source code for the tech startup Clinicpesa, ready to learn, write
and change for the better.
 James Hill

One incident can change a lifetime.

Quitting school was the hardest thing l ever did in my entire life, I thought about it for months,
until my head would start to ache. And this was all because it seemed like I was going to hurt
everyone else’s expectations of me, or waste away all the money that had been injected in
me for a whole four years.

I kept searching on the Internet about successful school dropouts, and it left me exasperated
because most of the examples that l got where like face book's Mark Zuckerberg, Microsoft’s
Bill Gates, Apple’s Steve Jobs, who all left because they had something on their hands or
enough knowledge for them to build something.

I on the other side, had nothing on my hands, nothing on my brain, nothing far off to work on,
but a fantasy, a dream, a virtual reality, a hobby, a childlike liking - to read, to watch movies,
to become a writer! It all seemed stupid but I swear it that l would have killed myself if l went
ahead with school.

The Citalopram, the benzhexol, the Risperidone, it made me bloated, it made me uneasy,
and l get why Bradley Cooper was resistant to take his medication in the Silver Linings
Playbook, l still remember the day, about three months back when l decided l would control
the illusions, the nightmares, and precipitous sadnesses all on my own strength and mind,
without the medication, about the same time, l decided to begin educating myself through
reading everything l could get my hands on whatever information l got or through watching
stuff without the lie ‘that school was educating me’ clouding my judgment, even though l kept
going to school, because l was scared of actually stopping to go, l did not know what do with
myself if did not go to school.

Imagine that, going, doing, studying, not because l was gaining more knowledge, but
because l did not know what to do with myself if l did not go, and it hurt, it hurt like hell, it
burnt my heart out waking up to go to a system that was no longer giving anything to my
mind but because l had to go according to some social norms or whatever everyone had
made me believe up to this point, and am not saying school is not important, but what if you
realize it’s no longer feeding your mind and growth in any way any more, what if you realize
that doing the course your doing makes you want to end one’s life, what if you realize that
you may be destined to do something else with your life but do know what because
apparently you have to keep going to this thing called school and so you don’t even have
time to figure out what you actually want to do with your life?

One great person said, “i do not let education get in the way of my learning,” so guess who
talks shit about school from noon to evening, but still goes, now and then, time to time, day
by day, and still writes the crap out of her head, me! and depression can go to hell, because
there is still many lives unlived, the lives that we may never get to live and it’s only fair, to try
out this one as best as l can. Hurray!
 177

Death of the moon.

This is how the word die is described in the American Heritage Dictionary
that my friend gave to me to use temporarily,

"die: died, dying, dies.

1. To cease living; expire.
2. To cease existing, esp by degrees; fade: The sunlight died in the west.
3. To lose vitality, activity, or force; subside: The winds died down.
4. To cease existing completely: tribal customs that died out centuries ago.
5. To experience an agony or suffering suggestive of that of death: nearly died of
embarrassment.
6. Informal. To desire greatly: lam dying to go.
7. To cease operation; stop: The motor suddenly died."

It's rather ghostly, the weather this month, and it has made me rather dismal, pushing me to
the limits of my thoughts, towards the dark side of the thoughts, thinking endlessly about
Death. For a while now, l have been debarred from the city's gaiety, the university hostel's
gaiety and the gaiety of being around my friends. That's months, ever since my sister pulled
me away from my hostel room back to her house, which is about four miles from the
university, same miles away from town and about 5 miles from where I used to stay, have
parties, and spend smoke-filled, music-filled evenings and nights with my friends.
All that is gone, as l have lost touch, l have lost my Id to guarantee me entrance into the halls
and hostels where some of my friends stay, and l have lost my phone to make any calls or
stay connected to anyone I used to know when it was electric, I have tried to pretend that
being in a big house with my sister and my mother and my brother is all l need, day after day,
this illusion gets to me, and am suffocated, am tired, I desire green fields, l desire to sleep
out under the stars, l desire to ride a bike across the country, I desire to be free of this
routine, of this death, of this boredom, of this kind of prison.

I sleep until it's noon, until the sun is out, until my endless dreams have taken a break, these
days, there is nothing that pushes me to wake up, nothing that marks a new day, nothing to
look up to when l go to sleep the day before, besides to eat, that is making me fat, making
me different from who I used to be, different from the body l was used to and loved, and for
once in my life, for once in 22 years, I am face to face of how one's life can go by without a
single strain of will or energy to do anything about it, I am face to face of how boundless
amounts of skin pile up unto someone's stomach area, unto your lower body, unto your face,
changing your entire countenance, until you cannot recognize yourself but continuously keep
eating and eating because the food is available, because you cannot stop eating out your
feelings, because you have someone to provide, because those who love you, those close to
you say you look healthy instead of telling you the truth of the un recognizable shape that
your becoming. And every time am frustrated, I think that if I was out on the streets, or out in
the forest, without all this food, without all this pretext of protection, then where would food,
enough to make me fat, protection, enough, to stop me from going out to do something,
anything with my life at 22, instead of sitting here, constantly thinking about death, using
these cars to go to school, a place that has lost meaning to me, but I still have to go to,
 James Hill

because why? I do not know but what l know is that with all this food, with all this school
stuff, with a big rented house over my head, my life is stopping, am ceasing to exist.
I suffer whenever they say, "you have someone to buy you food, to feed you, you have a
good bed to sleep in, you have someone to pay your fees, yet you stay angry and hating
school,” because honestly, l wish I never had all these things, I wish I had no food to eat, I
wish l had nowhere to sleep but in trenches and in forest grass, I wish I did not have to go to
school just for the sake of going, I wish l was as poor as my heart and soul and mind feel
inside. But with this facade of being okay, this facade of being the normal human being, this
facade of being safe if you sleep in a bed under a nice house, this facade that you are stupid
and cannot become anything if you do not graduate from University, this facade of full
stomachs, this facade of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, this facade of sweets, of cakes, of
ice cream, I wish never had a single sou in my life to afford any of these fancy words,
excuses to eat more and more. I've had it all and am disgusted, I desire now to go and feed
on grass, and feed on leaves alone, survive on water from the rivers, and sleep on grass, in
bushes, away from this idea of warmth and security provided by houses, when all l need is
warmth of the heart, warmth of the soul, warmth of the mind. Away from this idea of fast
transportation to everywhere in fancy cars or public transportation, when all l need is the
workings of my body, the workings of my feet and muscles when l take long distances from
one point to another, yet somehow this human behavior of turning everything into a
competition, they have made all movements lead to somewhere, they have made
instruments to fasten our movements, to reckon who reaches first, and who reaches last,
they have made our bodies die, slowly and slowly giving up our freedom of movement to
comfortable seats in cars, motorbikes, and bicycles. Call It death of the privileged.
Under the pretext of well being, my mind is clogged with death, all operations stopped
decades ago, and am dying to go away, far away from myself, far away from comfort, far
away from security, far away from this ending of life, for my shine has faded, night and day
are similar, the moon is dying, and no one notices because it's still in the sky, where it's
always been, because it's inside a house, because it's being fed. And as death goes, The
death of the moon arrives unexpectedly, and might bring sorrow, but was it not always in the
plan of life itself, that life must come to an end, that life stops at one point, that the moon dies
at night, to let a new day to evolve.
 179

Mental Health For Us.

One day, when l cut my hair off, l was running up the stairs of campus, like an 18 year old,
free, when a certain man, who l found out later, was 39 years, greeted me with a smile, l
replied to his greeting with the same cheerful smile, and continued on my way up, after a few
minutes, l came back down because who l was looking for was not in their office, and on my
way down, the 39 year old man was right where l left him, and this time around, he asked if
he could talk to me, I said no problem, thinking he needed a certain office around faculty and
maybe needed help with directions, which I found out to be true when he began talking to
me, as he said, am a master’s student, pursuing a masters degree in Public Health, an
institution that was out of the main campus, so he was not familiar with the workings of the
main campus, the lecturer he needed to talk to had been my lecturer when l was a freshman,
a phenomenal woman, Mrs. Nabukenya Josephine, with the energy of a lioness, I like to
think that her classes have an energy similar to Viola Davis’s in How To Get Away With
Murder, she really made an impression on me when she taught me Systems Administration
as a freshman at Makerere University, so when Jimmy, my new stranger friend mentioned
the name of the lecturer he wanted to meet, I remembered her voice roaring in back in 2016,
l remembered her graceful walk as she entered class at 11 am, how everyone’s bones got
so icy chill knowing we were about to go into a hot seat with her, for her classes were not like
any classes around University, nope, hers were for interacting directly with her,
presentations, speaking up, she is my favorite teacher for all my years at Makerere
University, even though she did not go down so well other student’s throats, and so l was
able to direct him, l actually offered to take him to the office, we did not find Mrs. Nabukenya
there, so we had to take the steps back down to where we came from together.

He offers to give me a ride as we were heading to the same direction, we had talked for a
while about what l do, what he does, and he was surprised at how young l looked to be at
university, in my final year, and l simply smiled and said nothing on the subject, he seemed
harmless, and l was enjoying talking to him, he knew so many software engineering firms,
that l hoped he would connect me to or something like that, so l said yes to the ride, and so
we were off, as we went further to our destination, this 39 year old man who thought l looked
so young was saying that he needed me to be in his arms, that l should not worry about the
other educational stuff, that he’d still help me with that, that we’d still be friends, but he
needed to know me more, that we were going to go to a hide out place and l would give him
only two hours to know me better, at 22, all this while, as this 39 year old man said all these
things, l kept thinking he wanted us to talk more about our different but a bit similar paths of
life and education, he kept going on and on about how as a man into public health, I
shouldn’t worry about protection, that he would protect himself well, and that’s when it hit my
mind, this 39 year old man wanted two hours away in a hidden place, perhaps a lodging, to
have sex for about two hours, with a so called young girl, who looked 18, who he had just
met on that day, in pretext of talking about education, this broke me, all my integrity cells
were crashed, my heart went out to young girls of 17, 18, 19, whose will is not yet strong,
whose minds can easily be persuaded by such vile men and as Charles Darwin once wrote
on thought “Is insanity an unhealthy vividness of thought?,” as he had noted earlier in his
notes that “vivid thought” could not be dismissed even by the strongest will. Because as l
 James Hill

keep remembering this man driving further, begging me to sit on his lap at least, to give him
just two hours of my time and then l would be home safe and good, I feel insane, I feel like
no amount of education can ever teach me how to think about men of this kind of character, l
feel like l cannot go on in life when l know other girls go through this kind of obnoxious
behavior and they just pretend like everything is okay, like society is okay, and l feel like l
cannot go on, the thought keeps coming back vividly, and in place of calculus and simple
mathematics, the dynamics of my mind are far gone, am insane and l cannot lay low in
education, I need to make noise of the things that are making me insane, things that might
be making many other girls insane, and with or without a degree, l choose to speak up, I
choose to control the chains of insanity that are doing tricks on my head. Hell, “Pain and
Disease in the world, and yet they talk of perfection” - Charles Darwin.

This whole situation reminds of something l read in the book “The Courage to Heal” a guide
for women survivors of Child Sexual Abuse, by Ellen Bass and Laura Davis. The piece of
writing made me close the book for a moment and cry for so many days before l could begin
reading the book again.

It’s a confession by one of the survivors of child sexual abuse in form of a poem as the book
is a collection of different confessions from the different survivors with an intention of
empowering survivors from breaking the silence to sharing recovery.

The piece is as follows;

What My Father Told Me

by Dorianne Laux

Always l have done what was asked,

melmac dishes stacked on rag towels,
the slack of a vacuum cleaner cord
wound around my hand,
laundry hung from a line.
There is much to do always, and l do it.
The iron resting in its frame, hot in the
shallow pan of summer as the basins of his
hands push the book l am reading aside.
I do as l am told, his pennis like the garden
hose, in this bedroom, in that bathroom, over
the toilet or my bear stomach. I do as the chores,
pull weeds out back, finger stinkbug husks, snail
carcasses, pile dead grass in black bags.
At night his feet are safe on their pads, light
on the wall to wall as he takes the hallway
to my room.
His voice, the hiss of lawn sprinklers, wet hush
of sweat in his hollows, the mucus still damp
in the corner of my eyes as l wake.
 181

Summer ended. Schoolwork didn’t suit me.

My fingers unaccustomed to the slimness
of a pen, the delicate touch it takes
to uncoil the mind.
History. A dateline pinned to the wall.
Beneath each president’s face, a quotation.
Pictures of buffalo and wheat fields, a
wagon train circled for the night, my hand
raised to ask the question
Where did the children sleep?

...

I finally convinced the man that l was not interested in being in his arms that afternoon or
having a great experience of having each other as he described it, and he let me out of his
car. Wanting to vomit all over the world, wanting to vomit all over men, wanting to vomit all
over my feelings, l walked home miserably, and this is one of the incidents on top of many
others that showed me that it was not through education that l was going to get most of the
answers that were growing up in my mind day by day, my sanity was running dry, and l could
not even talk to anyone, l couldn't even tell someone that even in my final year of a four
bachelors degree in Software Engineering, l was not getting any value that could help me try
to begin breaking down some of the issues that l was facing in my life.

