We all tell ourselves stories to get through life. We believe our children are safe, that our bodies are healthy, and that the faith we talk about is a strong foundation, not just a pretty decoration. But sometimes, reality breaks through. For me, it was a phone call. A voice telling me my daughter was very sick.
As a parent, you learn to sort illnesses into types. There are the small, annoying colds that go around the house. There are the standard childhood sicknesses, such as chickenpox, that you almost look forward to for the protection they give. And then, very rarely, there is the sickness that changes everything. It splits your life into ‘before’ and ‘after.’ This was that sickness.
I will not focus on all the difficult details. I do not want to just complain. But the simple, cold truth was this; my daughter, who had walked to school that morning, suddenly had to spend years learning everything all over again. Walking was no longer natural; it was a painful, step-by-step effort. Putting a sentence together was a huge struggle. Basic things such as feeding herself became enormous challenges, and I could only watch.
This experience dug down deep inside me and showed me what faith really is. I used to think of faith as something soft, like a warm blanket. We often believe in things because it is easy or because they are a comfortable support we have always known.
But faith that is tested is different. It is not soft. It is hard and sharp. It is a belief you have to build in the middle of your worst fears. You hold onto it not because it makes you feel good, but because letting go would mean falling into despair.
My belief became a single, repeating thought, worn into my mind: My child will not just get better; she will be completely healed, and I will see her walk at her graduation. This was a fact I built my life around. It was a strong wall I built against all the uncertainty.
And then, last week, that wall held strong. My belief became real. There she was, graduating from Nkumba University.
Hardship is a tough teacher, but you learn powerful lessons; you learn to see something amazing in a small step, and to never take the ordinary things in life for granted.
As the ceremony ended, the air was filled with the loud, joyful cheers of the parents around me; a sound of pure happiness.
Our sisters from the north and the east understand something deep in their bones. They know that some feelings are too big for words. Those ululations are a whole language of emotion. They speak of family pride, of sacrifices I can barely understand, of hard work in the fields, of mothers who went without food so their children could have an education. They say more than words ever could.
I looked at the young graduates, so proud in their caps and gowns, and I wondered if they could understand the meaning in that sound. Could they hear the hope, the fear, and the entire lifetime of investment in that beautiful noise?
My eyes stopped on one couple that looked old before their time, their faces showing a life of difficulty. They cheered, but they also cried, wiping away tears of joy with their rough hands. I imagined their whole story. I wondered if their smart, beautiful daughter, fixing her cap, truly understood what that graduation gown represented. Their hopes were not just for a job or a comfortable life but were for a payoff, a reason for every hard thing they had ever gone through.
The graduates probably think their days of struggle are over. They might be. But in a country where it is hard to find a job even with a degree, it is not likely. Their struggle might just be changing into a new, more confusing kind.
Lastly, to everyone facing a trial my advice is, persevere. The dawn will come. Your mission now is not to see the whole path, but to find one unwavering truth to hold onto; ‘I can survive this,’ ‘My worth is not defined by this,’ ‘This too shall pass.’
Let that truth be your compass. The other side of this pain is not just relief; it is a version of you forged by fire, wiser and more resilient for the battle. This struggle is not the end of your story; it is the test that will shape its next, most powerful chapter.