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Every morning, I start the day with a cup or two of warm water.
Yesterday, I smiled when I had that cup of water in my hands. Then all of a sudden, my neck was moist with tears. I let the tears roll. I put down my cup, sat down and sobbed loudly. After a minute or so, I went, sat on my bed and stared into nothingness.
This ritual of drinking warm water on an empty stomach comes from my not so good relationship with food. I always delude myself that the water will act as food as I think about or figure out what to eat; that is if I even think about it at all. So, I always start my day with warm water.
About three years ago, this became a shared ritual with a dear comrade and brother, Sam Mugumya. Prior to that, I knew Sam but I did not think that he had any idea about who I was. I had heard about his case. When he attained his freedom from Ndolo military prison, we became friends on social media. Then three years ago, I was formally introduced to him through a mutual acquaintance.
To my surprise, he knew my family. He was a former student of my dad’s at St. Gerald’s SSS Nyakibale in Rukungiri. One of my paternal uncles was his classmate. My mother knows him as well. She filled me in on some details about his background. Turns out everyone knew him except me.
When we exchanged contacts, we began talking almost daily. Sam became a big brother. I felt safe talking to him. We always spoke in the local language. He has the rare command of Runyankore/Rukiga. We talked about anything and everything. He sent me his poetry collection, which I read and gave feedback on.
We fantasised about returning home and marching on the streets of Rukungiri Municipality with so much swagger. We talked about the hardships of exile and somehow, gave each other consolation on how to survive and live long enough to see the fall of our oppressors.
Sam became the rock I needed in the most uncertain of times. Sam became a confidant and cheerleader. He always teased me about the last born kyejo and stubbornness that I exhibit when I get comfortable with someone. When we finally met, it felt like we had known each other for decades. We were inseparable.
We had so much catching up to do. And, that is when I found out that he also enjoys a warm cup of water first thing in the morning. He had this large mug that I found so funny. It was as big as a small plastic jug. It was heavy. Sam didn’t play about his water intake.
We had an inside joke about the importance of drinking warm water on an empty stomach. He would crack that joke in Runyankore. That’s what made me smile when I held my cup of warm water yesterday.
It’s because I thought about Sam and that joke. He is a good cook too. We made chapati, pancakes, katogo of matooke and binyeebwa, bushera (millet porridge) and anything else that reminded us of Uganda. We talked about books and writing. We exchanged books and ideas. I cried when he recounted his days in Ndolo prison.
He shared those experiences with a large smile on his face even when they were heartbreaking tales. Then he would get a speaker and play me a random song that speaks to a situation he had talked about.
Sam has/knows a song for any situation. He is gifted multilingually. He switches from Runyakitara to Luganda to Swahili to Lingala and any other language without any difficulty. Sam is a brilliant teacher. Once he starts talking about a certain topic, you just pull your mat or chair and listen.
You do not wish him to stop talking. When I returned to my place after that first visit to see Sam, we had built shared routines such as drinking warm water and going for walks. We stayed in touch and held each other accountable.
He always teased me about my struggles with cooking. We shared photos of our plates and the books we were reading. Sometimes, he would call my mother if he could not reach me or even just to check in on her. My mother was always updating me about the discussion on a radio show on which Sam was a speaker on Saturdays on Boona Radio in Rukungiri.
He was so positive and so full of life. When we were deep in the homesickness trenches, we explored the possible case scenarios of what would happen if either of us went home. As they say, East or West, home is the best. We had the hopes of returning home. He was aware of the possibility of being arrested.
What we didn’t anticipate is his disappearance. Sam had tried to keep it all together. But he is human and Ugandan too, by the way. So, returning home after a decade of unjust incarceration and exile shouldn’t be something anyone demands answers for. It is his right to be home.
He doesn’t need anybody’s permission to be home. It’s almost a year since he was abducted and disappeared by security officials. I have grieved and thought about all the possible scenarios of what could have happened to him in whichever dungeon they are holding him.
The question is WHERE IS SAM MUGUMYA?
The writer is a political agitator.
ashabannah@gmail.com
