Saturday hits different.
The world goes quiet. The noise dies down.
Because it’s Maama Rebecca am picking you for a treat
She’s the fresh one. The original. The unshakable force that carried me for 9 months, fought for my first breath with her own, and gave me a life I had no right to demand.
Every step I take is on borrowed heartbeat.
So I move.
I sprint for oxtail. I bring vintage cheese. I open French wine.
Not for show. For honor.
I slaughter a bull so she can have liver fresh and raw, just how she loves it.
Matooke steaming in banana leaves. Semutundu mixed in. The taste of home. The taste of debt I can never fully repay.
Kangende ewa Maama!
It’s her throne.
It’s her weekend.
It’s her moment to be loved while she can still feel it.
Because without her, I am nothing. No fire. No story. No legacy. Stop Waiting. Start Honoring. Now.
This isn’t about Maama Rebecca alone. This is about all our parents.
We are masters of delay.
We wait until Saza Day. Until the burial. Until they’re lying in a hospital cubicle with tubes down their throat, and then we show up with flowers, tears, and regret that’s 20 years too late.
By then, the food tastes like ash.
The laughter is gone.
The chance to see their eyes light up is dead.
Love delivered at a funeral is not love. It’s guilt.
Honor spoken at a burial is not honor. It’s performance.
Your parents need to feel it while their teeth can chew, while their hands can still hold a glass, while their legs can still walk the compound.
Give them oxtail while they can taste it.
Open the wine while their hands are still steady.
Take them home while they can still bless the house with their presence.
Look them in the eye and say: “This is for you, Maama. This is for you, Taata.” And mean it while they’re alive to hear it.
The World Already Knows This. Why Don’t We?
We act like caring for parents is optional. It isn’t. It’s the foundation of a civilized society.
China made it law in 2013. Adult children are legally required to visit and support their aging parents. Neglect lands you in court.
Italy did it first. Back in the 1800s, their civil code made filial duty enforceable.
They understood what we’re forgetting: a society that abandons its elders is a society without roots. Without roots, you fall.
Uganda doesn’t need to copy laws word for word. But we need to wake up.
Respect cannot be a song we sing at funerals and forget on Monday.
It has to be a practice. Every Saturday. Every payday. Every visit home.
The Challenge Is Simple. Do It Now.
You don’t need millions to make your mother feel like a queen.
You need presence.
You need effort.
You need to remember that the woman who carried you for nine months should not be begging for five minutes of your time thirty years later.
So here’s the line in the sand:
Don’t wait for sickness to be generous.
Don’t wait for death to be vocal.
Don’t wait for “one day” to show up.
Kangende ewa Maama.
Go home.
Feed her.
Sit with her.
Let her laugh while she can still laugh.
Let her enjoy the week while her body can still feel it.
Because one day, all you’ll have are memories.
And memories don’t taste like matooke with semutundu.
They don’t feel like a hug.
They don’t sound like her laughter.
Love them now.
Honor them now.
Make them feel it now.
Before the only place you can take them flowers is a hospital cubicle.
And before the only thing you can give them is regret.