I have began going into the depths of my mind, and it makes me sad what l think of, It breaks
my mental health to shrubs thinking about it, all my life I have been told to go into this class
or the other class, and then you reach University, some kind of freedom to choose, so you
choose something to do, and then you find freedom there, according to where l come from,
this is the first stage of one’s life that you get to have full freedom of where to live, who to be
with, what to take or what not to take, so one year goes by, another goes by, and another
goes by, and one of the choices that you grabbed unfortunately was drugs, so you go
through three years of university studying something on the pressure of drugs or alcohol
every other night, and then you grow up in your final year, you begin seeing the need to tell
stories, you begin to experience and understand things like drug addictions, like food
addictions, you experiences things like fear, parents begin to die at this age, so you
experience loss, and my mental health went to shit, because when my family found out I had
been hooked on drugs for almost three years, they removed me from University premises
and surroundings, and since l had no friends or things to treat as drugs for a long time, l got
to food, l ate like a gluttony, all the time, l was thinking of when my next meal would be, of
where l could get a second plate of food while the I eating the first, it went on for months, l
had given up the drugs, but l was eating my self to self hatred, l was eating myself into
another addiction, an addiction that non of my family understood, because they just kept
cheering me on, ‘ yes, yes, she is becoming fuller and fuller than how she was when she
was on drugs,’ I was sad, I did not know how to stop myself from this addiction, and when l
would go to some of my favorite social media platforms, to find anyone talking about these
things, all I saw were more beautiful pictures of people who had everything going right for
 James Hill

them, with short crammed, copied or pretentious captions, the Internet made me sick, people
made me sick, life made me sick, school made me sick.

At this moment, l knew my life had ended, everyone in my family seemed to be sure that if I
did not continue to finish up my University Degree, l was headed for one hell of a life, they
convinced me that l was a poor child to ever think of rehab or therapy which is really so
expensive, which l do not understand why because when l watch movies, l see all these
support groups, AA meetings, and l wonder what it takes, for a group of 22-year-olds going
through mental health issues to come together and talk about these issues, i wonder why
that needed millions to afford, because while l struggled to let go of the drugs, while l
struggled to stop me from killing myself for months, AA meetings, support groups were like
a precious stone l could not find or afford, stuff made for the movies. Funny enough, while l
struggled with these really dark feelings, most of the lives of my friends, back at school went
on, some got jobs, some had plans to do big things in the software engineering industry, I, on
the other side, was really tired, l needed help that l could not get or afford, and for once in my
life, l had to look deep inside, for months, l went without my phone, for months l went with
food being pushed down my throat, for months l went on, thinking about death, day and
night.

And what surprised me the most during this dark period of my life, is that however much l
cried and complained to everyone that l was tired of school, that school made me feel like
throwing myself in front of a bus, that school made me more anxious and more depressed,
almost everyone except my mom, said, a person like me had no choice but to continue even
if it killed me, wolves were eating me up, and everyone around me was happy to see the
bloodshed, I was in the hospital with broken bones, but l didn’t die.

There was blood all over the place but at least l made it. They acted like at 22, you cannot
change your mind, they acted like at 22, your life is determined by what you have so-far.
They acted like at 22, you must know what your to do with your life, they acted like at 22, no
one should ever hear you changing your mind, but l had just learnt to read the bible at this
age, l had just learnt that many kids were suffering from depression and anxiety while
everybody looked on, at this age, l had fought the darkest battle with control, l had just just
fought a war on drugs, a war on my growing issues with food, it’s at this age that I saw
everything that l thought l had under my palm crush down to the ground, it’s at this age that
that l actually created a folder ‘Writing Career’ on my computer, and wrote endless essays
about mental health, about love, it’s at this age that my eyes glazed at the idea of becoming
something off something that l enjoyed to do, it’s at this age that l knew l had a dream, it’s at
this age that l knew that I'd rather die than not do what l loved to spend all my time on, it’s at
this age that for once in my life, had figured that I could do something in society, it’s at this
age that all the mechanisms in my mind were turning in a totally different direction than what
had been laid out for me until then, yet they were all acting like l could not change my mind,
like l was too old to play dream chasing, but way l see it, I still got my health, l can still
breath, I still haven’t moved the whole world, or even the half of it, the way l see it, most of
my favorite writers got published at 33, not 22, the way l see it, I still have 8 years until am 30
and if you tell me that l can write daily for 8 years until am 30, and my stories do not touch
someone, then your just wicked, the way I see it, I tried school, but I haven't found myself
 183

there and in this life, we keep searching, we keep looking for who we are until death calls,
way l see it, I have found something am passionate about and am willing to do it until my day
breaks, maybe am looking too far, but I want to be Maya Angelou, I want to be Ernest
Hemingway, I want to be George Orwell, I want to be the greatest writer in 500 years and if it
kills me, am going to die trying, I want to tell stories about mental health until my country,
until my world, until all earth gives an ear to those that are suffering from it, I want to
romanticize mental health, until we are dancing songs of healing, I want to tell stories that
get the ill out of their beds to dance, to walk long distances, to write letters to their lovers, l
want to stories that move those who aren’t in the right in their lives or career, or education to
stand up and scream and break everything and choose a better path the next day, l want to
write stories that sound like favorite movie soundtracks, I want to write for the mentally ill, l
want to write for girls, I want to write for the boys, l want to write for the dreamers, l want to
write for the conflicted, l want to write for the afflicted, l want to write for the un educated, l
want to write for the savages, l want to write for the mad ones, I want to write for the
addicted, I want to write for the believers, I want to write for the world, l want, l want to simply
write .

Its sorta crashing, waking up one day and realizing that whether black, whether from a ‘not
so rich family’, whether you are the strongest of them all, that your body and mind deserve
sweetness, that your mind and body deserve softness, that these debts you keep doing with
your life; doing subjects your no longer interested in, eating yourself to death because
everyone else is eating, spending months without doing anything that makes you truly alive
in hope that more going to school that makes you want to kill yourself will one day in the
future land you a job, a future in which your not even sure if tomorrow will allow for your
mortality, that these debts are a deep grave you keep digging for yourself, keeping you from
development, allowing depression and anxiety to be your home, allowing yourself an early
death,
“i should die here, every inch of me should perish, every inch but one, an inch that is more
and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world thats worth having, we must never lose it
or give it away, we must never let them take it away from us. I hope that whoever you are,
you escape this place and l hope that the world turns, and then things get better, but what l
hope for most of all is that you understand what l mean when l tell you that even though I do
not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss
you, l love you, with all my heart, I love you.”

A little note from Valerie, from V for Vendetta, one of the movies that really shaped me while l
was in recovery from my drug addiction.
 James Hill

V FOR VENDETTA SAVED MY LIFE.

If l die today, my epitaph should read,

“I should die here, every inch of me should perish, every inch but one, an inch that is more
and it is the only thing in the world that’s worth having, we must never lose it or give it away,
we must never let them take it away from us. I hope that whoever you are, you escape this
place and l hope that the world turns, and then things get better, but what l hope for most of
all is that you understand what l mean when l tell you that even though I may never meet
you, laugh with you, or kiss you, l love
you, with all my heart, I love you.”

- Alan Moore
 185

My name is not Nakuya Bridget, I am not 22 years and am not a writer. Last year on the 9th
of December of 2018, my then Muslim boyfriend (my mother would totally kill me if she found
this out, this woman really said that even if she was dead and heard that any of us, me and
my other two siblings ever married a Muslim, she would come back and haunt us) so, me
hanging out with a Muslim boy is top-notch on 1000 Ways to Die.

Getting back to the point, on the 9th of December of 2018, my then Muslim boyfriend sent
this text message via Instagram to my big sister.
 James Hill

A few days later, l found myself in a very white movie, except this movie was real, being
acted in real-time, in our very own Uganda, by a certain 22-year-old University student called
Nakuya Bridget. I had heard a hodgepodge of stories of how many kids go to University with
the hard-earned cash from their parents, originating from places like Masaka or Ntungamo
district, or Kabale, or even Kampala itself only to be misled by Kampala/ City boys or
“enjaga,” yet, when the most handsome boy in the world sent me a text message via twitter
telling me he liked my twitter feed and would like to meet up, l could not help but to forget all
about my church girl persona or my geek girl behaviour that had convinced me that books,
code, and music were my only love, and that boys were a destruction, and l was a tomboy
who would never have sex until Marriage.

This was around July, of 2017, Recess term of my second year into my Software
Engineering Course, at Makerere University. After inspecting his twitter feed, ‘his
philosophical lines,’ ‘his vegan trends,’ ‘his suicidal thoughts,’ my reply was “yes, yes, you
seem cool, let’s meet up.”
Had any other boy shown any interest in me before James Hill? Yes, Sidney was a very
dark, tall bloke from Eastern Uganda, doing Business Mathematics, he was a boy meant for
brown khaki pants, a boy meant for beautiful floral shirts, a boy meant for mathematics and
when he started sending me flirting facebook messages in my first year of University break,
I was thrown off my feet, we got together when the second semester of First year started, we
were together for most of my last part of First year at University but nothing serious.

Me and James Hill met on Wednesday in the year 2017, Recess term of my second year of
University, my GPA was 4.1 from 3.8 that l had got in my first year of University, so
brain-wise, l was doing great, church-wise, l was doing great, social media-wise, l was doing
great, and by that l mean that a handsome boy l met on the INTERNET claimed to love my
feed and here he was knocking on room A-13, a room that l shared with a girl, whose name
l do not remember, at Olympia hostel.

James Hill was not like anything l had ever seen anywhere along my 20 years of a ‘long life.’
James had stories to tell, James was made of golden skin, James had perfect white teeth,
James was lean, James stood up and danced whenever he wanted to, James told me he
hated society and he was going to make his own way in the world, James’s mother was a
doctor, James told me that his father was dying of the AIDS and it made him sick to the
stomach. James Hill stepped out for a breath of fresh air on my A-13 room’s balcony and
when l stepped out to find him because l could not help the magnets pulling me from his
body even when we had just met on that shimmering blue Wednesday in 2017, James Hill
had a dun hill switch, blue cigarette dangling from his precious dark brown lips, James Hill
puffed on his cigarette like it was the most natural thing in the entire world. The last person l
had seen smoking cigarettes was my stepfather back in 2003, my mother contented with him
all the time, and he told her to shut up about it all the time, the contentions would get so
intense, where mother would whirl the ashtray across the room and my stepfather who we
referred to as ‘uncle’ would literally slap my mother so hard for whirling his ashtray across
the room, and then a whole scene would unfold where mother would scream, “Joe, sagala
kumanyila mu maka gange, genda ofuyile sigala wo mu makago Ekingo,” and then my
stepfather who was a retired Lt. Colonel general, would roar, “Topi, tomanyi kyendi, simanyi
 187

lwaki toyiga,” and then the hard slaps and the constant fighting back from my mother would
go on until me and my two elder siblings would go and hold mother and push away our
stepfather from her in vain, and he would kind of feel ashamed and storm out of the house,
never returning to the house for weeks, or even months, he never made a year, he always
came back. This kind of scene went on forever until around 2009, when he came back this
time, he never sent anyone to the shop for a packet of sportsman or safari cigarettes, nope,
this time in 2009, he took his tea, took mother out for beer, and never touched another cig in
his life or my mother in a violent way as he did back then in 2003.

It was 2017, I was a fully grown girl now, but seeing James Hill standing there, leaning with
his beautiful face looking at the shimmering blue swimming pool beyond the bars of my
hostel room, pulling unto that Dun hill switch, really disarmed me, l admired him, this boy,
same as my age, was doing something only my strong soldier stepfather had ever done, was
it actually legal to smoke in hostel rooms at 20, 21 years of age, could l actually just stand
there and do this thing that l had seen only my tough stepfather do?, this thing that made
mama so mad back in my Kakebe days, Goddamn, I could not believe what l was looking at,
l did not know what to do, so l moved close to James Hill, rested my arms unto the metal
bars of my hostel room balcony and said “oh, you smoke!” He said, “yeah, l do, and l hate
how people try to make me feel bad because of what l do, what l like, and so l don’t usually
hide it from people l want to be close to, that’s why l decided to smoke the first day l saw
you, so you can know upfront. Look, Bridget, if you hate it, tell me, and l won’t ever smoke
again in your presence, and if you hate me too, tell me and l won’t ever show up here ever
again.” l had heard stories of wolves in sheep’s clothing but l definitely loved this wolf. I had
never smoked weed or anything in my life until l met James Hill on that shimmering blue
Wednesday in 2017, but when we got back into the room, from the balcony, and James
pulled out a bag of weed, l acted like l had been smoking all my life, and so he got out a
1.000 shilling note, and the white raw rizla rolling papers, and rolled us a joint, my first joint.
That Wednesday, we talked about how the earth was flat, we talked about his love for
Manchester United and my differing love for Arsenal, l was never a talker but this particular
Wednesday, l suddenly turned into Trevor Noah, we later went out unto the balcony and lay
down on the floor, he played me his favorite songs, and l played him my favorite songs, time
was moving faster than usual, l was in another world, l was laughing with James, James was
laughing with me, we were happy, l was high for the first time in my life and l did not want
him to ever leave my balcony, my side, my room, my space, l wanted to hold this boy
hostage forever.

I never touched a cigarette for all the times me and James Hill hang out on my hostel room
balcony at Olympia hostel, or even when he took me to see the sea at Botanical Gardens in
Entebbe for the first time. Nope, l admired James for doing grown man things like smoking
cigarettes but l had it in me that it was not a thing for ladies, ladies with a holistic background
like mine, nope, l would stick to the weed, “i thought.”

I think recess term of my second year of university was the best time of my life honestly, l
don’t know if l will ever recover the thrill and brilliance of that time, James Hill had asked me
to be his girlfriend on a beautiful day in July, after a couple times since we had first met on
that one shimmering blue Wednesday and never in my life had a boy thought me worthy of
 James Hill

being his girl, so for James Hill to sit there, at the edge of my narrow hostel bed in July and
say, “hey Bridget, l really like the time l spend with you, l enjoy talking to you, listening to
music with you, and if you don’t mind, l would like you to be my girl,” it threw me far away
into other dimensions.

In childhood, back in 2003, seeing those scenes of my stepfather slapping my mother

across the face, l turned into a boy, l made it a point to be a part of the boy’s only football
team in Kyazanga village, my kind of dressing was shorts and shirts always, and am so glad
that my breasts co-operated, l had a bare chest like until my primary seven class, so l literally
played defense or even striker sometimes on the boy’s only team, shirtless in my purple
khaki shorts, until l was sent off to Maryhill High School, Mbarara in 2009 for my next stage
of life, for my O-levels.

