Ten years ago, my young brother Ali Ssekatawa asked me to help someone in Moscow. That’s when it hit me: when you help someone, don’t run to the streets to announce it. You don’t know how many people God moved through before you got there. Some have helped more than the songs ever sung about helping.
God sees every need. He knows who gave, who carried, and who stayed silent.
So stop writing and claiming credit for who you assisted. You didn’t create their luck. You didn’t manufacture the opportunity. At best, you were the stage God set for them to reach their dream.
In the late 70s, my late Taata told me something I’ve never forgotten: Never write and send ungodly texts to someone. That ink never dries.
When you hit 60, you stop screaming about what you did for people. You start understanding that life itself is a chain of assistance. Someone helped you. You help someone else. The chain goes on.
And here’s the beauty of it—God’s chain doesn’t forget you, even when you forget yourself.
Just this weekend, that distant friend I assisted in Moscow reached out after 10 years. He sent me a Russian Siberian sword.
Ten years. I had honestly forgotten the weight of that one act of helping him. But he remembered.
I’m proud of that sword, not because of its steel, but because it’s proof that silent help echoes. This weekend, I’m taking it home to keep it in my Kifuuta Kyotera Buddu Country Home - Embugga.
It’ll sit there as a reminder:
You help because it’s right, not because you expect return.
You stay humble because you were never the source—just the hand God moved.
So, to everyone I’ve ever assisted—don’t praise me. Praise the God who used me.
The chain keeps going.
