It has been a busy season. Campaigns, elections, losses, internet shutdowns, failing VPNs, and other crazy shenanigans have kept us occupied.
So much so that we forgot what time of year it is. According to cherished culture and tradition, we are supposed to be wallowing in self-pity about how long January is, how broke we are, and how the 90 days of January are unfolding at a snail’s pace. Then a certain section of us is supposed to be dispensing financial literacy theory on social media, claiming they are so much better than everyone else because they have their imaginary finances in order. This is supposed to go on for the better part of the month.
Alas, we were so busy with manifestos, and abstaining from elections, buying Shs500k worth of electricity and buying tons of food in preparation for God knows what! Now it is January 26th, just five days left before the end of the month, and there haven’t been any communal online brokenness mourning/vigils. Such a waste of good old pity partying time.
We must never forget January again. I suspect this was a targeted move by the powers that be to distract us and keep us from tending to important matters. The things that the fabric of this great nation is made of that is the oh-so cherished, useless social media banter. It is a tad too late now to remember that we were broke, but we must be vigilant and ensure that this does not happen again. It will take concerted effort and a multipronged approach to achieve this. The onus is on us to never let Jan-worries slip through the to-do list again.
On a personal level, I am determined to make this the last time this year that I let something important pass me by.
Speaking of important observances, whether you have gains to protect or not, today is NRM Liberation Day. And history lessons and political fanfare aside, we could all use some liberation or at least a resemblance of it.
I decided that this year, I would liberate myself from house help in form of house maids. After the 89th betrayal in the city occasioned by a house help who promised me with a big smile that she would be back after the holidays, but did not show up on the expected day or even bother to pick up my frantic phone calls, I have decided to keep my gains to my offspring and I. We will now proceed to make our own little new Uganda. We have freed ourselves from the mental slavery that we cannot be celibate of house helps.
It is 26 days into this resolve, and I have realised I am indeed not Mzee and I have no interest in staying ku main. It is extremely difficult playing mother, employee, sister, daughter, aunt, friend, nosy neighbour, and angry citizen of Uganda all at the same time. And yet it is also strangely fulfilling and liberating.
I have also made sure to liberate myself from any ill-feelings towards my most recent ex-house help. This process of liberation has not been easy. Among the many things I had to do as advised by Google shrinks is to deal with any sneaky ill feelings of bitterness, resentment and unforgiveness by writing a letter to her and addressing the matter conclusively and then burning the letter.
Below is the letter that I will torch tonight in commemoration of Liberation Day.
Dear Efrance,
I know you are the one who took my light blue blouse. The one with a small hole around the left armpit area. Bring it back. Leave it in the flower pot near the broken pole.
Ps: Why did you even leave your ka-toothbrush?
Dedications
I don’t ever want to see you again- Uncle Sam
I will survive- Gloria Gaynor
Lunkuse Wansala – Mathias Walukaga