Never Too Late

By Femrite Publications

Images of loneliness, seduction, unfulfilled dreams and torn lives emerge on the pages of this anthology to challenge readers to search for answers for a better life. The authors use The Role of Christianity as the running theme for most of the stories. This is a unique and interesting collection of stories about the life of teenagers. The stories, set in Uganda, offer rare insights into the emotional turbulence and social crises that usually remain unrecognisable and invisible to adults.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Femrite Publications
• Release date: Jun 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9789970480005

Book preview

Never too Late

Edited by

Hilda Twongyeirwe

and

Aaron Mushengyezi (PhD)

FEMRITE PUBLICATIONS LIMITED

KAMPALA

FEMRITE PUBLICATIONS LIMITED

P.O. Box 705, Kampala

Tel: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

www.femriteug.org

Copyright © FEMRITE - Uganda Women Writers Association 2010

First Published 2010

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of FEMRITE-Uganda Women Writers Association.

Individual writers retain copyright of their stories

ISBN 978-9970-700-23-3

Printed by:

Good News Printing Press Ltd.

P.O. Box 21228 Kampala, Uganda

Tel: [phone]

E-mail: [e-mail]

Contents

Introduction

Hanging out at Dazzles

Constance Obonyo

Each Cloth I Sew

Flavia Zalwango Kabuye

The Running Dream

Barbara Oketta

Hope Each Day

Brenda Lubwama

JJ

Nakisanze Segawa

This Bump on My Head

Juliet Kushaba

The Greatest Ugandan Novel

Dennis Daniel Muhumuza

Life Goes On

Lillian Tindyebwa

It’s Never too Late

Constance Obonyo

Till We Find Our Voices

Hilda Twongyeirwe

The Second Family

Lillian Tindyebwa

The Last Laugh

Ernest Tashobya

Serina

Rose Rwakasisi

Time to Act

Hilda Twongyeirwe

Hair Cut

Beatrice Lamwaka

The Pact

Glaydah Namukasa

Notes on Editors

Mushengyezi Aaron

Dr. Mushengyezi graduated with a Ph.D. from the University of Connecticut in the USA and is currently a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Literature at Makerere University. He is a specialist in children’s literature and child literacy. He has authored Twentieth Century Literary Theory (2003), co-edited Africa in World Affairs (2004), and contributed articles on literature for children in several journals and books including The Oxford Encyclopedia of Children’s Literature (2006), Performing Community: Essays on Ugandan Oral Culture (2008), and Performing Change: Identity, Ownership and Tradition in Ugandan Oral Culture (2009). He has also contributed short stories in several anthologies including Michael’s Eyes: The War against the Ugandan Child (2005) and The Mermaid of Msambweni and Other Stories: An Anthology from Africa (2007). Aaron has won many awards including a Postdoctoral fellowship from the African Humanities Program of the American Council of Learned Societies and an award from the Ford Foundation’s International Fellowships Program.

Twongyeirwe Hilda

Hilda grew up in Kacerere village, in Kabale district. She has co-edited two publications aimed at making heard voices of marginalized women; Farming Ashes (2008) and Beyond the Dance (2009). She has also contributed short stories and poems in different anthologies including; A Woman’s Voice (1998), Words From a Granary (2001), Tears of Hope (2003), Pumpkin Seeds and Other Stories (2009), Talking Tales (2009), Painted Voices (2008&2009) and Butterfly Dance (2010). She has published children’s books in Runyankore-Rukiga courtesy of Longhorn publishers. In 2008 she was awarded a Certificate of Recognition by the National Book Trust of Uganda for outstanding contribution to children’s literature for her book Fina the Dancer (2007). Fina the Dancer is used as a Reader in Primary Schools in Rwanda. Hilda holds a Diploma in Education, a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Social Sciences and an MA in Public Administration and Management from Makerere University. She is currently the Coordinator of FEMRITE – Uganda Women Writers Association.

Introduction

The Teens Anthology project, was born out of the need for FEMRITE to generate literature for positive change, aimed at addressing different challenges faced by society today. As a creative writing community, the challenge was how to write stories that had to carry a message for positive change, without compromising creativity. And the reverse was true; how to be creative without compromising the message. The risk was high, but we took it.

Never too Late has 16 stories that tackle themes of sex and sexuality, courage and ambition, love and betrayal, teenage pregnancy, loss, homosexuality, HIV/AIDS, drug abuse, incest, parental care or the lack of it and defilement. All the stories are set in Uganda although the themes addressed can be anywhere in the world.

FEMRITE - carried out a five-day training workshop during which participants were tasked to generate short stories aimed at influencing positive change among young readers. The theme of the project was: Literature for Positive Change; The Role of Christianity. Other aims of the workshop included; encouraging writers to explore Christian writing as a means to social stability, providing participants with quality writing skills, providing an interactive environment for mentoring and peer review, inspiring new and upcoming writers and providing participants with space and time to write.

FEMRITE is indebted to Ms Jo DiStefano Kapus who strongly identified with the theme of the project and agreed to fund its activities. Jo also participated very actively in shaping the project and developing the manuscript. She was such an inspiration and a blessing to work with in our pioneer project that deliberately addressed social challenges using Christianity as a tool.

Jo supports other Christian related projects in Uganda, which include On Fire for Jesus Library in Jinja. She supported the teens’ anthology because it promised to positively impact on hundreds of children that will access and read the stories. All the stories are tied together with the message that it is never too late... We are very grateful to Jo’s friends, Paul and Drucilla Senkungu who worked with her to support the project.

We indebted to the editorial team that worked on the stories and to all the writers that submitted stories for the project. Wanting to publish is one thing but getting quality stories to publish is another.

