Dear RJ,
When you came to my home early morning looking the way you were, I reminisced with near tears in my eyes on times of our profound friendship at Kigarama S.S. when we were the coolest kids there and in the whole village.
You had completed your Primary Seven in the city and scored only distinctions when death stole your dad, forcing your mom to switch you to a village school. You quickly adapted and we became instant chums.
You taught me good and correct English, and no one in our class ever beat us in that subject. In Senior three you won by a landslide to become the entertainment prefect, and revolutionised disco-dancing at the school, hiring the best machines from Ishaka town. You gave me my first lesson on asking a girl to dance and told me how girls are crazy about confident, charming guys.
How you used to ride your bicycle down the rugged slope near the school like a man possessed. I was afraid that bicycle would kill you, but you said I needed to know real men are afraid of nothing except God.
I look back with wonderment that even at that age you were that enterprising; dealing in coffee and waragi, and oh how you used to splurge on us at the canteen.
How happy we were to get admitted to the same school for A-level. Sadly, that unfortunate fight got you expelled, opening the door for further misfortunes. You failed to make it to Makerere University as you badly wanted to, got a child, then booze and drugs exacerbated your plight.
Although many have lost the last modicum of faith in you, I still pray for you, RJ. You may be down but you‘re not out yet. You may have lost your looks and swagger, but you’re still breathing. Your little daughter might be missing you, but there’s still time to catch up. Yes, I’ve that faith and optimism that out of your great tests will emerge a greater testimony!
Deep down, I’m still convinced the funny, bright, confident, enterprising and generous friend of mine back in the day could still conquer the world in spite of everything that’s happened. And I want you to know that whether you appear dirty, smelly and staggering like last Sunday, I’ll always open for you because I still believe in you, RJ.
When you came to my home early morning looking the way you were, I reminisced with near tears in my eyes on times of our profound friendship at Kigarama S.S. when we were the coolest kids there and in the whole village.
You had completed your Primary Seven in the city and scored only distinctions when death stole your dad, forcing your mom to switch you to a village school. You quickly adapted and we became instant chums.
You taught me good and correct English, and no one in our class ever beat us in that subject. In Senior three you won by a landslide to become the entertainment prefect, and revolutionised disco-dancing at the school, hiring the best machines from Ishaka town. You gave me my first lesson on asking a girl to dance and told me how girls are crazy about confident, charming guys.
How you used to ride your bicycle down the rugged slope near the school like a man possessed. I was afraid that bicycle would kill you, but you said I needed to know real men are afraid of nothing except God.
I look back with wonderment that even at that age you were that enterprising; dealing in coffee and waragi, and oh how you used to splurge on us at the canteen.
How happy we were to get admitted to the same school for A-level. Sadly, that unfortunate fight got you expelled, opening the door for further misfortunes. You failed to make it to Makerere University as you badly wanted to, got a child, then booze and drugs exacerbated your plight.
Although many have lost the last modicum of faith in you, I still pray for you, RJ. You may be down but you‘re not out yet. You may have lost your looks and swagger, but you’re still breathing. Your little daughter might be missing you, but there’s still time to catch up. Yes, I’ve that faith and optimism that out of your great tests will emerge a greater testimony!
Deep down, I’m still convinced the funny, bright, confident, enterprising and generous friend of mine back in the day could still conquer the world in spite of everything that’s happened. And I want you to know that whether you appear dirty, smelly and staggering like last Sunday, I’ll always open for you because I still believe in you, RJ.
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