By Mwebe Morgan

Photo by Curtis Loy from Pexels

Are there heroes in our country or villains inside us?

You read my thoughts, and it was your greatest asset.

I grew up in a turbulent country that vicious tortures or kills its citizens, young and old, mothers and fathers!

You reminded me of better days ahead, but the gloomy days continue to shed the blood of the innocent,  always preventing a fresh wave of transformation.

We live in a purgatory of thieving political elites!

You always did what needed to be done. I will be eternally thankful to you for teaching me how to write, do arithmetic, work hard, and be a wonderful athlete. 

You preached about being honest, in my relationships with others.

You always reminded me of a man's ethos.

 I crossed the line; I fought in school, because of minor provocation or insult. 

You remarked that a man's brain determines his outcome, and not his fists or strength. 

You also stated that a pen was more formidable than a sword or an arrow. 

Likewise, you reminded me that the world has changed because of selfless people like authors, politicians, poets, musicians, scientists, activists, and teachers, not because of military might or dictatorship.

These outstanding leaders disseminated democratic values, a love of freedom, and the right to express oneself. 

My country measures a man’s value in a cup of maize grain. 

Papa! I shouldn't say these things. Just imagine a bush rat costing millions of taxpayers’ money and a goat costing a billion shillings! 

All the foreign aid for socioeconomic infrastructure gets absorbed in shoddy work, resulting in poor and decaying hospitals, roads, schools, and marketplaces. 

We sold our country to faceless and soulless foreigners. 

You were a tough parent, not letting anybody catch you off-guard, but you also had a lot of fun and merry-making, and your co-workers referred to you as “Peron.”

 You admired the overthrown Argentine president, Juan Peron, for his support of democratic values.

Papa, you always narrated how Peron adored his people, regardless of their political creed. 

You also liked the well-known Evita, as well as the song that her countrymen sang when she died. 

Your radio blared incessantly, “Don't cry for me, Argentina.”

Our country has no patriotic song to rally us! 

I do recall your fondness for Kadongo Kamu - our folklore, country music, reggae, and modern music. 

That ancient gramophone of yours used to wake us up every morning for chores, so I learnt to listen and recount the themes of the songs.

 These singers' Afro rhythms and acoustic guitars gave life to a generation's memory. 

We will never forget singers like Masagazi, Ssebaduka, Mutebi, Wamala, Kawalya, and Mugula. Others like Luyima, Ssebata, Basudde, Kafeero, Kasozi, Nakakawa, and Nabiryo still live in our hearts. 

Forgive me, for trading your prized LP collection of tape cassettes for my beloved Sony Walkman. 

I can still hear Dolly Parton's shrill and squeaky voice in my brain as if it were yesterday.

No one ever forgets Porter Wayne Wagoner, Don Williams, or Kenny Rogers' boisterous voices. 

Bob Marley wooed generations of millennials and the Wailers' thrilling beats and melodies. 

Some may argue that deceased musicians leave enduring memories today! 

The deaths of your children, Eve, Job, Romeo, and Peter, deeply upset you. 

The loss of your mother, Jaaja Kate, caused you the most pain. 

This loss, depressed, you for years, and your wife, my mother, Cecilia, died recently. 

You accepted this change. Death is a transitory emotion, a shadow. 

You know it is a lonely and meandering journey, but it is one that we must all take because it is the final stage of the life cycle. 

Our fallen kin, may you rest in peace! 

You will find yourself in a beautiful, green, and paradisaical meadow. 

Is this the modern country you envisioned, papa? 

This country belongs to a few men in military uniforms. It is no longer a country for the youth and generation Z. 

Our “liberators” continue to obliterate democracy and other liberties. 

They glued themselves to political positions until death exonerated them. 

This is the charade that the “liberators” created for the uninformed masses in the 1980s.

 There are tribal feelings and partisanship, and a corrupt regime propelled by its military.

Some covert and incorrigible insiders are already agitating for a hostile but “peaceful” takeover. 

This is where I get off your bus, Papa!

 This is Bus Duniya! A bus that sacrifices this country's cream and future. 

Heroes and heroines go undetected; it is the villains who stand out! 

We can’t breathe, for Prince Metternich listens in.

We honour our papas who pave the freedom road for us. 

Tomorrow will bring a new dawn, and our country will be free.