These Have I Known...

These Have I Tasted....

• the sweetness of matooke as a daily food.
• the gritty dry season dust which covers everything.
• the savour of curry, tomatoes, and onions: our basic spices.
• the smooth pleasure of soda from a glass bottle.
• Kajoba's chapatis: the best around!
• the taste of a three year old's kisses.
• water boiled over a wood fire.
• the rare indulgence of dark chocolate melting in my mouth.
• fresh passion fruit on a sunny afternoon.
• the tart flavour of unripened mangoes.
• groundnuts planted with my own sweat and labour.
• hot tea made from our garden: warmth on a cold night.
• posho and beans, posho and beans, posho and beans.

These Have I Smelt...

• the slight sweetness of dry season dust.
• sauce cooking on a charcoal fire.
• "jinga" (ginger) steeping in the tea flask.
• the newness and life of a freshly bathed infant.
• pre-adolescent boys herded back into the classroom after lunch hour football.
• rubbish burning by the road side.
• breads and cakes at Tuwereza bakery.
• meat hanging from the butcher's hook.
• the feverish sweat of a body racked by malaria.
• vegetables rotting in the market.
• rain approaching from the east.

These Have I Heard...

• forty loud voices competing to greet me as I enter a classroom.
• my brothers' humorous attempts to speak English.
• children calling to me from the roadside wherever I go: "Bye, Auntie Muzungu."
• incredulity at how non-fragile and non-weak I am.
• the comfortable sound of my mother's voice after a long day of work.
• a young baby's cooing and gurgling.
• the cries of children being beaten.
• the drums beating a kiganda rhythm.
• my students singing at holy mass.
• the strangeness when an occasional Americanism escapes my lips.
• the pleasant joy of old friends and family members on an international phone call.
• the call to prayer from the mosque loudspeakers.

These Have I Seen...

• the sudden lakes and rivers created by an afternoon downpour.
• toothless grins and smirks as nursery schoolers race to greet me first.
• the smartness of a shaved head, polished shoes, and school sweater.
• babies growing and developing before my eyes.
• my students heading off to secondary school.
• the devestations of war and of development.
• the delight and pride when a student notes his/her own improvement.
• children discussing the meaning of a rainbow.
• the horizon filled with stars peaking over the latrine wall.
• the strength of women who carry families and communities on their heads and backs.
• the hollow emptiness of water tanks during the dry season.
• the awing beauty of an equatorial sunset.
• the anxious way people scan the skies for rains that should have come.
• love in my friends' eyes.
• the hungry look, dirty feet, torn clothes, and long hair of poverty.
• committed teachers struggling on behalf of their students despite untold challenges.

These Have I Felt...

• the uneven ridges of dirt floors in my classrooms.
• small and dirty hands grasping my own.
• loving embraces as my brother welcomes me home.
• the itch of jiggers, mosquito bites, or caterpillar hairs on the soles of my feet.
• the weight of my backpack laden with a day's worth of water: 2-5 litres worth.
• the awful power of a rainy season deluge.
• the painful heat of a motorcycle burn.
• the weight of a hoe in my hands as I dig in the garden.
• the wind in my face and hair as I ride to town.
• the tiredness of a long week of work.
• chalk dust drying out my hands after every lesson.
• the quick sharp pain of the piercing gun.
• the press of bodies in the market and bus park.
• the bone-jarring speed of public transportation.
• my brothers' soft cuddling.
• a baby's fuzzy curls.
• the slickness of my hands and soreness of my arms on laundry day.
• the agonising pain of new intestinal guests.
• the shocking chill of a pre-dawn bath.

These Have I Known...

• love and sorrow.
• delight and fear.
• pride and frustration.
• comfort and confusion.
• joy and anxiety.

I have loved and been loved,
known and been known,
seen and been seen.

Bukoto, I will always carry you in my heart.