To me, being like them, being their friend, “being a boy,” secured me a “slap less future,” a
future where no boy or man would ever see me as another woman they claimed to love, only
to prove their manhood on me through blows, slaps, and roars. And so for James to think l
was ‘girl’ enough even when l never wore a dress or skirt until forever, l could not speak, l
was drowning in an ocean of Joy of knowing that you were wanted, an ocean of someone
figuring you out, looking beyond your shabby hair, and knowing there was a little girl in there
who has been scared of men all her life, a girl who thought she was a boy, only good for
academia and proving how smarter than the boys she could be, a little girl that never
dreamed of hearing such words coming out of a boy’s mouth, a very handsome boy whose
mother was a doctor.

James was my first boyfriend, James loved me like it was the movies, he made me
mixtapes, he read me his favorite lines from books that he would currently be reading, he
brought me shorts for gifts, he showed me the ocean, he showed me his tears, places far
away from the small world l knew, he showed me the alchemist, he taught me everything
about sex, he switched off his phone whenever l was with him so l could get his full attention,
he taught me how to talk deeply with another human being, he taught me how to lie down on
balcony floors and watch the stars, he taught me how to be naked to the soul, how to put my
Armour down, he made me forget the boy l thought l was, he loved me enough to reveal the
girl in me, he laughed with me enough to bring out the woman in me. And he did all this to
me, while in my trousers, while with my hair messed up, while l was in my T-shirts, with no
makeup on, while l was a tomboy. James was the first boy to ever love me.

Recess ended, my second year of University was almost ending, I was sure James Hill had
my heart in the photograph in his pocket. James Hill never ever kissed me without first
asking if he could kiss me, James Hill was my first real relationship, but for James, the city
boy, I think he had already broken a few hearts in his short life of 21, and he knew that
kissing and touching each other’s privates parts was not all that made a 20-year-old girl and
a 21-year-old boy stay together forever. To me, every time James slipped his short nailed
brown fingers into my sex, nibbling at my ear, whispering “my lady, my baby,” the sky
seemed to be falling on to us, the time passed quickly, through his fingers l had entered
another world, l felt dreamy, yet wide awake, peaceful, and contented. There was no better
heaven, l wanted James Hill to do this to me until Armageddon, but James Hill began
 189

speaking about sex, James Hill began saying things like ‘for two people to really have a
connection, they must have sex, l was confused, why couldn’t he just be contended fingering
me, ‘l loved it,’ sex before marriage was for sinning girls who forgot what their mothers told
them about the fast-moving AIDS killer that kills Makerere University graduates like flies and
however much James asked for it, l would not fall for his trap, l loved James so much l did
not understand how he could not wait for me until ‘our wedding night.’

James got more busy with school, his phone usually away from him every time l called him, l
was beginning to like the way Kevin’s Rwandan shaped nose looked on his well-shaped
face, l was thinking less and less of James Hill, hating how of all the boys, he asked for sex,
‘how could he?, l thought he loved me.’ I always knew that things fall apart but this was
different, we had our first breakup and James Hill said via text, ‘No wonder, l met you on the
INTERNET, what did l expect.’
I read more than ever that semester, l smoked so much weed l do not know how l didn’t lose
my mind then, but l remember feeling the weed was not enough, Kevin was fingering every
night but not deep enough to cover the hole James Hill had left on my heart, so l went
downstairs to the hostel canteen and bought a Dun hill switch, l wanted to feel exactly how it
felt watching him leaning over the balcony bars, looking into the blue shimmering swimming
pool, my first time puffing on a cigarette, so l smoked that Dun Hill switch in hope of being
near to a lost first love that loved to smoke cigarettes. First, it was one, next two, next three, l
got smoking buddies, every time a sea of emotions of his golden skin next to my pale
freckled skin on my narrow bed in July would engulf me, l shut down with another cigarette.
Suddenly, l was apart of the cool kids that knew the drug dealers around Kikoni, the cool
kids that smoked cigarettes in their hostel rooms, the cool kids that cut Calculus 1 class. I
was becoming everything l used to criticize in the so-called ‘name of love,’ in the pretext of
missing him, and that smoking took the pain away. 2017 ended and it was 2018 now, my
grades were still as good but for the first time in my education career, l got a retake in my
Calculus 1 module, it wasn’t because l was not smart, but because of the increased missing
of classes and the increased smoking that l was engaging in, but l just laughed it off with my
new crew of ‘cool friends,’ who smoked all day and cared less for school. Out of nowhere,
James Hill texts me in 2018, telling me that he was sorry how we ended and he needed to
talk to me, James Hill is my chaos and he knew that at the back of his mind, l always knew
that l should stop and not go in too deep but l didn’t, l said yes to meeting up with him, and
on seeing him, James Hill was a broken vessel, broken pieces that were destined to cut into
me too eventually. The day l met with him after the breakup in 2018, he sat across the room,
indicating that he would never touch me or suggest anything like that unless l gave him
permission to do so, this made me admire this devil of a boy even more, while he sat there,
he told me of how he has been working in the family hospital since his father was very ill with
the AIDS, he said it with such sad eyes that l forgave him for ever leaving, for ever coercing
me into sex, I did not know what else to say except to move slowly beside him, kissing him
passionately, calling him baby, turning him blue, making him do all the dirty things men do to
women, so he could feel better, and yet still no sex... After this reunion, breaking up and
getting back together with James Hill became a norm, it’s like we were scared of being with
each other because there was so much fire between us, yet we couldn’t be away from each
other for so long either, and every time he would leave me or every time l left him, l would
smoke more and more packets of cigarettes with more marijuana cigarettes that l purchased
 James Hill

from Downtown Kamwokya, l would smoke until l felt numb to my bones with dizziness, it
made me feel closer to him in a way, basically, l could keep my pride by never picking up the
phone to call him and telling him how much l missed him, my ego kept intact while my
sanctity got menaced by addiction. My life continued down this road for the rest of 2018, l
stopped going to church, l stopped communing with anyone from home and they let me be
because of the autonomous nature l had always displayed hence buying their trust that l
would never go down any rabbit hole like the one l was currently going down under,
everyone at home really trusted me to be such a good girl, my mother used even to brag to
her friends back in Kyazanga that her youngest daughter was going to be a nun.

l moved away from Olympia Hostel after my roommate complained to the hostel’s custodian
that l had become unbearable, smoking weed all the time, strange people knocking at our
door as early as 4 am in the morning every other day asking me if l had a joint or cigarette
they could use, that she was scared for her life. Mr. Reuben, an old man who had a
reputation for being interested in all the girls that stayed at Olympia hostel, had a huge
stomach, a funny accent and quick hands with girl’s booty’s, he was the hostel's custodian
and l remember how all the stories l had heard about his philandering came to be true in my
situation. My roommate had taken pictures of my un rolled bag of weed and packet of Dun
hill cigarettes and taken them to the custodians office while l was away at Campus, on
arriving back to hostel in the hostel’s shuttle, the administrator's and custodian’s office is
right at the entrance of the hostel, and so as soon as l came in on this fateful cold day in
August, Mr. Reuben called me to his office, he had been waiting for me, he showed me the
pictures and in such a serene way that chilled me to the bone said, “Bridget, l thought we
were friends, l thought you were a good girl, is this what you have been doing behind my
back,” l had never thought about my smoking habit ever being talked about by an adult and
this confrontation made me see a picture of my mother saying, “Bridget, l thought we were
friends….,” l said nothing to Mr. Reuben and in an uninvited lucid dream, l heard Mr. Reuben
say that my kind of behavior definitely resulted into immediate expulsion from the hostel and
that they were going to call my parents to solve my hostel fee issues since the semester had
just started and they had paid the entire 950, 000 shillings, l suddenly woke up from the lucid
dream when l heard the word ‘parents’ and as if possessed by demons started talking, “Mr.
Reuben, please, NO, No, no, l will do anything, l will quit smoking, l won’t ever smoke again,
as long as you don’t call my parents, please sir.” Mr. Reuben said. “Bridge, don’t worry, you
know we are friends,” and while saying this, his bulging hands were stretching towards my
waist, “ you know l have always loved your figure.” I moved away from Olympia hostel into a
hostel that was known as the hostel where drug dealers stayed and basically started
circulating weed to the cool kids that l had left at Olympia hostel who were dead scared of
stepping foot at ‘West land hostel,’ where the source of the weed was, and l could not get
enough of it, kids were giving me 10, 000 shillings for joints l had purchased directly from the
drug dealers at 2, 000 shillings, l would lie to those who l knew were rookies to smoking
weed that what l had was high grade and it would even rise to 15, 000 shillings whenever l
said such bull shit. I was at it, school was becoming my first wife on top of a new chick every
passing day, l was in this movie scene that l was sure was going to end in some characters
shot down, dead on the ground, yet, l never paused for a moment, posing for picture after
picture, acting scene after scene until there was no more film to waste.
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So late last year, December, 2018 at the end of my first semester of my final year of
University as a Software Engineering student, when Razak sent this text message via
Instagram to my big sister, it was no surprise of a life lived so fast, full of folly and the
endless forfeitures of a heartbreak hotel of a broken girl, full of broken dreams with her dun
hills rusting away in her white blood-stained ashtray.
 James Hill

My mother, a single mother of three, with the help of my stepfather, struggled to send me to
University and l can only imagine the throes she felt when she received this call, “Your
daughter has run mad from Marijuana smoking, she has been admitted to Mulago
Psychiatric ward.”
I had massively disappointed her, am sure it hurt her to her lair and l expected to be
reprimanded, to be cast away from her love. Therapy is gold in Uganda and so my Mother
and my big sister could not afford a regular therapist to help me through my deathly hollows,
what l had left was either my friends who l used to smoke with and laugh with and share my
time with or my mother and my big sister who l had assiduously ignored in pretext of being
so busy doing school projects. After knowing that they could not afford to take me to therapy,
they joined forces and without any squalls or contentions, helped me setup exercising
schedules, helped me wake up and go to school for my final year classes even when l
loathed myself to the bone, and hated University even more, because l did not want to ever
see my old friends who had become inconspicuous the moment they heard about my
adversity. And as time went by and l was getting better and better, l kept asking myself
“do l need to give my mother and big sister anything in return for what they have done for
me?” “what can l do to repay them for what they are doing for me?,” but all these questions
sublimed as l watched my mother smile more and more when l began going to school on my
own will, my mother and sister went to church and thanked God, it was like it was them
winning every time my life became better, it’s like they were saying “you don’t need to give
us anything in return for our kindness sweetie, just become better!” Can you imagine that!,
they had given me so much, yet they were most happy when l got better, my heart really
broke into myriad pieces of love, it felt like l was being kissed a very sweet kiss and the
kisser was not demanding a kiss-back. “It was a kiss that demanded no kiss-back,” and to
me, this was the best lesson on Kindness that l ever got from my Mother.

As l write this, it’s August of 2019, l just finished my final year examinations in July, and they
were great, l passed all my test examinations with A’s because of my mother and big sister
pushing me around even when l had no vitality left in me. As l write this, it has been a
monument of eight months since l stopped smoking and life feels really grand. Perfect 23
year old? Not even close. I’m a recovering weed and cigarettes addict, schizophrenia and
food addict and I’m not afraid to admit it.

Since last year December until this month of August, l feel like l have gone through all the
emotions, like I've seen both sides now, that you can’t believe there is a time l decided to
end it all, that there were moments in my journey when l questioned myself, if stopping to
smoke was the worst choice l ever made, l remember the months like January, February,
March, earlier this year, how l would pace the house, thinking that if l did not get a cigarette
puff, l would really die the next moment, l remember all the amount of spit l was producing in
my sleep because of the side effects of the anti-depressants like Citalopram, Risperidone
and the benzhexol that my irregular therapist from Mulago psychiatric ward prescribed for my
diagnosed severe anxiety and depression that had become my new home as a result of
quitting the drugs, l remember the days my Mother told everyone that l was sick with Ulcers
in April, so that when l started opening up about my Journey on my blog and most of my
social media platforms in May, talking about how l had experienced a schizophrenic episode
back in 2018 that had left me a mad woman for a whole three days, l remember the stinging
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words of my mother when she found out what l had started doing, “Do you know what that
will do to our family?” “Do you know what associating yourself with such a thing at your age
could do to your future!” “You ungrateful fool, we protected you and ourselves the entire time
you were healing, telling everyone who asked about you that you were sick with ulcers, and
now you are there opening your big mouth, mbu social media social media, kale mwana gwe
sifunyemu, what do you know about life, huh, blogging about how you used to smoke weed
and how you ran mad, am really disappointed in you Bridget, you will never get a job in
future if you keep spoiling your name...”

l respect my Mother so much that l said not a single word while she erupted about the posts l
was making on the INTERNET about my journey through recovery. I remember how after my
Mother was done cutting me with her words, how l simply blurted out, “But mum, all these
things that am talking about are my truth and l have recovered from that which controlled my
life for the past four years, and l can’t erase my history, l do not care for a job or anyone’s
reputation, am so sorry Mother but am going to tell the truth about my journey, so no other
kid ever feels like they are alone or not worthy of help, matter of fact, l never want to work for
anybody else my entire life, l want to be a writer.”

A few days before this incident of me starting to write about my journey of how l had beat
Schizophrenia, of how l had thrown away my drug addiction, of how l had gotten through my
depression and anxiety, of how l was ready to say my truth without holding back anything, l
had watched the movie V FOR VENDETTA. V for Vendetta is a 2005 dystopian political
thriller film directed by James McTeigue and written by the Wachowskis (the same writers of
one of my favorite films: The Matrix) based on the 1998 DC/ Vertigo Comics limited series of
the same name by Alan Moore and David Lloyd. The film is set in an alternative future where
a Nordic supremacist and neo-fascist totalitarian regime has subjugated the United Kingdom.
Hugo Weaving portrays V, an anarchist freedom fighter who attempts to ignite a revolution
through elaborate terrorist acts, and Natalie Portman plays Evey, a young, working-class
woman caught up in V’s mission, while Stephen Rea portrays the detective leading a
desperate quest to stop V.
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V for Vendetta has been seen by many political groups as an allegory of oppression by
government; libertarians and anarchists have used it to promote their beliefs. David Lloyd
stated: "The Guy Fawkes mask has now become a common brand and a convenient placard
to use in protest against tyranny – and I'm happy with people using it, it seems quite unique,
an icon of popular culture being used this way."

