#29DaysOfLove. Queer that Sinawo Bukani who started this has been AWOL for two days now. Nawo, are you alright?
Well this February, the leap month of love, letters are being written, appreciating loved ones; cupid, flowers and the ineffable Love. I am too, with a leap from my friends, writing. I had to first ask some old flames though, if it was a bit alright being *sub-blogged.
Forgive me for my letters will be raw, deep and mixed with hurt because if you’ve loved, you know hurt, disappointment and some pain make a significant presence in the ingredients of Love.
Dear friend at 4 years,
I don’t even remember your name, but your Mum was Jane.
She had the biggest breasts in NTC and possibly Kabale Town and was a bad soul, if I knew Lucifer then, I’d deduce she was his advocate. Your Mum didn’t know how to cook and hated me. I don’t know why.
But you and I were friends, we’d play behind the college dispensary which also happened to house you. We played hide and seek, rode bicycles and played house.We’d make each other smile, had each other’s back whenever the other kids wanted to mess with us.
Your white knickers was the first nude I saw. So white like a confused angel on Meth they were. Looking back, staring at anything beyond the navel was like an abominable sin. I didn’t even discern what I’d seen and the hormones then didn’t even care. But now I know, and girl I know I saw nothing more than just a whitish clothed sketch of a living samosa.
You’d share your bread and watch cartoons with me, till your bad mother beat me asking me if we didn’t have bread at ours. That hurt Mum’s heart.
That was the last time I talked to you because I hated your Mum and couldn’t help myself looking at her again. That was the last time I minded about you. I don’t even know how you look like right now, or if you have kids of your own.
If you’re reading this remember that ‘Suununu mpa abaana bangye’ (*Suununu give me my kids) song we used to sing as we rubbed those Suununu flowers to see the aphids *our kids out. Do you remember? The smelly Calla lilies behind the dining hall that we would pluck for their soft petals and rather long bracts. Hope you didn’t forget.
Thank you for being my first friend, if only destiny wasn’t less abstract.
No longer yours,