I watched it, and my soul shook.
To see Mrs. Germina Ssemwogerere, 80+ years old, a widow, standing before the whole nation with a trembling voice...
Telling Uganda that the son she nursed, the son she prayed over, has chased her from the home her husband left for her to die in peace.
Ayi Katonda waffe! Ki ekya gwa mu Buganda?
Is this how we pay back a womb? Is this how we pay back 9 months of pain and a lifetime of love?
To you, the Son:
Hear me. In Buganda, we were raised with wisdom.
Being first born does not make you an automatic Musika.
Our ancestors saw this day coming. They knew greed could wear the face of your own blood.
That is why Omusika inherits the Nkoni (Omuggo), the Coat of his father, and 2 sacred items of duty.
He does not inherit a widow’s tears. He does not inherit a widow’s roof.
A home is not cement. A home is a covenant.
Dr. Paul Ssemwogerere was peace. He was Catholic. He was Buganda.
He built that house with prayers on his knees, not just bricks in his hands.
He left it as a sanctuary for the woman who walked with him.
So how can a learned man, a man who has eaten from the table of the state, drag his own mother into the cold?
Let me look in the mirror:
God forbid I ever chase Mummy Agatha Nanungi from my father’s house in Seguku, Naziba.
Even if we disagree, even if we are hurt, she is Mmaama.
In Buganda, we say: "Mmaama ye Katonda wano ku nsi." As per the Oracles of Kifuuta Kyotera Buddu, said with the sprites of Sese Islands, swing the garment in legal robes.
Your mother is god on earth.
To watch her cry and call it "rights" is to commit a crime and then sit on the crime scene to admire it.
Today, the Catholic Church bowed its head in shame.
Today, Buganda Kingdom clapped in sorrow.
Today, the ancestors turned their backs.
And I believe heaven is writing.
What man chases his mother and still asks God for heaven? Not even the gates of purgatory will allow a sin to seat at its verandah.
What man sells his mother’s last days for a piece of paper?
You are not claiming property. You are booking a place, and the hangman has your name.
I am on my knees:
Please. Let Mrs. Ssemwogerere go home and enjoy her late evening.
Let her sit in the house where her husband called her Mukyala wange.
Let her light a candle for Dr. Ssemwogerere without looking over her shoulder.
Let us not be the generation that buried Obuntubulamu with our parents.
If we cannot defend an 80-year-old widow in her own home, then what have we defended?
Kifuuta Oracles told me Jjaajja Kawanga yalina Akawanga, Tuzala mibili anti ne Karoli yazalibwa Gemina.
You cannot scratch an elder’s back with one finger.
And you cannot dry a mother’s tears with one hand, since these are not taught in Law schools.
Restore her. Before God. Before Buganda. Before your children copy you.
Leero ye. Enkya gweffe.
Today it is her. Tomorrow it is us.
Family. Let our mothers die with dignity. Let me take my maama a vintage Italian wine.