I remember the night l watched this film so clearly, l was so tired and confused with life, l was
going through the emotions of having survived and how much l wanted to be an advocate for
others to know that it’s possible to recover, that sometimes when you’re in the thick of the
pain, it’s hard to believe that it will ever change. Yet it does, and it does not take forever, that
there is hope for us all. And this scene comes on, Evey the young, working-class woman
caught up in V’s mission, how V trapped her in an imaginary cell/ prison, Evey was kept here
being tortured by her captors, asking her to tell them secrets and there is this woman
character Valerie who sent her letters, whose ending was

“I should die here, every inch of me should perish, every inch but one, an inch that is more
and it is the only thing in the world that’s worth having, we must never lose it or give it away,
we must never let them take it away from us. I hope that whoever you are, you escape this
place and l hope that the world turns, and then things get better, but what l hope for most of
all is that you understand what l mean when l tell you that even though I may never meet
you, laugh with you, or kiss you, l love
you, with all my heart, I love you.”

After Evey read this, she cried and she was so touched by the love and courage of this
woman far away from her cell, yet she still felt her presence, she cried and the next time her
captors came to torture her looking for answers, she was ready for death, her hair had been
cut off, she had lost everything, but now, she had the only thing in the world that’s worth
having. According to V, her Apocryphal captor, Evey the one she had chosen to assist him
on his mission, had passed the test, she had killed all the fear in her entire being and then
Evey could not believe that it had all been a hoax, that since day one of her capture, she
could have walked out of the cell. She cried at the thought of being free, stood under the rain
and let herself go, embracing the new self that had no fear left in her. This scene made me
cry profusely, it washed away all the doubt that l had in my heart about how l was going to
use my voice to raise mental health awareness, it made me want to use my imagination
more, it made me realize that l did not need to stay where l was, it made me know that
sometimes we have bigger missions than our parents, friends, or sisters can see. “Use your
imagination, do you have to stay there?”

The credits were rolling, tears in my eyes and it hit me that maybe the battles of life are best
fought without Armour and without weapons. That maybe life gets really good and interesting
when we remove the defenses and walk out unto the battlefield stark naked. The next day
after watching V for Vendetta, l cut my hair off just like Evey’s / ‘Natalie Portman’ hair had
been cut off, bald, and l felt this wave of all the years that drugs had stolen from me start to
happen all over again, l had crooned unto my big sister for all the six/ seven months since
December, 2018, l was sure none of my friends would love me anymore after knowing how l
had run mad and walked Kampala streets almost naked, how l ate my self into another
 James Hill

addiction as a way of desperately finding something to replace my craving for cigarettes and
marijuana cigarettes, how l turned from 58kgs to 65kgs in just a period of 3 months because
the nature of anti-depressants is that they make you bloated and my food disorder was not
making any matters better, but it was May now, a whole six months of going through all these
dark emotions, wanting to end my own breathing, l had just seen this beautiful image of
fighting for one’s freedom even when no one believes you can do it, and l had just cut all my
hair off, so l purchased a V for Vendetta T- shirt, woke up in the morning, put it on and went
over to the only girl l knew would be happy to see me with no judgment.
l was 65kgs now, hated my body, hated myself, l feared that if any of my friends would see
me now, they would say, “she is no longer pretty, she is fat and ugly.” But l had a new energy
now, so l copied this movie ( V for Vendetta ) unto a CD, wrote a letter and put a favorite
book l had been reading back in March in a brown parcel and when l reached Delia’s hostel
room, room 90 at the topmost floor of Miriam Hostel, my V for Vendetta T-shirt did nothing to
fuel my confidence, l felt more fat than l had ever felt, but l was at her door, it was 7:30 am in
the morning, my heart was giving up on me, and l simply dropped the brown parcel outside
her door, l did not have a phone at the time, thanks to Kampala thieves around Pioneer Mall,
so l simply laid my heart out there, and said, “here is me being honest with you about what
has been happening to me in the past six months, this is why l have been hiding away from
you, hold my heart for a while, blah blah.”
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I had shut down all my social media platforms back in December of 2018 in a heretic
schizophrenic episode where l could see every text saying, “people who smoke are definitely
going to hell,” I could see all texts, tweets, Instagram posts calling me out for all the bad
things l had done in the past, that l deserved death, l could often feel like everyone was
going to see that l was hearing voices, that l was mad, that l was ‘bewitched’ if l ever posted
anything up on my twitter or my Instagram or blog, l was scared to death of it all, the
INTERNET, so l shut it down, with a little more push and advise from the therapist l was
seeing at the time, but it had been six months now, and suddenly this felt ridiculous. Sure l
was sober and out of hiding, and I’d been lucky enough to end up with a mother and big
sister who did not cast me away when they found out l had been hooked unto drugs for
almost all my life as Software Engineering student at Makerere University, who helped me
recover, who helped me when l would start screaming out of nowhere that there were ghosts
under my bed at night.

But by denying my past, I’d isolated myself. I was still lonely, and a bit bored. So l shed my
armor and waved my white flag and hoped Delia would do the same. I heard myself writing
out my first Instagram post on the 22nd of May of 2019, since the 10th of December, 2018
saying in the caption, “My guns for spreading the word bout mental health are not ready but
done waiting. Am cocking that shit the way it is.” Literally, l was cracking this shell of
hypocrisy that society has built around us, the shell of your own Mother helping you through
recovery and when it’s your turn to tell your truth, your story, she erupts, “we help your
drug-addicted head ass, and this is how you repay us, you kids are going to kill me, what will
people think when they hear that you ran mad because of enjaga.” l was cracking this shell
and l was saying, “Listen, l want you to know that I'm a recovering cigarettes, weed,
schizophrenia, and food addict. I’ve been arrested because of those struggles but l survived,
l want to tell you this because when you are in the thick of the pain, it’s hard to believe that it
will ever change. Yet it does. And it does not take forever.”

I had not got any reply from Delia yet and l was dying with anxiety to know if she had got the
brown parcel or not, my first post on Instagram since my breakdown in December 2018 got
quite good feedback, all my friends who l had been hiding away from commenting on the
post saying things like;-
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And that’s how l pulled out my old dirty computer that l had thrown away in a heavy sense of
an old self, in a fleeting moment of sadness and a heavy heart full of hatred, after my
schizophrenic episode back in December, l had literally lost my job at the tech startup, l had
forgotten how to code too. Experts don’t really understand why it happens, but the cognitive
decline is apart of the schizophrenia disease. I could not do things that l used to love doing
anymore, like watching TV because it always appeared like the people in the TV were
pointing fingers at me, so l could not watch movies, l could not read any books and the first l
watched was V for Vendetta in those dark six months, and after l cut my hair off, it felt like l
was Natalie Portman/ Evey, like all my fear of what people would think or say about my past
had gone through the rain, l was caught up in V’s mission, an anarchist freedom fighter, who
attempts to ignite a revolution through elaborate true speech about what l had been through,
how it had almost broken me in half, how it made me throw myself off the second floor of my
sister’s apartment in desire of death in place of the horrible cruel life that the hallucinations
and voices in my schizophrenic mind were feeding me, how l had survived it all, l wrote down
my story, or rather, l started writing down my story, tweet by tweet, post by post, blog post by
blog post.

I made/make Instagram posts of this kind;-

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I began sharing this kind of message on my medium blogging platform, in form of posts on
my Instagram account, l tweeted about it on twitter, shocking many of my followers, but lots
more wanted to cry with me and tell me their stories. I started getting messages from some
of my friends l had even known for years but had never opened up to me.

For example, look at this conversation l had with a friend l had attended my A-levels with, but
had gone off to do her Law Degree at Strathmore University in Kenya. It had been over a
year since we last talked and so after l started writing about my journey, she texted and this
is what we talked about, and guys, this is one of the reasons we need to raise our voices on
mental health, this is why we need to tell our stories without fear, this is why we need to talk
to our friends, to our children, our neighbors, our family members more, this is why we need
to speak up.
James Hill
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Delia finally got back to me and she understood, she has been of immense help that l do not
regret putting on that V for Vendetta T-shirt in May, going with all my bones shaking up to her
hostel room and dropping off that brown parcel. I was sick and tired of all the crammed little
captions l usually send out on my social media, an almost University graduate, having
experienced this huge harsh reality, l had found myself in a situation where all l needed was
a hand of love, a hand of kindness, someone to come out and say that yes, it’s possible to
quit smoking without going down the grave, someone to tell me that it’s okay not to be okay,
someone to tell me that it’s okay to change your mind at 22, that you are not your University
degree, that you are not your family’s reputation, that you are not your friends, that are not
your past, that Mental illness is not a disease for ‘rich kids,’ for ‘spoilt rich kids,’ that mental
health is ‘not a white people thing,’ that it’s okay have no more energy left in you to go to
school anymore, that Africa is a continent whose best language is silence, but the truth is
many African countries are struggling with high suicide rates, for which there are no simple
explanations. However, one thing is evident: There is a lack of professional help and
comprehensive research into the causes. According to the World Health Organization
(WHO), however, Uganda is not the only African country struggling with high rates of suicide.
In Nigeria or Ivory Coast, the figures are even higher than in most European countries, the
US or China, with more than 15 suicides per 100,000 inhabitants per year.

It’s like a dam from deep down had broken, l had been awakened by my deep-rest in that
came to me in form of depression, and l was looking into the system that had been given me
and l had something to say, l wrote essay per essay, each post was longer than the one
before. I finished my final year exams in June of 2019 and l went straight to FEMRITE
(Uganda Women Writer’s Association) signed up to be a member, took my essays that had l
had been writing about my journey with drugs, the recovery from hearing voices,
hallucinations, the depression and the anxiety, the suicide attempts back at my sister’s
apartment, the food addictions, l wrote it all down, it’s like l was pulling thorns out of my
entire being with every story l shared on my social media, l felt a new wave of hope for
someone who may be out there crumbling down thinking they were alone in this big wave of
social media where everyone is ‘talking’ but no one is communicating, we barely knew each
other, but we saw instantly that we were in this together. The first few times of me starting to
write about my journey were tough, first off dealing with my family saying what a disgrace l
was to put out myself like that, but these girls and boys were sending me direct messages
telling me how freeing it felt having someone be so truthful about something that leaves me
in a position to be loved or to be loathed, to be disgusting even, at that point in my life l was
desperate to do something meaningful outside of my home and family, my University studies,
my old self, but no one would have it in my family.

But guess what, l had my V for Vendetta spirit, l had my passion, l had my God, l had Anne
Lammot, and l quote, “WE WRITE TO EXPOSE THE UNEXPOSED.”- Anne Lammot.
Next l joined the Lantern Meet of Poets, this is now the end of July of 2019, everyone at
home is yelling at me to get a job, ‘that me spending all my time in my room reading all those
silly books and watching all those silly movies and exposing myself on social media, about
how l used to do drugs and how l ran mad was not going to take anywhere.’
 James Hill

But l was kind of tired of trying to figure out machines, l was tired of trying to code, l needed
a human connection, l needed to be around poets, so every Monday evening at 5:30 pm, l
was at FEMRITE for readers writers club, every fortnight, l was at the Uganda Museum for
the Lantern Meet of Poets, l was a different girl around home, l was no longer locked up in
my room now, no, l was bathing, getting dressed up to go for important writer’s club
meetings, l was not asking for ‘their’ money, l was eating my writing, every time anyone said
a word to me about what l was doing with my life while every one of my peers was out
starting at a job after their final year exams, l told them l was writing a memoir about my
University experience and my experience with Mental Health, every time everyone asked me
‘what l do,’ I told them l was a writer, and just like that, l found myself writing beautiful poem
after beautiful poem, l did not ‘fear’ my computer anymore, the Lantern Meet of Poets
editorial assistant sent me an en email on the 7th of August of 2019, asking me to write an
article for their August issue, how could this true, is this writing thing giving me my life back,
is this writing thing starting to take shape?

Writing this article makes want to cry, reading it makes me think of how losing that job at the
tech startup made me have nightmares for days, hallucinating that if l did not have a job, l
was really ruined, but writing out my story every day, and feeling a sense of connection to
even one reader makes me think, ‘take that programming job, l didn’t want to be another cog
plugged in the machine world anyway. Does one get standing ovations for empathy
programming a computer?’ I think not.

I found my calling. The more l opened my heart, the more convinced l became that life is
equal parts brutal and beautiful. Both are woven together so tightly they can’t be separated.
Life is brutiful. Sharing that truth is what makes us feel less alone and afraid, it took a long
time, but l finally realized that my acceptance of myself, my past, my truth, my community
and my faith, my family, my friends, and my dreams, are the only protection l need. They are
my life and lam its center: naked and honest and sober and broken and imperfectly perfect.
A work in constant progress. My name is Nakuya Bridget, it’s the year 2019, l turned 23
years on the 27th of July, am a WRITER.

