Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Below are the most recent messages regarding the country wide hydro / power / electricity shut off in Uganda.  Timestamps are AST (GMT – 4).  I am in AST time on the East Coast of Canada.
[27/07, 3:14 p.m.] Its now back
[27/07, 3:14 p.m.] Mission complete
[27/07, 3:15 p.m.] National darkness night. They could be preparing for Friday 29th.
[27/07, 3:15 p.m.] Still off
[27/07, 3:15 p.m.] Rukungiri online, full power
[27/07, 3:15 p.m.] Here in nankulabye its now on
[27/07, 3:16 p.m.] Even here in Mbale its off
[27/07, 3:17 p.m.] It's jus a warning though it is back, how and why subject the whole country to darkness at once? They did to internet during elections🏃🏾🏃🏾
[27/07, 12:26 p.m.] At the minister’s office, the secretary told my mother that although the minister was engaged, he would see her if she could wait.
After a long and anxious wait during which she could hear the minister barking at somebody else over whatever matter had brought that poor soul to his office, my mother was summoned.
The minister, a no-nonsense military man, looked at her once over and asked what she wanted. He didn’t offer her a seat so she remained standing. She said she needed clearance to buy foreign exchange to pay for her husband’s medical treatment. She handed the minister the painstakingly collected and prepared paperwork. The minister cast his eye over the papers that had been handed to him and, without saying a word or asking any questions, tore them up and cast them in his waste paper basket.
My mother was dumbstruck. She wanted to plead with the man but couldn’t find the right words. She didn’t know whether it was wise or even safe for her to ask why the application had been rejected. With tears welling up in her eyes, the only words that came out of her mouth were “Thank you, sir”. The minister didn’t look up from his paperwork so my mother walked out of his office, closing the door behind her.
My father got progressively worse. A few months later, the doctors at Mulago, in desperation, decided to open up his abdomen to take a look at what they thought was a perennially obstructed gut. What they found was advanced cancer of the pancreas. There was nothing that they could do to save him so they stitched him up again. My father’s body, wracked with cancer, was too weak. He did not recover from the anaesthesia. He died post-operatively on December 10, 1976. He was 51-years-and-11-months old and I was six-years-old. He was buried in Masooli, which happens to be in Kyadondo East Constituency.
Pancreatic cancer is fairly aggressive and has a high mortality rate. But even in 1976, an earlier diagnosis could have led to treatment that would have prolonged my father’s life a little. That opportunity was missed
[27/07, 1:48 p.m.] #readytosmell
In response to the ludicrous statements by the police spokesman Enanga.

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