Let’s keep writing,

Hilda Twongyeirwe Rutagonya

Hanging Out at Dazzles

Constance Obonyo

Have you ‘happened’ before? I mean ‘happening’ at Dazzles? Has anyone asked you this question and you were lost for words? Fret no more.

It was in March 2006 when I realized I was in love with Mark Daniel Otim. Or was I infatuated with him? I think I was in love. I was in Senior Two then.

Mark Daniel – he was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. The soft, light flawless skin, the white of his eyes, oh, so clear! His French cut hair style was always neat and cut close. He was clean shaven, except for the thin moustache that encircled his chin and lips. He had a unique bounce to his walk. And then there were the muscles.

Every boy I knew envied Mark Daniel for his muscles. The girls swooned over him. I got all the news about MD from my elder sister, Brenda. Both of them were in Senior Four and ‘happened’ at Dazzles, a restaurant that ‘happening’ boys and girls frequented during the school holidays.

Mark Daniel and the boys spend hours at the gym. That is why they are so well toned. That is why he looks like an American Marine, Brenda would say in her conversations about the ‘happening’ places and the ‘happening’ boys and girls.

MD’s height and body size also worked to ensure that all the ‘happening’ boys and girls about town noticed him. He used Denim cologne. That was what all the ‘happening’ boys aspired to use. He wore only classic jeans like Wrangler and Levi Strauss. He also wore colourful baseball caps, shirts and trainers that praised American teams like The Chicago Bulls, or designer T-shirts from Hugo Boss, Puma and LA Gear.

The orders at Dazzles were for chips, chicken, sausages and the like. Woe to anyone who dared to order for katogo in whatever form. They would be branded ‘common.’

I was only Brenda’s little sister, whom no one ever noticed. I never ‘happened.’ I was also dark-skinned. Brenda once told me that MD prefers light chocolate-skinned girls and that he would never date a girl without a full figure. The fact that I was skinny hurt more than you could ever imagine. Her words confirmed that MD did not even know that I existed.

I didn’t have the courage to stand up to our parents the way Brenda did. While the rest of us – my two brothers and I – got packed off to Christian camps, Brenda had her way. She got to ‘happen’ at Dazzles on Kampala Road. That was where the Otims, the Byaruhangas, the Guweddekos, the Bwires and others had their birthday parties. Sometimes they just held a party for no good reason but to celebrate and to ‘happen.’ If you never ‘happened’ at Dazzles, you were common.

I longed to ‘happen’ at Dazzles with Brenda and her friends but most of all, I longed to ‘happen’ with MD. I thought long and hard about it. I thought about it every time I woke up. I went to bed thinking about it. I dreamt about it and when I woke up, I mulled over it.

I dreamt of our wedding. All who ‘happen’ at Dazzles were there. My wedding dress, made of white silk and decked with sequins, had a long white lace train. The tiara was silver and it was set with diamonds. The shoes were sparkling silver high-heeled pumps.

The bridesmaids and maid of honour wore long, flowing, peach sleeveless satin ball gowns. They wore high-heeled peach pumps. The décor theme was peach and white, with a twenty-tier cake. It all happened at Dazzles.

I even had the names of our three children with MD ready: Dancy, Marthia and Cynda, from the fusion of our names.

I went about all day in a daze, thinking about nothing else but MD, ‘happening’ and Dazzles. I was the obedient child at home and I hated myself for it. Brenda would throw a tantrum and my parents would let her have her way, just to have some peace at home. No one knew of my obsession with MD – not even Brenda.

A lot happens in two years. Soon after MD and Brenda’s Ordinary Level examinations, I found out that MD would be leaving for London in the United Kingdom during his long vacation. That was the hot news for weeks on end. I thought my heart would break. What made things worse was the fact that I could not cry in the open or even share it with anyone.

At the beginning of 2007, when the Ministry of Education released the Ordinary Level results, most of the ‘happening’ boys and girls had passed well – including Brenda and MD. I looked forward to seeing MD come back from London to continue his Advanced Level studies. I waited for news of his return from Brenda in vain.

When Brenda was due to start her advanced level studies, I could not contain myself any longer.

Brenda, did that friend of yours called MD return from London? I asked one day, attempting a casual voice tone.

No one has heard from MD. He wrote an e-mail to all of us about a week after he left. He wrote of the biting cold January winter and how wonderful he felt to have had a change of environment. He has not communicated since, Brenda said as she stared into space, lost in thought.

Why don’t you send him an e-mail? I asked, surprised.

Oh, everyone I know, myself inclusive, have tried. He does not reply. Maybe he became a snob over there, she said, shrugging her shoulders.

I was disappointed, but I kept the hope alive that MD would show up any time.

Two years passed. I waited in vain for MD to show up, so did most of the boys and girls at Dazzles.

One day, I went to Nasser Road in downtown Kampala. My aunt had sent me to collect a pack of her business cards from one of the shops there. I marvelled at the numerous little shops that offered all sorts of stationery and printing services. The box-like shops made one want to escape into the street for some fresh air, dusty as that air might be.

Cynthia, Cynthia! I heard someone call me from one of the newly built malls on Nasser Road. I turned round to face a thin young man. He was grinning at me. He had a mop of dark, wild and greasy dreadlocks on his head. His face was shiny from too much oil. He wore dark brown loose-fitting Teflon trousers, a light blue long-sleeved cotton shirt and dark brown worn-out sandals. His clothes looked dirty and crumpled.

There was something familiar about him. Those eyes, they were blood-shot, but they looked familiar… A strong stench of cigarette smoke in a dirty mouth hit my nose. I stepped back.

"Cynthia, don’t