I went through so much pain with my mental health last year and the past few months, that if
l did not have the selfless kindness of my mother and my sister, l could have finally acted on
the thought that l had so many times, “no one cares for me, no one cares if am okay, maybe l
should just kill me!” and since therapy is gold in my country, l have decided to start a mental
health campaign on all my social media platforms which include :-

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tinybitomadness
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tinybitsofmadness
Medium: https://medium.com/@tinybitsofmadness

all under the brand name “TINYBITSOFMADNESS” with a motto: “Imagine if everyone was
cared for, even the mentally ill.” The goal of this campaign is to reach as large a community
of those who suffer from mental health issues in silence to help share experiences and
stories so that digitally and faster, we are able to help each other as a community.
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I don’t know how big or how small this campaign will solve any of the mental health issues
that l intend to tackle but my mother and my big sister have taught me a lesson for life about
kindness, it is a kiss that does not demand a kiss-back and as a society, lets all hold each
other’s hands in the most little, most priceless ways and do the best we can to be kind to
each other.
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Part ||| Nirvana.

Nirvana / `nirvana / n. 1. Nirvana. Buddhism. a. The state of absolute blessedness,

characterized by release from the cycle of reincarnations and attained through the extinction
of the self. b. A similar state in which reunion with Brahma is attained through the
suppression of individual existence.

2. An ideal condition of rest, harmony, stability, or joy.

The American Heritage Dictionary

Second College Edition

Behold, we count them happy who endure. You have heard of the patience of Job, and seen
the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very compassionate, and of tender mercy.
James 5: 11

{
 James Hill

Honey, you will heal.

The healing process is slow, so slow,

sometimes it seems like it’s operating
in microseconds, that you barely feel
yourself healing, you start to think that
it’s all a waste of time, that maybe
you will never heal, that you will
forever be broken, hurt and sad.
But just like a flower, through the
night, it grows without anyone
noticing, and by daybreak, it is
in bloom, blooming out of its shell.
So don’t you worry, by daybreak,
on some beautiful day, you’re going
to wake up fully grown, in bloom,
with bees buzzing around you to
leave pollen grains in your flowering
beauty and you will be spreading love
to them through proving nectar, like
nothing ever broke your beautiful heart at
anyone moment.
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The world was never shitty,

it was me the entire time.
And lam going to change that
. I am .
 James Hill

Lost Phone.

It’s just the start of the year, 2019, around March, its maybe mid-day or 12 : 40, if am to be
more specific, reading magazines about fashion, classic cars, and the Internet is not as
triggering as it used to be, listening to stories from all over the world on BBC world radio is
kind of chilling because for once I see a silver lining of living somewhere far from here, even
if it’s just through the radio. This guy on radio just said that he left India to come to China to
become a physics teacher, and the reporter said to him “You said that as if Physics is the
only subject worth studying, the guy from India in China replied “I mean, yeah, because you
can literally talk about the world in a single subject, Physics.”

Yesterday, I went into this so-called Physics, the world, I went into town, to a book store, to
read for a few hours, and on my way back, my phone, which had most of the few pieces of
writing that l had worked very hard on since the beginning of the year, was snatched by a city
thief from my bag. Some of the writings were meant for a friend l have not talked to for
months, writings l thought would kind of revive our friendship, some of the writings were
things l had discovered on my journey to recovering from depression, something that has
had me down for almost six months now, some of the writings were words of Philosophy l
had picked up from a few philosophy books l had picked interest in like “The sayings of Lao
Tzu,” and some of the writings were just eerie pieces about life, about James Dean, about
books l had been reading, about being lost, about being found.

But then, a thief took away all this, the music, the photos of me of a certain time and age, the
playlists on that phone are still haunting me in my sleep. I feel like l have lost everything, l
feel like l have lost a part of me, I feel like l have lost a friend.

Today, l stumbled unto this article, a Psychology article titled “NOTHING IS EVER REALLY
LOST,” the writer was talking about how by constantly losing things, we are taught a lesson
about letting go, and he mentioned beautiful quotes like “ But loss, even the most profound
kind, has a purpose – it creates the space to find something new”

And as l sit here, in my messed up dump room, lights low, books stacked in rows, board
games aimlessly on the floor, feelings smoked to black, mind in a blue haze, l wish that the
God of Daniel, who owns all wisdom and might, who changes the times and seasons, he
who removes kings, and sets up kings, he who gives wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge
to them that know understanding, he who reveals the deep and secret things, could show me
the purpose of this loss, I wish God could show me something new because lately it’s been
loss and loss and l do not have any energy left in me, to grieve, or cry or be sad but to hope
that there is a reason for every happening, an opportunity in every loss and a silver lining at
the end of every dark tunnel.
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The awakening of the lazy mind.

I read somewhere that most people become bored by their lives because they are ignorant
of all the possibilities that surround them. That these characters often do not know how to
relieve their boredom until they stumble across someone or something that teaches them
how to learn. That once they begin to learn, they find that their lives will never be dull unless
they stop pursuing knowledge.

So somewhere, on a sunny day in March, year 2019, bored with my life to the dot, bored with
school, not knowing what the importance of what l was being taught at the University, bored
with the way some of my lecturers thought themselves better than everyone else instead of
providing something intriguing or different besides what was written in the books or slides
that were given out at the start of each semester, bored by the way my friends took to
cramming what was in the books and judging how my face looked after I cut off all my hair,
bored by mathematics classes, bored, bored, bored by the bed l slept in, bored by the road
that led me back home , by the road that took me to school, bored by the constant routes of
public transportation, bored by having friends who did not share any similar interests with
me, bored by my life, I looked at a statement l had heard in a movie once, a statement by
Shakespeare that goes “To wing our way to heaven, all we need are words.”
And with a growing need to recover and understand my spiritual side, with a growing interest
in the stories and wise sayings of the bible, with a growing interest in the concepts of heaven
and hell, I was like why not grow an interest in words, simply learn new words , grow a large
dictionary of words to play around with while l wrote, and so my boredom was a little less,
second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day and l know this sounds
stupid, thinking that learning words is going to make any difference in my boring life that
does not seem to be going anywhere, but l love to read, only thing l feel interested in or
anything that brings me piece of mind, and words, I like conjuring up words, I like playing
around with words, so l will learn new words, l will make meaning of new words, l will play
around with new words as l write, l will try to make a life with words, l will try to wing my way
to heaven with words form now on and we’ll see where this leads.

After l started this journey of winging my way to heaven, am already beginning to see the
fruits of, through not stopping to learn, whatever little niche you choose, you may be able to
relieve that lingering boredom slipping into your life, because, when l turned on the radio,
and the woman on BBC radio, talked of a certain UK based artist who had released her ‘
debut ‘album in 1987, I smiled because l had just looked up that word ‘ debut’ in the
dictionary that morning, after l had stumbled unto another word ‘ debutantes’ in the book
impossible by Danielle Steel, so one word had led me to another and l was hearing the word
that l had found out through another word on radio and l was being rewarded by a smile, a
smile l would not have afforded on any other day if l had not decided to pick an interest in
words. A smile of an old friend I read about in the dictionary, showing up through the woman
on the BBC to say hello to me. I would never have met this friend if l had not chosen to learn
and keep learning words.

The other day while l was watching Bohemian Rhapsody, a scene when the lead singer of
Queen Freddie Mercury, was currently bored with his life, his career, his dream, his sex life,
 James Hill

and so he called Paul, telling him that he wanted to throw a party, and when Paul asked
Freddie who he wanted to invite, Freddy answered “ People, I want you to shake the freak
tree, and invite anyone who pops to the ground; Dwarfs, Giants, Magicians, Zulu Tribesmen,
“Contortionists,” …….”

And my heart almost popped out of my chest, that word, earlier on while flipping through a
huge American Heritage Dictionary that my mathematician friend had given to me
temporarily, l had seen a small image of a man , his body in a wired contorted way, and
below the little image, was the word “ contortionist” , it was the first time I had seen the word,
and l had found it by mistake, simply flipping through the dictionary pages, and the image
caught my eye, then this word of many letters, and so l looked it up, knowing I would never
hear it or ever see it used anywhere because in the world of words, this Mr. Contortionist
was rather very tall and freaky and wired and here it was showing up on a basic boring day,
out of a Freddie Mercury, out of my computer screen, gingerly breaking my face into a broad
smile, as if seeing a long lost friend, as if seeing a plane fly by in the evening blue sky, as if
eating honey, as if watching your favorite movie for another time, as if fighting for Justice like
V in V for Vendetta, simply sweet, this growing desire to learn , to play with, to make
meaning of, to make a life with words because as all goes, “ to wing our way to heaven, all
we need are words.”
 223

Goldrush (29th April 2019, 5:29 am)

You know that intense silence in your head, where the artery to your brain is open wide and
the thoughts are pouring in like drips of rain from heaven after you haven't slept for an entire
night, and thoughts, like diamonds are sticking to your brain like alcohol sticks on one trying
to quit.

That’s how l feel this particular morning, l have an exam the day after tomorrow but l cannot
bring myself to focus on that, l spent the entire night reading up on Fela Kuti and his political
views, l spent my entire night re-watching Daft Punk’s lose your self to dance, l spent my
entire night crooning to Curtis Mayfield and God, school has never felt like such a bore all
my life, l cannot wait to finish my final semester soon and begin my writing career right away.
And while l wait to finish school, and still going to waste all my time on writing down stupid
thoughts and feelings like these at 5 am, at 3 pm, in the noontime, in the evening, because I
have my gold, and it’s in the word, it’s in my heart, it’s in my mind and it wants to come out,
it wants to be written, it wants to be mined.
 James Hill

2 am

Its 2:17:53 in the morning, “i saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, no one is going to drag
you to the light where you belong” Yeah, Ace of the bass, my philosophical ass is jamming
out with the ghosts of the night.

Its 2 am in the morning and l do not want or desire to kill me anymore, April is coming to an
end and l love me, every inch, every speck, every skin, every nose, every thigh, every eye,
every toe, every arm, every part of this glorious feminine body that God endowed me with,
this body that the greatest of the divine dwells, am in love with myself at 2 am and it’s pretty
sweet, like water, water with some lemons in it.

It’s 2 am in the morning and l cannot stop thinking about the walk we heard today, the
crumpled bed in that brothel that we saw when you wanted to use the bathrooms of that ‘only
men bar’ that we sneaked into somewhere on our long walk around the city and its empty
dead streets.

It’s 2 am and your laugh, the laughter that you did while we ate breakfast on a Sunday
morning in that old building downtown, it’s ringing endless bells in my head, the way you
talked about the women who served us the breakfast, “man, these women are going to
spend all their lives doing this,” your laughter, your talk, our conversation.

It’s 2 am in the morning, and am running crazy with all these memories of a day half spent
with you and it’s alright, l never want to be sane if this how it feels to be insane.

it’s 2 am in the morning, and am dancing, am thinking, and thinking, am typing out words on
my keyboard, am coming up with ways to quite it down, the sound of your laughter, the
sound of your words, the smell and look of the place we sat in at 8 am on a Sunday morning
to eat such crappy food on such a pretty scarlet lovely day.

it’s 2 am, l saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I sent you a text message after we
departed “God, l love you much, Nice week” and you replied to me with a text message,
“i love you too, success in your exams” and it made me smile, and l loved you more and it’s
2 am and l still love you and all the laughter and joy that comes from having a friend like you.
 225

Screw being a loser.

it’s 3rd May, the year 2019 and life is all that but l feel rather good, l don’t feel like am running
in circles anymore, l do not feel like heaven is so far away anymore, l do not feel like a dead
computer anymore, l can now hear the birds praising the lord early in the morning, l can now
hear the sound of the keyboard while I type out words onto it, I can now hear the engines of
my conscience turning, reckoning me to the right judgments, I can hear the gears of my body
turning to do me good, l can hear my soul rising from the pit, where l had thrown it when the
days were gloomy, when l was dismal, when depression was all l knew, when l could not see
between good and bad, l can see a better future than l anticipated before when my mental
health was in tatters, when my mind fooled me into thinking that l was a nobody, making me
blind to the fact that am part of greatness, a greatness so high and so good and perfect, a
greatness called love, a greatness called kindness, a greatness called meditation, a
greatness called prayer, a greatness called God.
 James Hill

Good Friday.

It read “The way to experience spirituality is through the heart. Look around and ask, “Who
needs me?” my epiphany.

It’s 15:25:46 pm, the sun is bright, the suncatcher is reflecting unto the walls and a stack of
books in my room, I just ate some pasta, and cassava and rice, and Irish potatoes! So much
starch for one who wants to cut my weight from 65 to about 58 or 55, but food is food, and
like a drug, at least l can control one.

It’s Holy Friday or silly me, I mean Good Friday, Simon Cyrus is carrying Jesus’s cross,
Jesus is on his way to really die for all my transgressions, the birds are chirping, am
discovering new words, am writing, am in a trance, am in love with life, with Jesus, with
books, with the radio, with the notes on my wall, with my thoughts, with the lamp, with the
red-blue green stripes in my bed, with the patterns on my wooden chessboard, love, vitality,
life anew, blood for my sins, blood for my ugliness, blood for my soul, blood, scarlet, nails,
cross, Jesus.

Yesterday, l met Kevin at the University premises, it had been a minute since l last saw him,
like a faded daguerreotype, like a faraway dream, or rather a lucid dream, he smiled at me
and we naturally just walked together for a while until we reached a huge Mitsubishi Montero
and suddenly, he was pulling keys out of his pocket, lam panicked, l think it’s a joke, the last
time l saw Kevin was in the hills, a night spent under the stars, whiskey, the wind, near a
church hooked up on that hill, and he was a walker, not car person, ever, we always talked
about how we are going to always walk together, how we would rather have horses than a
car, but reckoning from this saying I read once

“ What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew
them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a
useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must
remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger,” a saying by T.S Elliot, l guess
Kevin is a car person now.

He says, “get in,” and l say, “Jesus, get in and go where,” and he insistently urges me to get
in, we were going to go to his place downtown, and so l jump in, his car on the inside is like a
book shop, a very messy book shop though, books lying everywhere, music gadgets here
and there, it’s all just good. Young. Jesus was 33 when he died for me and l think that gives
me hope, now that l haven’t made an impact at 22, as Pac did, and they say Jesus is the
greatest, so lads, stay put, we still got a long time with all these books, with all these
madness, with all these mistakes, with all this anxiety, with all this depression, with all this
conflict, to break out to our truest self, just don’t quit as yet, you can pull through.

