LITERARY SERIES BY DR. ASHRAF SSEMWOGERERE
Jalia is tall, slender and light-skinned. She is a Muganda but you may mistake her to come from the Land of Milk because of her nose as a result of the mother who comes from there. The gap in her upper central incisors crowns her beauty. She dresses in a beautiful sharia to make Moslem men run for their money. Generally Jalia is really beautiful. This is her story:
“Hajji Ashraf, I’m called JaliaKisitu. Kisitu was my father; he died some seven years ago before I graduated from Makerere University with a degree in Electrical Engineering. My mom is alive but very handicapped. She suffered a serious mental condition that affected her ability to walk, hear or speak. But she can see and understand clearly. It was as a result of a grand stroke she suffered after the sudden death of dad.
“Dad was shot and murdered as he reached the gate back from work. His death is something I wouldn’t want to talk about, but because of what I have gone through, I will tell you what happened to me, in particular.
“First and foremost, I never attended the burial of my father though I was around. Thefollowing day of the evening he was murdered, I was doing my last S6 final paper. I remember it was Chemistry. It was to be done in the afternoon. Being a Moslem, they were to bury him the day I was sitting the paper. So, my family decided not to inform me of his murder, but to leave me at school and do my last paper. I finished the paper well at 5.30pm but feeling very weak.
“My fellow students were all in jovial mood. Then, in the compound, I saw Uncle Walusimbi, coming to collect me, something that had never happened since S1. I was immediately called to go and pack. Two of the teachers even helped me to pack; this was something unusual. They were very quiet. I knew one thing for sure that I had no offence. Reaching the car, everything had been done for me even signing out.
“I got inquisitive and asked my uncle what the problem was. When I saw him wiping tears fro, his eyes, I broke down before he even told me the bad news. I knew something very bad had happened to my loving dad. I went wild and I never wanted to enter the car. I wanted to see Daddy first.
“The Headmistress came, called me and embraced me as she calmly gave me the bad news that dad was dead. I cried uncontrollably. The H/m sat me in her car with my best friend,Leylah, who rested me on her lap. She drove following uncle up to the burial site in the village. We reached their and it was already past 7.00pm. They took me straight to the graveyard where my dad was no more.”
Though it is now seven years since this happened, to Jalia, it is as if it happened yesterday. When she reached this point, she failed to control her tears. From what she was saying as she cried, I realized that she even had anger behind her mind; and the suspect of her father’s killer was at large. We almost ended our story here. But she gained courage and continued to tell her story.
Next week, we shall continue from there Allah bless you all.