Meet My Dad: A Tribute

Yes, that’s me peeping through the bottom of the frame. The twins who stole my last born right that I had held for 5 years were stealing the show, and I needed to have at least a corner of the glory.

This day, 16 years ago, I remember it being a cloudy day. I was called to the school staffroom at Ndejje Secondary Secondary School. There stood waiting for me a round figure of a big man. He wore huge spectacles with a dark shade. He asked me if I knew who he was. I shook my head. The brother I follow, Emma, (who was also his god son) showed up and mentioned that it was Uncle Martin. The back of my mind was starting to scream ‘kidnapper,’ only because a few years before, mom had had our ears pierced and had gauze rings in, so that in case we were kidnapped, the advert would describe ‘he has his right ear pierced’ … for easy identification.

Uncle Martin was my father’s cousin and best friend (and this I confirmed from the pictures of their past, which I understood more and more as I grew up). He said our father wanted to see us. We picked up our eldest half brother and were home bound. I was excited to see him, but, the home compound was filled with wails and blanch faces. It was simply hard to describe the moment individually to me, until I found out for myself, finding my father lying in the sitting room center with cotton up his nostrils.

He had succumbed to kidney failure.

I love my mother’s narration of his final hours. Not that it was jovial, but that it filled me with hope. In a lot of pain, he called her, somewhere, after midnight prior. I remember her saying amidst the administering of comfort, a thought came to her, that he might not be making it this time round.

“You need to call on Jesus. And accept Him as your saviour.”

He did. She says; calling on the Lord’s mercy as she took him through the sinner’s and repentance prayer.

“…forgive me Lord…”

And just like that, around 1 or 2 am, he breathed his last. And then to one of the pearly gates.

The following day was Palm Sunday. So, I believe as Jesus rode on a colt into the earthly Jerusalem, Andrew rode along to the Heavenly one. That aside, the qualities I have grown to love about him were the many;

The first quality I learnt about him from those who saw him longer than I did was his generosity. Blake, Uncle Martin’s son talks of times he would come to visit them, and when he’d ask for some money to buy salt, my father would never ask for the change. On visitation days, the same went. After Blake’s father handing them pocket money, he’d come and top it up.

I also hear of stories where he visited his aunts (namely Jajja Anastasia, Jajja Buloba, Jajja Laocadia) and he’d carry along bags of charcoal or kilograms of meat to them, even when he was undertaking dialysis. These elderly ladies always reminisce his generous heart to me when I meet them over reunions.

The next quality I witnessed from him was the ‘life of the party’. Uncle Stephen (husband to Uncle Martin’s sister) once chuckled that they traveled all the way from the city to the Luwero (68km) “For a one-year old’s birthday.”

The photos show they always had a great time.

Uncle Martin’s children recount looking forward to the road trips to Luwero.

“There was always this marriage of popcorn and ground nuts.” Dhalia said excited.

They always looked forward to the parties there. Even when I began understanding, Dad always scheduled birthday parties for the twins and baby Edgar. The last we had for me was when I was turning eleven. He brought much cake while I was in boarding school; and perhaps that is why I am so attached to birthdays subconsciously. They seem quite big deals for me.

Maybe because being alive and making it another cycle round the sun is worth celebrating. His networking trait and expression of euphoria, I carried on, and I hope it makes everyone feel seen, loved and cherished.

Thirdly, my father always had a great vision and speed. Aunt Harriet, my mom’s sister said, “Your father was too fast. Upon hearing that he had bought land, he had already begun construction. Upon hearing the news of construction, I heard he was roofing. Upon hearing that he had graduated with a masters, there were rumors that he had began pursuing his PhD.” I was greatly inspired hearing this. I always find so many academic documents in his property, including certificates of courses from England. I was overwhelmed. I could not therefore afford to slack in education.

He wanted me to be a lawyer and the home library grew to become one of my favorite places. He had books about administration to leadership. That is where I first saw John C. Maxwell. Even if I didn’t end up being a lawyer, I became an author.

Speaking of vision, he purchased so many properties where he was born, his current home district, the neighboring districts, and within the Kampala Greater Metropolitan Area. He had not even clocked 39 yet! The bar seems set high by default.

Proverbs 13:22 says ‘A good man leaves an inheritance for his children’s children.’ I feel he had fulfilled this scripture partially. If he had seen his grand children, he’d have left them something. But if I rethink it, he actually did.

The little inspiration I have gathered over the years of him shapes the present me, challenging me to be more focused and achieve more than he did, hence his grandchildren will taste a bit of him indirectly.

For inheritance isn’t necessarily materialistic. but impalpable and invisible too.