Kevin has all the world books from letter A to letter Z on his truly long beautiful bookshelf,
and so many other business and sociological books, I love his room, a kind of room I’d call
my own, a kind of room that is youth unending, knowledge, wonder, magic, books. There is
whiskey on his table, and the smallest wood cup l have ever seen, he pours some in the cup,
 227

almost drops of it in the cup, l thought l gave up drinking, had even downloaded a book from
bestbooks.com earlier in the day titled “Alcohol, a dangerous and unnecessary medicine.
How and Why” but it’s such a pretty day, Charles Bukowski would be offended if l let down
Kevin on these few drops of whiskey, so l sip and pass to Kevin and thats about it, we chat
and chat, and move into another room, the living room, and we talk about everything under
the sun; stress, drugs, madness, the government, An sexton’s poetry, Aristotle and Plato,
Lao Tzu, taoism, God, faith, losing faith, gaining faith, doubting Christ, loving Christ,
becoming mad, being rich , becoming poor, being an icon, radio, the future of artificial
intelligence, the future of our country Uganda , the future of Kevin’s German House mate’s
country, the future of America, the future of the world, the future of those mad enough,
creative enough, truthful enough, wired enough, patient enough, blind enough, tired enough,
dissatisfied enough, broken enough, humiliated enough to stand up and go, to wake up and
see, to shout out loud, to write endlessly and madly, to fall in love again, to go after their
dreams, to break the mental paradoxes they are closed in, to dare to be different, to run far
far and far from normal, to speak up, to dress boldly, to piss on the haters, to pray fervently
and be thankful in praise, to carry their crosses without fail, to help Jesus like Simon did help
him, to try and make Jesus smile for having taken that burden of the cross for us, to search
and at listen to every beat of their hearts that beat loud because as l leaf through the Oprah
Magazine, Live your best Life, it's there, it’s shining, it’s truth, it’s radio, it’s heart, it’s
enlightening, it’s knowledge, it’s poetic, my epiphany, a statement “The way to experience
spirituality is through the heart. Look around and ask, “Who needs me?”

The woman on the show on radio has a small voice, and the interviewer asks her, now that
Good Friday is here, what does it all mean to you, Easter, what does it mean? And with her
small voice, she answers “resurrection is possible”

And lads, what a statement to hear on such a pretty day, what a statement to hear on Good
Friday from a woman far away, on a BBC talk show, who survived sexual assault once in her
life and for once life is pretty, there is no self-hate in my mind, there are no suicidal thoughts
in my mind, and it’s heaven, here on earth, because it’s good Friday and the miss on radio
said resurrection is possible! Eureka!
 James Hill

Happy Thoughts.

I feel like how a fresh new day that has never been lived feels. “Hey, the roof is leaking, and
the rain is falling on my head, it won’t stop, I need a mop.” Songs at the end of movies or the
end of episodes take my breath away, this line was from the end of one the episodes of one
of my favorite series ‘Ozark’.

I danced with her last night, a twirling around on your feet kind of dance, she was showing
me how she used to dance with my father when they went to the disco, after they had just
got married, she says he was man of food, he liked to cook, he liked huge dinners and he
liked to cook with her or cook for her.

It turns out, everyone wants to be served, even the ones who seem to be the most humble,
when they realize that you can serve them in one way or another, then they will want to take
advantage of that, but I know of the greatest man the earth ever saw, his name was Jesus,
he served, he gave himself on the cross for us, and for all the games people like play, for all
the coldness people want to put out, serving others, giving unto others, being the lesser one
on situations will always be good for me, and bring happy thoughts.

The images of my father that is far gone from this earth, too many years from now, away
from even my memory, making tea or something to eat for my mother, holding out his arm to
my mom for a dance, brings a smile across my face and now l understand the language of
the universe about love, I might not have even seen the face of my father for he passed on
when l was so little, but it’s through these stories about him from my mother that l see a good
man, a humble man, a loving man, and my heart swells in love, for his absence, for his once
satisfying presence on earth and for the footprints of life that he left for me and my mother
and my siblings. Happy .thoughts.

There is this piece of document that l got from church last weekend, it’s something about
love, and for all the questions I have about what’s really important in life, it rings a bell for the
happy thoughts of understanding to awake. It’s entitled, “A reading from the first letter of St.
Paul 12:13-13:13 to the Corinthians”

and it goes :

“There are three things that last: faith, hope and love: and the greatest of these love”
Be ambitious for higher gifts. And lam going to show you a way that is better than any of
them. If I have all the eloquence of men or of angels, but l speak without love, l am simply a
gong booming or a cymbal clashing. If l have the gift of prophecy, understanding all the
mysteries there are, and knowing everything, and if I have faith in all it’s fullness, to move
mountains, but without love, then am nothing at all. If I give away all that l possesss, piece by
piece, and if I even let them take my body to burn it, but am without love, it will do me no
good whatever. Love is always patient and kind: it is never jealous; love is never boastful or
conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and is not resentful. Love takes
no pleasure in other people’s sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to
trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.
 229

Love does not come to an end. But if there are gifts of prophecy, the time will come when
they must fail, or the gift of languages, it will not continue for ever; and knowledge- for this,
too the time will come when it must fail. For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophesying
is imperfect; but once perfection comes, all imperfect things will disappear. When l was a
child, I used to talk like a child, and think like a child, and argue like a child, but now I am a
man, all childish ways are put behind me. Now we are seeing a dim reflection in a mirror; but
then we shall be seeing face to face. The knowledge that I have now is imperfect; but the I
shall know as fully as l am known.

In short, there are three things that last: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is
love.
The word of the Lord.”

So it’s this piece of writing that stopped me from hating those I should have hated, it’s this
piece of writing that broke down all religions to simply loving one another, no matter who you
think your God is, if your not loving one another, then where is your God, it’s this piece of
writing that makes me believe that even when everything seems like it’s failing, if l have love
in my heart, then lam still winning, and it’s this piece of writing that obscures any feelings of
too high an opinion of my abilities, worth, or personality; vanity. It’s in this piece of writing that
I find inspiration to love the little that I love, to love the earth around me, to love myself , and
above all, to love my creator.
James Hill
 231

Part |||| Kampala Love letters.

I saw this resort, somewhere on the Internet, or in a magazine that put a vinyl record in each
guest’s room, the records besides the resort picture were The Beatles and the smiths, the
song that came to mind when l saw the picture was ‘Hello, Mr. Shankley,’ and am nostalgic,
a great melancholy, thinking of a faraway dream, where am a writer, with my own vinyl
player, swooning tunes from Pink Floyd, Curtis Mayfield, reposed, oblivious, praying, and am
lucky l believe in dreams, for the multi-colored bits of light radiating off my suncatcher, inform
me that, that maybe one day, I will be a writer, with her own, vinyl record player, lying down
on a hard wooden floor, crying my self to death, for joy.

Love letter to the future, 11th April 2019

}
 James Hill

Dear Kasoozi James,

“I decided to name it “time kills”, it starts off with a tired lion who is talking to himself “I have
to keep doing it, I'm tired, but l can’t stop,” but when this lion, when this man in form of a tired
lion meets you on one of your camping sites drinking tea with honey and putting on one of
your ever disarming smiles, you tell the lion, “Hey man, why don’t you try to keep it simple,
you know, protect your soul in the process.” And so you talk to the lion about the vastness of
life, all its connectedness, and all its vanity, you speak of faith, hope and love, you speak of
the birds in the air, the birds that do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet the
heavenly father feeds them, you go on to talk about the cow that is enjoying naturally
growing grass in the garden, you speak of the mountains, the stars, and the myriads upon
myriads of roads and traffic lights that you have seen in the city yet you do not worry like Mr.
Lion is doing. So after all this talk with Mr. lion, he calms down. Mr. Lion sees the grit in your
talk and suddenly he is filled with memories long forgotten, his eyes are no longer blind,
driving by, he remembers the girl he saw seated across on a tall building, he remembers that
girl swimming in her jet black full-body swimsuit, Nostalgia. And now that she is back on his
mind after all this time, the lion is up at 3 am, unable to control the constellations of thoughts
in his mind, and so, marijuana cigarettes are put afire, the lion is thinking of how the girl hurt
him, and he would rather “bite the hand that beat you” or at least smoke his lungs to soot
than thinking of ever being next to her. And so you say “Never mind, it doesn't matter if we
don’t touch again anymore, I just don’t know where to put my hands when we talk.” It’s 3.am
and the lion is having the throes , but this time around, he contemplates life a bit more
because of the lecture you gave him earlier, he thinks to himself, “I’m exactly where l always
wanted to be, but l don’t think it’s enough”, “what was once full of appeal, lacks a certain
Custer now, and l suppose it’s just another transitional phase that everyone is supposed to
go through into new things and out of old ones, the lion had just lost its mother the month
before and it hurt even to think, but it thought further because you cant’ control thoughts,
“But l look around, and l see the tired but optimistic and benevolent gaunt in a stranger’s
eye, and the way the wisps of clouds kiss the sky good morning and how people from all
varieties of situations, backgrounds and circumstances can create and find a way to make
their hearts full and forgiving, l look around and l see that there is much meaning and value
in the midst of the bitter, acrid taste of reality,” eventually, the lion man is crying while he
draws his next paper, a tear is draped over the one saying “l am getting better slowly but it is
happening” and next thing we know, the lion man is kissing her gain, and on his way back
home from hers that day, his brain goes, “OH! OH NO NO, GOD DAMN IT, THIS SHIT
AGAIN”

The lion man is you James, always trying to fall in love, always knowing its a ticking clock
that is going to kill us all, yet you don't ever fall in the trap of thinking that love even the most
absurd is not worth giving a shot, even when you know goddamn well, it’s that same shit that
is going to take you on endless circles of hurting and trying to recover, you never ever
stopped trying to love and that James, I think is the greatest gift of all, I think that it will
always keep you warm even on cold nights, l think that it will take you far in this world but
even further in your father’s eyes.
 233

I do not love you anymore James and l don’t mean “not love you” “not love you,” No James, l
do not love you obsessively anymore, but in such a clear beautiful, almost divine way. And
with this calmer, reposed way that l have learned to love you over the months, my mind is
filled with all the things that l missed while l decided that l loved you instead of actually loving
you. I missed the details of how you were up doing something almost all the times in order to
make a change in this world, you were either up at your mother’s, or out at a party taking
photographs of others or out at a campfire trying to keep your self sane because God knows,
your not one of the sane ones l have met.

Protect your mental health fearlessly James and spread love and kindness without fear to
everyone around you and join me to imagine a world where everyone was cared for, even
the mentally ill.

Love, Nakuya.
 James Hill

Dear Namayanja Swabra,

I hope that when we grow up and become women, we shall look back at all the mistakes we
made together and laugh so much until tears crawl out of our then womanly eyes. i really
hope with all my heart that you will get your reward from the universe for grappling with the
final year project at University all on your own while me and Sam played in circles, l hope
that Allah, notices how much love l will forever have in my heart for the way you stood by me
while l was really a madwoman, l hope to the galaxies to give us endless fast cars, and
endless dreams, and an endless world in which we make our mothers happy that they gave
birth to us. You are a true human being Swabra and don’t you ever forget that.

Love, Nakuya.
 235

Dear Nanjuba Delia,

I still remember the crumpled bed under the red light in that men only football watching club,
I still remember the ringing of your laughter in that town on that Sunday, l still remember the
way you talk of your dreams, l still remember how you talked of the boy from the ghetto that
you wanted to adopt.

You taught me what it means to have girlfriends, you taught me what it means to talk about
boys with your girlfriends, you taught me how seat down and talk to other people, you
recommended to me some of the greatest films l have ever watched, you are the kind of
friend that I had always dreamed to have, you make saying “i love you” easy and l love so
much Nanjuba, please stay my friend until life is dark, please stay my friend until life is light. I
love you.

And l would like to remind you to protect your mental health with all your whole heart and
entire being and please join me in imagining a world where everyone is cared for, even the
mentally ill.

Love, Nakuya.
 James Hill

Dear Navugga Martha Ann,

You sent a text message in time, it read “Cigarettes after sex reminds me of you” oh God,
that band is so subtle, it brings tears to my brain thinking that when you listen to it, you really
think of me.
But do you know what reminds me of you!, Everything, the song sweetest taboo by Sade
played last night at 2 am and man, it was you all over again, we were young, we were
messing around with boys who broke our hearts, we were roommates,we sang along to Lady
Antebellum, our hearts beat loud like African drums, we were us, we were everything and
you remind me of everything.

Protect your mental health fearlessly Martha and spread love and kindness without fear to
everyone around you and please join me to imagine a world where everyone was cared for,
even the mentally ill.

Stay cool.
Love, Nakuya.

Friday 24rd May 2019.

 237

Dear Kawuma Daniel,

This book is about how friendships help other people to grow, this book is about how l
managed to get through University after that dark period of my life, this book is about the
tutor that helped me study when l hated school to the bone, this book is about you and l
hope we get to understand why l never told you about what had happened to me to become
the way l became, to become less smart than l used to, to be unrecognizable, l hope you get
to know the whole truth after you read this book. Am so grateful for the way you just took
over my life, for being my only friend when l had ignored you almost two years at school, for
being my brother when l had no one else to look up to, for taking care of me that day at
school when l was on my periods and l was experiencing such intense cramps, for being
the light that showed me my way, for being a true God on earth, for helping me see who lam,
for loving me, for taking care of me through my entire final semester at school, for helping
me study for my Calculus exam and all my other exams. You are true and l hope all your
dreams, come true.

Stay true. Love, Nakuya.

