Never say Die; little angel Lowi lives on.
In a small village a couple of miles away from Uganda's Capital city, Kampala a bell rang and the whole school was plunged into a loud roar in a manner of a great relief.
For some reason the school closed earlier than usual so there was good time for the boys to play some soccer game at the church yard before retiring to their homes.
Richard, the game's architecture put final touches to the banana fiber woven ball and dashed his little out weight out and others followed straight to the grounds. A few preparations were made; goalposts were improvised with their school bags and shoes, they divided into two teams and the game soon started.
It was a like a beehive of some sort, either side attacking trying to score a winning goal before dusk blows the timeout whistle. The ball finely landed to Kaye; He was this stout but short guy, obviously a little older than the rest of the boys with a seemingly inflated rounded feet. He had the command of the game and flare, the kind every girl would scream for in a competitive match. He pulled the ball with his left foot to the right and shot past the goal line into the bush.
Shouts and joy of scoring the winning goal faded steadily as the golden East African sun sunk deeper into the horizons. "Where is the ball?" they all asked. The boys dashed into the bushy grassland and scavenged for the ball but to no avail.
It would take awhile before another was made; it takes rolling a few fibers tightly and then finely woven with a thin layer of strings.
As the boys were giving up each beginning to take a different direction for home, one of them shouted calling them back; he had seen something strange that terrified him so much that he could not talk but point to the direction of the mango tree just close by.
The boys moved closer to see what might be the cause of this alarm, suddenly they saw a lady's bag lying next to the tree trunk. It shook itself a little and then a little more. This frightened even the worms in their little bellies and all shouted for help.
The village people gathered in response to the alarm, armed with sticks machetes, and lamps. Some thought it was the beast that had been terrorizing their fowls for along time so they came to show it, what they are made others thought it was the mystical cannibal they had heard of in the neighboring village this would also be an opportunity to end that story.
They got closer to the scene and this time the bag shook even harder as if it also wanted to know what was happening. Black ants had scattered all over the ground meanwhile the red ants had started eating away part of the sisal bag and were building a mound around it.
One elder Mukaya, who was known for his prolific hunting skills and prowess as a youth, stepped in amidst mixed feelings and fears braving the ants and any other barrier. Mukaya called for more light and started examining the kicking bag like he was the village's forensic expert.
Amidst the dark vacuumed polythene bag, carefully placed in the sisal bag little Lowi defied death, probably just few days after his birth. Perhaps the cruel mother never thought that the little angel would never see the light and face of earth. Ran in his granny's courtyard, play juvenile football like the other children, or perhaps grow into a man who would fight for the liberty of the other.
The villagers rescued Lowi with a few sores on his back, probably left with only a few more hours before he bids this world adieu but survived.
DEDICATION:
To all my fellow Kampala Needy Kids Volunteers and supporters.
Tears have little or no healing
Fears will only derail the way,
Hope, Courage, and Faith
Will drive us home!
God Bless you all.
I meant harm, no tears or fears.
This little story is only a fiction
based on my daily encounters
in walk and work
It would be unjust to let
them just lie in my uppers
yet the world needs them.
In a small village a couple of miles away from Uganda's Capital city, Kampala a bell rang and the whole school was plunged into a loud roar in a manner of a great relief.
For some reason the school closed earlier than usual so there was good time for the boys to play some soccer game at the church yard before retiring to their homes.
Richard, the game's architecture put final touches to the banana fiber woven ball and dashed his little out weight out and others followed straight to the grounds. A few preparations were made; goalposts were improvised with their school bags and shoes, they divided into two teams and the game soon started.
It was a like a beehive of some sort, either side attacking trying to score a winning goal before dusk blows the timeout whistle. The ball finely landed to Kaye; He was this stout but short guy, obviously a little older than the rest of the boys with a seemingly inflated rounded feet. He had the command of the game and flare, the kind every girl would scream for in a competitive match. He pulled the ball with his left foot to the right and shot past the goal line into the bush.
Shouts and joy of scoring the winning goal faded steadily as the golden East African sun sunk deeper into the horizons. "Where is the ball?" they all asked. The boys dashed into the bushy grassland and scavenged for the ball but to no avail.
It would take awhile before another was made; it takes rolling a few fibers tightly and then finely woven with a thin layer of strings.
As the boys were giving up each beginning to take a different direction for home, one of them shouted calling them back; he had seen something strange that terrified him so much that he could not talk but point to the direction of the mango tree just close by.
The boys moved closer to see what might be the cause of this alarm, suddenly they saw a lady's bag lying next to the tree trunk. It shook itself a little and then a little more. This frightened even the worms in their little bellies and all shouted for help.
The village people gathered in response to the alarm, armed with sticks machetes, and lamps. Some thought it was the beast that had been terrorizing their fowls for along time so they came to show it, what they are made others thought it was the mystical cannibal they had heard of in the neighboring village this would also be an opportunity to end that story.
They got closer to the scene and this time the bag shook even harder as if it also wanted to know what was happening. Black ants had scattered all over the ground meanwhile the red ants had started eating away part of the sisal bag and were building a mound around it.
One elder Mukaya, who was known for his prolific hunting skills and prowess as a youth, stepped in amidst mixed feelings and fears braving the ants and any other barrier. Mukaya called for more light and started examining the kicking bag like he was the village's forensic expert.
Amidst the dark vacuumed polythene bag, carefully placed in the sisal bag little Lowi defied death, probably just few days after his birth. Perhaps the cruel mother never thought that the little angel would never see the light and face of earth. Ran in his granny's courtyard, play juvenile football like the other children, or perhaps grow into a man who would fight for the liberty of the other.
The villagers rescued Lowi with a few sores on his back, probably left with only a few more hours before he bids this world adieu but survived.
DEDICATION:
To all my fellow Kampala Needy Kids Volunteers and supporters.
Tears have little or no healing
Fears will only derail the way,
Hope, Courage, and Faith
Will drive us home!
God Bless you all.
I meant harm, no tears or fears.
This little story is only a fiction
based on my daily encounters
in walk and work
It would be unjust to let
them just lie in my uppers
yet the world needs them.
