People stop me on the road, especially Nalubula, Namiro, Ron Mutebi, Ssekatawa Ali, and Lwanga Bunjako.
“Brother! Why white? Every single day, white?”
I grin. Because the answer isn’t in the tailor. It’s in the bloodline.
Enjoy your life. Eat well. Stay humble.
That was the first law hammered into me. Not by a professor with chalk. Not by a book with dust.
By the Oracles of Kifuuta, Kyotera, Buddu.
Under the mango tree by the shrine, they pulled me close and said:
“Muzukulu wange, be clean. Eat well. Drink Tonto, Enturire, Walagi, Akaliga. Be joyful. Death is coming, but shame must never catch you dirty.”
So I wear white.
Not because I’m holy.
Because white is a witness. It sees dirt faster. It refuses lies.
You cannot be careless in white. You spill stew, it screams. You step in mud, it testifies.
White is accountability you can button up.
The old book - Omubulizi - said it all and said it best:
Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for God has already approved what you do.
Always be clothed in white, and always anoint your head with oil.
Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life that God has given you under the sun - all your meaningless days.
You heard that? Meaningless days.
Not worthless. Meaningless.
Meaning: Don’t drag yesterday’s funeral into today’s breakfast.
Don’t postpone joy until you’re “ready.”
The sun is up. The food is smoking. Your wife is beside you.
That. Is. The. Sermon.
So I anoint my head. I keep my shirt clean. I laugh until my ribs ache.
Because the Oracles told me: “A dirty man cannot praise God. A miserable man cannot thank Him.”
And I took it seriously.
I made an eating covenant.
1st week: a white turkey, raised on my farm.
2nd week: a white duck and a white cock, crowing at dawn in my compound.
3rd week: a white sheep, roasted until the fat sings.
4th week: white goat ensaata, boiled slowly and holy kuunku.
All from Kifuuta, Kyotera, Buddu. All grown by my hands.
That’s why every Saturday you’ll find me at MMJ Farm, fulfilling the command.
No excuses. No delays. This has been my rhythm since 2012.
Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.
Farm with might.
Love with might.
Forgive with might.
Wear white with might.
Because listen close - in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.
No tailors. No second fittings. No dry cleaner in the grave.
So I wear white now.
I eat now.
I love now.
I stay humble now.
Life is short. The cloth is white. The oil shines on my head. My wife is smiling.
What excuse do I have not to be glad?
You want to know why I wear white?
Because the grave has no laundry.
Enjoy your life. Stay humble.
And if you see me coming down the road - yes, I’ll be in white. Blinding.
As the Kifuuta Oracles declare: “Toli mulamu okulindirira okusaakaanya - yambala enjelu ng’okyali mulamu.”
You were not born to wait for mourning - wear the white while your breath is still fire.
And yes - when I write like this, people grab my arm.
“Brother, are you well?”
“Are you sick?”
“Are you preparing to die?”
NO.
I am 50++.
I am not dying. I am arriving.
This is my afternoon. The sun isn’t falling — it’s sitting on my shoulder like a crown.
I’m not counting down. I’m swimming.
In clarity. In gratitude. In knowing exactly which river I’m heading to.
Young men run because they’re late.
Old men run because they’re scared.
But a man at peace? He walks. Slow. In white. With his head anointed.
I write like this because I can see the whole field now - from planting to harvest.
I dress like this because I refuse to meet my evening with stains.
I speak like this because the Oracles of Kifuuta taught me: “When you know the road home, you don’t shout — you sing.”
So no, I’m not about to die.
I’m about to LIVE — on purpose, until the last sip, until the last song.
The morning was for planting.
The afternoon is for harvest.
And I intend to eat mine with gladness.
Find me roasting the goat in Kifuuta Katooke, Kyotera, Buddu.
The fire is hot. The white is clean. The wine is joyful.
Come sit. Worth it.