 James Hill

Dear Mrs. Hope Babigumira,

Your book No make Up On, the rebirth of identity helped me to finish and put down my story
in this book. I will forever be grateful to you. Thank you. God bless you.

Stay beautiful, you beautiful beautiful woman.

Love, Nakuya.
 239

Dear Umutoni Tracy,

I met you through your mother, through your younger sister, but most especially through your
smile, rather your heart.

We are supposed but we have to be cousins but we have broken all the glasses bounding us
and broke out as friends, as sisters. Am the smart nerdy machine heart, never in the right
clothes cousin, and you are the cool, hearty, beautiful, know all the cool places in Kampala
cousin, always in the right clothes cousin.

But do you know what’s funny? You are like the most beautiful girl in the entire world yet you
don’t even recognize it, because you are stuck on your good heart shit, tryna be everybody’s
friend, everybody’s sister, everybody’s keeper.

You are not the smartest girl l know, but when it comes to counting all your friends, as you try
to get them together for a party, or a concert, for a good Sunday out, you do not miss a
single head. You like it when you sit at a table and it’s so long as you have more than 15
friends all talking to each other, eating it up, living this life with you.

You are far from perfect Tracy, you are heavenly, you are far from smart Umutoni, you are
human, you are far from skinny my love, you are full of love, you are far from peaceful, you
are calm chaos, you are a mother to all your friends, you are mine and all your friend’s
keeper, and i see you nearing to God in your actions everyday man. And l know i never say
this enough but i l love you and i wish that when i grow old, l still get to be friends with you. I
hope that when you grow old, you have a tribe of friends, friends since seventeen, friends
since heartbreak hotels, friends since mental illness breakdowns. I love you baby. My heart
is yours, i tried being your cousin and it did not work, i guess all i ever wanted was a friend
like you.

Stay cool. I love you forever.

Nakuya.
 James Hill

Dear Mad ones,

The other day was a good day. I went for a concert in my city with my three friends, Tracy,
Tricia, and Miriam and l remember telling one of my friends, Miriam, while we got out of the
concert holding hands, that, “some days are really good days, perfect, like this one.” l had
attended more than five concerts before this one, the one on the 29th, a Saturday night in
June 2019. My two other friends who are also my cousins had attended one concert before
this one, and for the other beautiful black chi8ld, this was her first concert, the 29th of June. I
do not know how this concert went for all my other friends but l know that the night in June, is
up among the stars for me, oh Zion. And this is what l have to say about going for a concert.
Leave your phone behind, I know the craze of wanting to picture everything, but trust me, for
at least one concert in your life, do not carry your phone, wear some good comfortable
shoes, some comfortable clothes, no bag, no nothing, but your body, your eyes, your soul
and your mind.

And when you reach the concert, get a spot not so near the stage or so far away from the
stage, and from the moment the band or musician that you came to the concert for starts,
when this band or artist begins to sing, to perform, begin to dance, move your feet from the
ground unto the air, let everything that ever hurt you go, and don’t even care about seeing
the artist, l mean looking at or trying to capture everything with your phone, because
basically this band/ artist up there is here to sing for you, you see him sing on television, or
hear her on the radio, what he is singing is not new to you, only difference is that traveled all
the way from wherever to bring you his/ her sound in its natural form, to bring the guitars and
the bass as close your nose, to bring his soul to connect with yours, so basically the band/
artist is saying we are here together, face to face, am done with the show that l have been
putting up on the telly or radio, am here, lets dance until our feet are sore and our minds are
numb to hatred, and l think that is your only job at any concert, to be the purple cow, Seth
Godin’s purple cow, to loose your mind to the presence of the performer, to dance until you
can’t feel your feet which is usually after the entire show anyway because if you are in the
moment, then not even pain can faze you because you cannot feel any of it, as you are busy
taking it down into the soul, the music, the sounds, the visuals of the stage, the chaos of
reality, a beautiful reality, and in special moments when the band or artist is really being
lovely, passionate, and going off with the guitars, drums, and his voice singing like crazy so
he can make you feel something, go mad, contort your body as far as you can in dancing,
pray to God for all your dreams to come true, pray for the world, pray for the talent of the
band/ artist top flourish and bless more souls like it blesses you, pray for your continent
because there is a very far off spirit of God, a spirit so divine that unites the hearts of the
people at concerts, l can’t quite put my head around it, a power so raging coming directly
from the concert people pouring into the band/artist, a power that l could not resist to feel on
the 29th of June in 2019, a power where you dance, loose your mind, go into a trance and
begin to pray, dance and dance, laugh and laugh with my cousins, holding hands with
Miriam and the world turned blue. Nirvana.
 241

SERAPHINA IS PREGNANT WITH A BABY ALIEN.

}
Women hold up half the sky
Chinese proverb
{

Part 1
I wake up, in my dream, and go to my big sister's room that is just opposite my beige,
book-filled and magazine filled room asking to borrow her iPhone charger as mine was
snatched by the city thieves around Pioneer Mall earlier this March. I would totally cut their
balls off if l ever caught them dawg, those thieves, totally cut their egoistic shit off. Or maybe
l would rape their wives in front of their ugly faces (LMFAO, this is me getting carried away
with my imagination because l have been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski's "South Of No
North. Stories of the buried life," and Henry Miller's "Tropic Of Cancer.")

Getting back to the goddamn cemetery of an essay this is, l wake up, in my dream, and go to
my big sister's room that is opposite my beige, book-filled and Magazine filled room asking to
borrow her iPhone charger, she is still in a hypnopompic state. My big sister chose the work
of being a slave for the money, she has to wake up everyday before 5 am, to run like a
whore running after the new men in the city to put to bed, so she can catch the right uber to
the stupid job that pays her just about one million Uganda shillings per month, and with
history repeating itself, she is a newly single mother of a beautiful boy, only this time the
father of the beautiful boy is not dead of AIDS, no, he is fully alive and well, but could not
stand an independent woman, and by that l mean, my sister with her fat ass, the way she
laughs loud as whores do, the way she has no time for any man, even her own husband but
only time for chasing that one million Ugandan shilling salary at her dumb job every passing
second, the way she drinks until Satan is almost celestial, the way she has big dreams but
has no integrity or character to quit her damn job to go chase her dreams, the little guy that
fathered the beautiful boy could not stand the storm of a woman that she is, and so just a
few months into pretending to be married, he stormed out the door, like a coward, leaving
her with a big belly, struggling to see ahead of herself. Big little lies cripple me into a trance
every time l start to think, remember that scene at the start of Big Little Lies, season 2, where
Meryl Streep tells Reese Witherspoon that some people are wanters who keep wanting and
wanting more stuff, yeah, l kinda just honestly wanted to put it out there that l love Meryl
Streep, what an actress, what a woman! and most probably to get all Big little Lies lovers to
love me and be more interested in continuing to read this goddamn cemetery of an essay.
Big Little Lies totally makes me go, you know, but no one is a wanter here, no my big sister,
not me, and not any of you smirking whores who love the show Big Little Lies.

"Morning, can l please borrow your charger," l say slightly to my big sister because l do not
want to wake her beautiful baby boy sleeping soundly next to her, my big sister hates it every
time l come into her room every early morning at 4 am, but she is kind of my second Mother
and l lover so, and she loves me so. Me being the youngest of three and her being the oldest
of three of a struggling single mother, my big sister automatically became my other Mother
the moment she started sucking all the men's penises for money once she entered the big
 James Hill

city, Kampala and l honestly love this girl, she is my God on earth, and like praying to God
every morning, l come into her room, early in the morning, even when she hates it, in the
pretext of asking to borrow her iPhone charger, but the real reason l come into her room
every morning is really to make sure that she is still breathing, that she has not let her sins
catch up to her, leaving me alone in this big cruel world.

Part 2
My mother is one hell of a woman, the most beautiful queen, l won't tell you everything but
just a little bit to get your stupid mind hungry for where this goddamn cemetery of an essay is
going. My mother is a Rwandan woman who got married to a Muganda man called "Mugera
Micheal," I did not get to see Mugera Micheal at all, he died before l could tell what a face
was, I used to think that the deadly disease that killed him was Cancer, 'reason why I used to
fear smoking so damn much, determined never to go down in history as my father had, but
then l later found out that it wasn't cancer, it was something else, the reason why momma
had never given birth to another child ever since daddy died, even when she was only 32 or
something when he breathed his last. Maybe that's the reason my step dad put his ugly
hands on her beautiful brown skin…because his soldier stupid body thought he needed a
child from her "body that is there to manufacture children on demand," and when she said,
"no, l won't dare bring any AIDS into the world through a child," then that stupid man lost it
and beat her up in our presence, shit, maybe it was the way she drowned her sorrows on
Pilsner and Nile Lager while Elly Wamala blared on her favorite radio, maybe it was the way
she shouted at him like a whore, or maybe it was the way she looked like Nefertiti, the
Egyptian goddess in her gomesi that brought all the boys to the yard that got him reeling in
anger because he could not stand a beautiful free queen who did not like to be owned by
any man but to be a Princess Diana for them all, maybe it was her incessant heart and spirit
of a hero for standing up to him and saying that the AIDS would stop with only her, hence
refusing to give him a child, that the stupid soldier man got so angry about that he beat her
up every night, every noon, every school holiday, every time we were away in those stupid
schools, instead of being by her side to protect her beautiful face from iron arms, I will never
know why any sensible man would put his stupid hands on such a beautiful piece of a
woman that is my mother, but like Virginia Wolf famously said, "Thinking is my fighting," I will
keep bleeding about it in writing until all the pain of seeing her rolling on the floor screaming
for help, seeing her with bruises in the morning sublimes, l will create something beautiful
with all this pain mom, you just wait for it mom, the pain won't turn me into anything you
wouldn't be proud of mom, only flowing Van Gogh yellow flowers, you just wait mom, one of
these days am going to bring you a truck of yellow flowers and beautiful words and a better
man, a better woman, an independent woman that you always dreamt of. You just wait mom,
you just wait. The balls of the stupid soldier man are in the pit while l write this, am tired of
trying to understand why he did it, his TIME IS UP, from now on, action, action, we are
roasting balls of any stupid man that touched our mother in any stupid way, when they still
had the power, we are grown now, we are writers now and guess what, Armageddon, Klaatu
Barada Nikto, May Peace Prevail the Earth.

The smell of his burning balls is intoxicating but l wanna concentrate on my momma more,
my mother is called Mrs. Teopista Mbabazi Mugera, l do not know much about her because
being the youngest of her three kids, the introvert, the one who was always away in some far
 243

away stupid institution or buried into some book, l never got to match up to her skills of
talking to everyone with such beauty and grace and joy, l never got to learn how to drink
Waragi, telling stories until morning, l never got around to learning how to laugh aloud like a
whore with her in the city bars, only my big sister has that beautiful chance, shit, those two
are like best friends, my big sister calls her every day and they will talk like kids until forever
about the men my sister is sleeping with, about the way my big brother drinks and wants to
kill my mother back in the village, "my brother, with a single glass of wine, his whole nature
was reversed, the demon became uppermost, and though none of the usual signs of
intoxication were visible, his will was palpably insane. In this reversed character, he would
shout at any one that crossed his path, even our mother, he would bang the walls, fight,
break things, chase people outside the house," about how Bridget is running mad with all the
books in her room, they talk and talk, and whenever my mom comes to the city to visit us
from the village, they buy meat every day she is around, me being vegetarian, a trait l picked
up from my ex-boyfriend, l miss out on laughing like a whore with my mother at meal times
as she finds it ludicrous that her own kid really prefers grass to meat, so l end up all alone
sometimes, and then her and my big sister after laughing like whores about everything under
the sun, they purchase a few bottles of Uganda Waragi and get stupid drunk and laugh like
whores and watch Agataliiko Nfufu while I automatically go into my beige magazine and
book filled room to watch Ted talks on how to make the Times Cover one day as the best
writer in the last and upcoming 500 years, after they have finished watching Agataliiko Nfufu,
they hug and kiss goodnight and most nights my mother tells my big sister that, "Bridget
doesn't love me, she never seems any excited when am here."

Goddammit, l will never finish this goddamn story if l keep being a drunk stupid bitch who
keeps going on and on about how sweet and lovely my mother is. Moving on, me and my
two siblings grew up in a small village called Kyazanga, Lwengo District, and being so
young, l don't remember when our stepfather came into the picture, but he did and
somehow, we were calling him uncle, he is the only "father" l ever knew, and besides him
beating mom, which l reckon is because she refused to give him a kid, reason being she
didn't want to risk bringing any more AIDS into the world, or maybe because he was simply a
bad man, or maybe am just a foolish kid who does not understand why old people do the
ugly things that they do, all these thoughts make my heart big, not big like in a beautiful way,
nope, big in a swelling kind of way, like it's about to burst with pain and puckishness. Our
stepfather really helped to get us through school, my big sister has a University degree, my
brother is supposed to have one too except the alcohol took hold of his life, and as for me,
am a literal genius at this level because of what education has given me, my mother always
tells us stories of her dramatic end of education in only form four, maybe that's why she
stayed with him all those years she was being pounded like yam, huh, to get us through
school through him! I will puke if l keep going on about this, but I'd like to mention that even
after she only stopped in form four, my mother is one of the most educated women in the
whole entire world, the way she was woman Councilor for my local town Kyazanga for
almost all my primary years until 2009 when she felt she had had enough of power and gave
up the seat for other women to take over, the way she never cared for school marks but
checking in every time if we were happy at school, the way she let me be who l wanted to be
while growing up, the way she made sure l went to the best schools that Uganda has to offer,
the way she loved with such immensity, ahhh, l would go on forever. I went to Kitooro Hill
 James Hill

View Primary School, a school perched on a hill in my hometown Kyazanga, where l was
quite a bright student, scoring 9 points at the end of my primary seven, and l remember
getting back home with my Certificate of 9 points and my mother who believed I was even to
bright for a girl, said, "you did do well my girl, now tell me any school you want to go too and l
will take you there, no matter what." A girl l admired so much called Mulerwa Martha was a
senior at Mary Hill High school and when my mother said l would go anywhere l wanted, l
definitely mentioned Mary Hill High School, Mbarara. My mother being the cunning fox that
she is, l did my O'level at Mary Hill High School for four years, and what a fucking religious
experience. I want to take a pause in my education career for a while, here, at this point, at
Mary Hill high School, Nyamitanga, Mbarara.

