Jinja town is found in Uganda. It was once the industrial heart of my country. It is a small place which currently acts as home to about a million people. It was built at the end of the 19th century, by Indian immigrants. The town is wonderful in some aspects; for example, it is the birth-home of the great Nile and the capital of the locals.
I was born in a clinic-called, cortinas clinic-which then used to be found on Oboja road in this town called Jinja. I have spent most of my days here. I do not have much recollection of my early child-hood, but them most humans never possess such knowledge apart from what they here spoken by their guardians. But I have short memories of living with people I do not remember very well. I do have memories of living with many other kids and climbing-with difficulty though, of bunker-beds, being driven in cars and being herded into a place I would now call a dormitory.
I have no short memory whatsoever of ever being with my mother, but I do remember that I met her in 1992 as a grown-up. The real truth as told by my blind father is that I never grew up with my mother. Sometimes I feel regret for having gone through my childhood without her. That qualifies me into the category of people who have never experienced motherly-love. Even though I was a young boy when I met my mother, I cannot tell how I felt after meeting her, but I think it was with mixed feelings.
I wondered as a child, why this had to happen, why there was no mother figure in my life as a child. My father is blind now and was as a child, I remember that very well. I used to hear grandmother say that my father's blindness was somehow connected to the absence of my mother at home. They never spoke much about her in my presence, but I collected a great deal over the years.
My father qualified as a pharmacist in the department of dispensary. Everyone know that pharmacists work with chemicals to come up with drugs. My father tells that there was a...