Keeping your heart, adding your new fire. Read it and mean it in action.
LISTEN CAREFULLY. AND HEAR ME WELL.
I AM A STAUNCH CATHOLIC. Full stop. Rosary in my hand, Christ in my heart.
AND I BELIEVE IN THE GOD OF MY FOREFATHERS.
The same God my Jjajja prayed to under the mutuba tree before the missionaries came, with our ancestors, Leopard keeping guard.
Don’t get it twisted—my Catholicism didn’t erase my clan. My clan didn’t water down my Mass.
I carry both. And I won’t apologize.
Now you sit there with the Bible in hand, shouting, "I know God," the 18–45-year-olds of today sleeping in night dreaming services.
But let me ask you: DO YOU KNOW HIM MORE THAN YOUR OWN MOTHER?!
Every single day, look—you’re at that worship center.
Clapping. Crying. Sowing "seed."
But your mother is sleeping on a papaya mat.
When did you last sit with her? When did you last wash her feet?
ARE YOU SERIOUS? To enter even purgatory?
You step over your mother to chase heaven? YOU WON’T GET THERE.
Lying to yourself won’t unlock the gates, child.
Go and look.
Your father’s graveyard is covered in elephant grass.
Your aunt’s grave is covered with bushes up to the knees.
Thorns are eating the names of the people who gave you your name.
You’re booking flights. Paying top dollar for pilgrimage.
To go kneel and pay homage to a foreign name on foreign soil.
You’ve abandoned your own blood to go hug a stranger’s tomb.
WHO BEWITCHED YOU?
LET’S TALK TRUTH—RAW TRUTH:
90% of Estonians, THEY ARE TRADITIONALISTS.
They honor their soil. They pour libation to their ancestors.
No shame. No apology.
Japan bows to its ancestors. China burns incense for its forefathers.
And guess what? You can walk Tokyo at 2 a.m. You can leave your bike unlocked in Estonia.
You won’t find thieves there like you find them in Masaka, Buddu, with the hand of Conkaras Anthony and Brian.
So tell me—WHERE IS YOUR IMPORTED HOLINESS TAKING YOU?
If their "pagan" traditions gave them peace and wealth,
And your "holy" crusade gave you elephant grass and robbers in the name of going to church every day,
DON’T LIE TO YOURSELF, when you do not know how your parents are doing.
You despise the sacred fireplace, but you light candles for saints you’ve never met.
You laugh at the palace of your kings, but you kiss the shoe of a pastor.
You call your clan "demonic."
But the real devil is the one that walks with you every time you forget your home.
So CONGRATULATIONS on your visit to the devil’s lines.
Yes—the real devil’s line is the road that takes you away from your mother’s house while she’s alive,
And away from your father’s grave when he’s dead,
All in the name of a God you’ve never seen.
I WILL NOT BE SILENT.
My God is in my soul. My God is in my Mass. My God is in my lubiri.
My heaven is in my respect.
My pilgrimage? It starts at my mother’s doorway and ends at my father’s grave.
Clean those first. Then we talk about your foreign altars.
Mbu my mother annoys or didn't look after me. You built God a church, but tomorrow you die. Did your mom kill you? Mbu yanyiza, naye muwaala wakinyozi.
I AM CATHOLIC. I AM MUGANDA. I AM SON OF THIS SOIL, Kifuuta Kibanda Katooke.
Three truths. One man. No contradiction.
LEAVE ME IN KAFULUMA BAALE KYOTERA.
LET ME BE WHO I AM.
LET ME GIVE HONOR TO THE LAND OF MY ANCESTORS, Kifuuta Kyotera Buddu.
Don’t play with Omutima Omuyanja.
RESPECT STARTS AT HOME—NOT IN CHURCH.
FAITH WITHOUT ROOTS IS JUST NOISE.
Japan honors ancestors—zero thieves. Masaka burns shrines—full of robbers. Don’t lie to yourself about who’s blessed.
You can quote scripture but can’t locate your father’s grave. Even the devil is laughing at your GPS.
I’m Catholic. I take Communion. I also pour libation. My God is big enough for both. Is yours?
Estonia kept their traditions and got peace. You threw yours away and got chaos. Check the scoreboard.
What you do now to your Maama, tomorrow, at 65+, will be on your pillow singing the songs of loneliness.
In the name of my Maama Rebecca Apophia Naidoo and Mummy Agatha Nanungi, am on my way.