"Can l please borrow your charger?" am standing at the edge of of my big sister's bed, she is
still in hypnopompic state, l cannot see the charger where she usually charges from before
going to bed, so she really has to wake up fully to show me where it is but the whore is all
soaked in her baby's arms, she really loves that beautiful baby boy of hers, she became
luckier ever since that baby arrived, almost independent. She finally wakes up and with her
big sexy eyes tells me that a girl about my age took the charger from her workplace claiming
that it's me who had sent her for the charger…so l shouldn't waste her time well knowing
where the charger was, with me. Am startled by what she says but l stay calm knowing this
is sleep disturbing her hypnopompic state of mind, but then she screams at me, "Bridget, l
gave the charger to that girl Seraphina who kept coming to my workplace saying that she is
friends with you, and then finally last night she came and said that you were somewhere
buying something to eat and you wanted to borrow my charger and so l gave it to her, you
have the charger Bridget, so stop wasting my sleep please and go away."

Now, this is no longer some sex and the city shit, no, sit down, grab a cup of coffee, lemme
tell you a story about this bitch Seraphina, lemme try to blur the line between fiction and
reality for you gorgeous reader. On my Charlie Kauffman shit l go now, and by that l mean
my bullshit. Every time l tell this story, no one believes it happened and sometimes am not
sure if it was an out body experience, or a heretic schizophrenic episode, or a lucid dream or
something that really happened to me as l saw with my own eyes. Like damn, am a
madman, am a crazy woman, am robotic, am independent in my train of thought, run away
with me, let's dance to Nina Simone in the dark of twilight.

Part 3
It was a huge countryside homestead of a guest house for people traveling from the city to
other parts of the country. About a mile away from the road, perched on a hill, with many
locals a few miles away in the surrounding. The place that we escaped to.

Me and my friend Regis, had just read the book, " A mercy by Toni Morrison and after
reading most of the scenes about whores and killing of men who disrespected women to the
annoyance of all the religious girls in our form 2 class at Mary Hill High School, we felt we
were too cool for school, we felt trapped, and so we decided to escape from school, but what
happened to me on this escape will forever haunt my mind, l regret why l ever escaped from
school that day."
 245

This one sunny day in March, a huge car pulled into the grass filled compound of the guest
house that I and my friend Regis had escaped to, it contained a white woman celebrity that l
had seen on one of the common social media websites, Instagram, with as many followers
as one could have. She was very pretty, and her condition of burns made her even more
special.

She was in Uganda, to be the face of the Google Chrome campaign of spreading the
message about their new product. And as luck would have it, our little guest house perched
on the hill was to be their resting place for a night and maybe half of the next day.

Besides her, was a group of five men, one was a driver, she was seated in the front row seat
with him, and the rest of them in the four seats in the back rows. When they got out, we had
a chance to interact with them, because the guest house was not large, we had basically
roasted the balls of the men that owned it when we came and now we manged the guest
house ourselves, me and Ahumuza Regis, and so we talked to her a lot, so many questions
and so many answers, while the four men lounged outside, in the quickly arriving twilight.

Later, while, everyone had gone into the bar area to get drinks and some food, one of the
guys had a little object, a monkey-like, slimy, object, which was in a little box, as if in an
endless slumber, it needed charging, which meant to me that it was either Artificial
intelligence of some sort of a baby alien, and as fascinated and bewildered as l was, I simply
took the little object from the man's hands and took it over to the outside charging place of
the guest house.

It seems that the locals had noticed the huge car pulling up into the guest house and seen
the white men, who attracted their senses, subliminally and so, they were roaming the place
in anticipation, a sudden surge of joy and even celebration in the air, on Nyamitanga hill,
Mbarara, no one anticipated the Artificial Intelligence evil that was about to unfold.

We let the locals be, as long as they did not spoil anything on the premises and left
everything in its pristine condition. But there is this little local girl called Seraphina, she was
about 10, small face, brown eyes, bald shaved head, a head too big for her size, who was
like my best friend, she would come around and at my big age of 16, she would make me
play hopscotch with her, make me shout at the top of my lungs to the gods of heaven to help
our mothers be Happy, and do all the childish things l never would have been involved in if it
were not for her.

Precipitously, Seraphina landed unto the little monkey-like object from where it was charging,
and as she put it in her hands and began discovering it, it produced a sound, something like
a hello,' Seraphina was stunned, and with her big brown eyes, looked over to where l was
with eyes sharp and bright as Orion's Belt.

Neither l, nor Seraphina had ever seen something so small, so monkey-like, so beautiful, so
alien, and so sophisticated, but we did not know what we were headed into, because while
Sarafina looked back at me, the little queer object spoke once again "help me, I .." and as if
fainting, it went out.
 James Hill

Before l even had a chance to think or say anything, Seraphina swallowed the little object,
and ran as fast as a deer, across the compound, past the white men, into the surrounding
land, filled with tall trees, and a whole lot of other green.

The next thing l knew was a gun over my head, screaming from the 5 white men, they
shouted at me about how priceless that object was and how l had to pay with my life if l did
not get back the object in the next four hours. They were really furious, so I was told to lead
the group to Seraphina's home, while the rest of the locals who were caught up in joy and
fascination of the white man and his big flashy car were ordered to look thoroughly around
for anywhere that Seraphina could have run to, when the chaos had started, Regis, who was
always smarter than me, had managed to get away, and so l was in this alone now. On
reaching Seraphina's hut, her father's house, the old chubby man came out, and the
coughing sounds of his wife would be slightly heard from where we were standing outside
the hut. "Have you seen Seraphina Mr. Kigozi ?," one of the white men thundered like Thor
with his hammer at Mr. Kigozi. Quietly and rudely, Mr. Kigozi said no, and not before long,
one of the white men was inside the hut, turning everything up and down, more screams and
labored coughing from Seraphina's mother who was lying down on a local mat, which she
had knitted in the first beautiful few months of her marriage to Mr. Kigozi, as relentlessly let
on by Seraphina in one of our conversations.

During the search, one of the taller well-bodied white men that looked like a Viking kept
chanting this poem that made my blood run colder than death:

Hither there comes the son of Hlotyn,

The bright snake gapes to heaven above,
………………
Against the serpent goes Othin's son.
In anger smites the warder of earth:-
Forth from their homes must all men flee;-
Nine paces fares the son of Fjorgyn,
And, slain by the serpent, fearless he sinks.

In a trance-like state, the white man Viking would raise his voice and continue chanting; "the
sky will turn black before the fire engulfs the world, the stars will disappear, flames will dance
before the sky, steam will rise, the world will be covered in water and then it will be raised
again, green and fertile, an independent woman will be born."

Without success, we had to head out of the hut, running this time, because the white men
were now saying that if they did not get this thing, something bad, really bad, was going to
happen, and now, comets of thoughts about Seraphina, my friend's safety with that thing in
her belly, kept pouring in, l felt small, felt trapped, felt the whole world collapsing around me,
I wanted to be out of this mess, desiring to be on my own, I could not bring myself to stop
from tears bulging from my eyes…
 247

Modus Vivendi

Lying down in my room,

curtains raised high,
the stings of quiet are loud,
like '27 guns' and all their sins,
am lost in an ocean of thoughts of
how my hero turned to zero.
Maybe if l drunk enough l could be
Charles Bukowski,
but l quit that about a year ago,
I tried to go out with the crowd but alas,
lonely people can have a house full of people
and still, be lonely,
so l chose to be alone, l choose solitude.
Maybe if l smoked on the ganja, from downtown Kamwokya,
I could feel closer to Marley, but Bob left me in this big bold world
because the acral lentiginous melanoma could not spare him,
everything is heavy, smoking trees drove me to schizophrenia
about a year go and l had to give up the trees,
so now all l have is therapy sessions, thoughts
of Sylvia Plath turning on the gas,
and l cannot stand another text message, another 'friendship.'
ANOTHER GOVERNMENT.
nio, nio, nio,
I do not care what you say,
am taking the time machine,
maybe l get to see Kurt Cobain, maybe l get to sit down
with Maya Angelou and get to know really,
why the caged bird sings, for l feel caged,
will I ever able to sing songs of peace?
Everyone is looking at their phones and what a scene,
I need to get disconnected, l need to find the sevenths heaven,
I am searching for Nirvana, and I'd rather be alone,
kind of Blue, l chose solitude.
Isolation and solitude is what gave me this poem,
but l cannot lie,
l still hate the way Sam Auster handled solitude in the book
'the invention of solitude',
in other words,
l hate me for how often l have to cut out,
even the ones l love the most,
just so l can bleed on paper,
like Hemingway told me to do.
Thank you solitude,
I hate you, I love you so.
 James Hill

Part 4
But l did not have time to cry as we had to continue the search of looking for Seraphina,
within the time limit of four hours.
One of the white men said we should spread out in different directions, so we could make
the search faster, "there is no way she could have gone far." he said, so we spread out and
not even a mile after we spread out, she was pregnant, full blast belly in front of her, I ran
towards her, almost crashing into her, and not wanting to be seen in case anyone was
following me, we went behind the nearby big tree, where she said , " I want to keep it,
Bridget, I want to keep it," and to all the madness in the world, Seraphina, a 10-year-old, was
saying to me how she wanted to keep it, I told Seraphina to shut up about it, that they were
looking for her and my life was on the line for whatever that thing was that was currently in
her belly. And I dutifully reminded her that 10-year-olds don't go around wanting to keep it' or
whatever fucked up shit she was.

Part 5
It's been almost nine years since Seraphina, Mary Hill High school, and the alien, l thought l
would never hear from her again after that last look, the look in her eyes, when she told me,
how wonderful she felt, how new, how intelligent, how happy, how powerful she felt with this
thing inside of her, l had to believe her, so she kissed my left cheek, and ran further into the
woods, me never seeing her again for all these years, and l cannot mention the things that
the white men did to me after it was clear they could not trace Seraphina, it was hell on earth
dawg, yet here she is in the city of sin, playing tricks on my family with her Artificial
Intelligence powers, sitting in my room, l do not know whether to kill myself after what my
sister just told me or to simply write a poem.
I am a ridiculous man. They call me a madman now. That would be a distinct rise in my
social position were it not that they regarded me as being as ridiculous as ever. But that does
not make me angry anymore. They are all dear to me now even while they laugh at me-yes,
even then they are for some reason particularly dear to me, the voices in my head. The soil
will not take my life today, l will go on and on for a thousand years, because God is a
woman, and God is immortal. Long live mother, long live woman. And mom, l don't think
there is anyone who loves you more than l do on this earth, yes, am ridiculous, yes, l never
show how excited lam whenever you are around, but l do love you mom, a lot and am so
thankful for whatever you have taught me, for all the slaps and blows you endured so l got
an education, l may not be very good with expressing myself around you but am educated
now mama, and am good with the pen, am good with writing shit down and l have kinda
grown into a sweet little independent woman who is able to think through stuff, l have grown
up a little bit to see all you had to go through for me to be where lam today, l have grown up
a little bit to know that l may not be able to wipe away what happened in the past or fully
understand what happened and instead of killing myself with the thoughts and questions, l
have grown up a little bit to know that some people in my situation either go to the priest,
some go to poetry and some go to the grave, and guess what l choose mama, l chose
poetry, l choose to let myself go with words, l choose to have a mind of my own, l choose to
speak up for you and the rest of the women that never got the chance to speak up, l choose
to be better than l was yesterday just so l can bring a smile on your pretty face mama, l
choose to dance the pain away, l choose to create art with the poems that l write for the
Lantern meet, l choose to create something so beautiful out of the pain that l feel for how you
 249

were treated, I choose to fight for you mama, not with guns, not with blows, not with hard
slaps, but with words, I choose to be free from hate mama, I choose you, l choose my big
sister, l choose my big brother, l choose God, l choose the sound of my voice on paper, l
choose love, l choose peace mama, l choose Independence.

Independence.

At the break of 4 am, the society flag of expectations was lowered,

And the new flag of independence of hers, of faith, hope, and love
was hoisted in its place.
Illuminated in the floodlight's intense light,
Nakuya who was Rwandan because her mother was Rwandan,
Nakuya who was a Muganda because her father was a Muganda,
Danced to Nina Simone's "I put a spell on you" in her white subtle
lighted room.
Some of her colleagues said that this made her so western cultured,
the music that she danced to.
The turgid and bitter acrid taste of madness, of depression, anxiety
and psychotic breakdowns, all went through the door, on the hour of
her independence, at 4 am.
Any woman that lets go of her mistakes, her tears, her fears, her false
imaginations, has the most special of resolve, miss independent,
once again, earns her sobriquet.
Dearer than love, faster than time, sweeter than joy,
her black hair combed backward and plaited in two long, loose braids,
she stands judged, she walks looked at by many eyes!
"Why is she so different from the rest of her fellow girls?" they ask,
And she walks with her head more poised because only her knows
that the flags changed at 4 am, that she is an independent man now!
Not a Munyarwanda, Not a Muganda, Not a Western cultured black
girl, but a citizen of the world, the World of Socrates, A citizen of
the divine, a great world of women and men that have found the
gold inside their hearts, the world of great men and women that
know of Martin Luther King's words, the great world of men and women
that awake each morning and choose to be different, Seth Godin's purple cows,
the stone that the builders rejected, the cornerstone, independent.
4 am, one hour of madness and bliss,
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last,
To be absolved from previous ties and conventions, l from mine
and you from yours!
Happy independence.
James Hill
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James Hill
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