Arts
‘Walking through the cemetery’
Passing through the cemetry
I will achieve what I vowed to achieve. But, too, be known, across this earth, that they want also to see that source of shocking riches.
I am wise enough, not to disclose some of the sources of magnificent riches but, again, there are things I might never let the world discover and if I do, never will I ever sleep again. I today speak, and write, to inspire, better than any other person around.
I said things months ago and these things embarrassed me and, some people said, I became even a greater wiseacre more than what my relatives said I was, when I was just starting these things that now force people out of their comfortable chairs to go to do what the world had declared impossible. I saw this coming, because I trained more than them. I am now among the finest men in the field.
Regardless of your calling, you will acquire what you want. There is nothing for nothing. See, the year is ending. People are going through a lot. Poverty this year has done what it is so good at doing. It has tortured people. People have suffered.
I warned you against wasting your time fighting for those who may never remember you when they go up. I have moved across this country. I am still walking around.
Shame upon you, you who thought you would earn another life, a good one, if you, with one heart, looked for votes, for that man or woman now in a political office.
Someone, a lady, recently shocked me. That she was ready to do everything she could to acquire riches. She said she was even ready to pour the blood of that one she loved most. “My uncle, yes, that one, I am ready. I am tired of this and now I am ready to do anything and to obey the rules, as long as I will get what I want”. My head is now so full, because I hear a lot. She said and I listened.
People want to succeed and, in politics, they will lie. Move around. Your eyes will become full of tears.
I look and wonder if, really, we are less than 50million people in this country. Every district, every sub county, every parish, every village, every ghetto, whatever you may call it, has people, very many people and these people are suffering.
My elbow is hard but let me not use it. My pen cripples and kills. My brain works day and night. My hands work and using them, we fight. My feet can walk. I walk and walk whenever I am there mingling with the people who are today down, excluded and suffering.
I will reward bigwigs here if they say they were yesterday there, wanting to help someone. This country, this country, is poor. I am not happy. My pen is now begging me, and kneeling down, telling me to tell our leaders here the truth.
I was in Makindye, a lot of years ago, when I was still very poor. There, almost behind one of the most respected hospitals here, in this country. I saw a cemetery of so many years old. I walked through it. I was hugely suffering. Poverty had hammered me. I was so thin and, yes, looked older than my age. People undermined me and stepped on me, seriously, for long, for years. I walked and walked, through that cemetery.
Though poor, I could think. I looked and saw the grave stones, with indelible marks. The names of the people under there were written in sand. So many people inside there were, in fact, recognized men and women. But, despite their influence here on earth, they were not spared. And for evermore their relatives will miss them. The area was full of silence.
I was inspired by what I saw and now, I vowed never to give up. I looked at the graves stones containing the bones of those who were formerly great. Life, that involves doing good for others, who are in need, is really interesting. I discovered.
Perhaps the dead misused what they had. They tortured the powerless. God judges and, now, in paradise we shall miss them. Not to let people misunderstand me, I walked swiftly through the cemetery.
There, across the road, I sat down on the verandah of a certain retail shop and I ordered for drinking water, which I don’t think was boiled, to quench the hard thirst that what hitting my throat, seriously.
That water was for one hundred shillings. I was so poor but, you, this God, who is invisible, works. Feared people died and we doubt if they were all received by the almighty or any of His angels.
What have you really done, today, for someone? Think about the cemetery that I walked through and the people who are lying, deep, down there. It changed my life. I walked through the cemetery. I grew stronger. It has happened finally.
Sekka Bagenda is a writer, An inspirational Public speaker and a Sports Scientist
Have your say via: 0756717967 or Email: sekabagenda@yahoo.com
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