Let emails wait. Let the deadlines shout.
God already gave us the real wealth: love, happiness, food, and family.
Everything else we kill ourselves for? That’s just the hand of a confused world—a society of wolves and hyenas that never rests.
Today I chose fresh air without air conditioners and Kampala's organized chaos traffic.
I’m in Kifuuta Katooke, Kyotera, where Sunday moves slow like smoke from the kitchen.
The air is heavy with musito gwe embuzi ensaata—rich, deep, calling everyone to the table.
By late afternoon, the sun will be soft.
That’s when I sit down to the part of the goat my heart loves most: olulimi and the neck, both softly steamed until they melt.
Next to it, omunyige ogubobede with balugu and Nakati—simple, warm, grounding.
And around me? The reason it all matters.
Jjaajja Luswata, with stories that make us laugh till our stomachs hurt.
Namayanja, serving with that quiet grace.
Namaata, cracking jokes.
Nakyajja, making sure no plate is empty.
Then the door opens, and in walk the others, fresh from the land.
Namweluka, Kasekende, Sebuko, and Muguluma join the table, dusty boots and all, each with sacks of fruit from touring the farmland.
Mangoes, jackfruit, bananas... the sweetness of their work spilling onto our Sunday.
No noise. No chase. Just hands that serve, mouths that taste, baskets that overflow, and hearts that remember what matters.
We eat. We laugh. We give thanks.
We share the fruits of the land and the love of the home.
Then Ester brings Mukyala, my Muzukulu. Ester carries my favorite XO Rémy Martin cognac to clean my throat as they enjoy akaliga.
This is Sunday.
This is joy.
This is enough.
This is family. The night eats away the beauty of Sunday as we wait for the estimable Leopard, Engo ya Jjaajja Muguluma, Kifuuta, Kyotera, Buddu.
