‘Where are you from?’ is a question I have answered so many times that the answers are automated in my head – auto-response doesn’t only work with emails and whatever else you use it for – I just reply in 2 seconds ‘Born and raised in Kampala, Kasubi -Lubya’.
I am what many call a city born. I had never left the city until university called, and I was off to Western Uganda. Not everyone was happy with that decision. ‘How will she manage on her own?’ ‘She is so young to be going there alone’ – I had a cousin aunt who was also going to the same university and an Uncle who worked at the university but that was not enough, – ‘how will she manage with no family members around her?’ You should have seen what my mother packed for me as I embarked on my journey away from my home… two bus boots were filled (SMH as I remember what the conductor said as we filled up the space).
You see where I am from, family matters more than anything, its the most important thing in my community (Buganda), my clan (Ngobi -Antelope) and my tribe (Muganda) – and I am a grand daughter to a princess (I had to throw that in, bragging rights).
We are named after each other, we inquire about stuff before we do them, we discuss issues before they even occur, we are so connected in away that there is nothing that can happen in my family that everyone won’t know about.
Where I am from no one had really rebelled as I had done in my childhood, and no one had ever seen a stubborn child as I was (still are). The whole neighbourhood was never happy about school holidays because I was coming back home. I was that child known from one town centre (Munaku) to the other (Lugala). I had a gang of friends and we terrorised people – the terror you experience on the TL is nothing compared to what we did to people, ohh those glorious days.
The village remembers me where I am from, many heard of me in rumours and others experienced my wrath, most of them made me earn a good beating for the crimes I had committed in the neighbourhood.
They are proud of me where I am from and happy that I had to leave to change. They gathered for my graduation party, came to witness what I had become, who I had become, from the young girl who made every family on the hill fear for their fruits, their children and their flowers, not forgetting their roofs (I used to love the sound of stones falling on iron sheets).
Where I am from, my peers respect me instead of fearing me as it was when I was a child. The ones who never knew me hear of me in whispers and the developments I have helped put up in the area – with the help of my family.
Kampala city is my home, Kampala city is my village, this is where most of my clan members were born and buried, before being relocated to lands far away from civilisation.
This is where my King (Kabaka) ‘s palace is; Lubiri, EnMengo.
This is where my King (Kabaka) ‘s fore fathers are buried; Kasubi Tombs.
This is where my mother was born and raised; Ntinda, Kisasi.
This is where my father was born and raised; Kazo and Mutudwe.
This is my home, my inheritance, my pride, this is my heritage; this is where I am From.
Picture below from Google Now, shows how many minutes it will take me to leave my mother’s village (Ntinda) where I stay, to my village (Kasubi, Lubya) where my mother lives, my childhood home in Kampala.
This is blog entry number 5 for #UgBloggers7Days.
This article has inspired me. I thing one has to look back the far they have come, the kind of life they lived then to what they are, what the village know about and call them.