"Bring back my virginity, and my standing breasts, then I will give you the divorce you have been licking the evening for."
That was the argument my neighbours had last evening before I left for Busiro.
I was already halfway down the footpath when those words floated across the evening air. They were not shouted in anger alone. They were spoken with the weight of years.
The road to Busiro was long enough for those words to travel with me.
A heartfelt thank you to everyone who joined us for the 5th Annual Uganda Sickle Cell Convention 2026. Your participation, insights, and commitment made this gathering a remarkable success. @NdugaF
We were honored to bring together key stakeholders from across Uganda and beyond to strengthen collaboration in advancing sickle cell awareness, advocacy, research, and quality care. We are especially grateful that the convention was officially opened by the Hon. Minister of State for Primary HealthCare @DrAyumeCharles , whose support reaffirmed the government's commitment to improving the lives of people living with sickle cell disease.
Together, lets build hope and creat lasting change. @terumobct@Stabex_Ug@Microhaem
#AUSCC26 #SickleCellAwareness #SickleCellAdvocacy #QualityCare #TogetherForChange
Argentina "whitened" its population in the 1800s-early 1900s. It was a deliberate government project they called Blanqueamiento.
It was similar to what Australia tried to do with the natives(forcefully putting girls in boarding schools far away from their ancestral lands, and then marry them off to the European population in Australia. With every passing generation, the population became more "white"...
Starting in the 1840s, Argentina started to encourage Europeans(German, Italians, Spaniards, Eastern Europeans etc) to move and settle in Argentina ... by the 1940s, it was estimated that around 5-6millions Europeans had moved and settled in the country. The black population started to shrink and became a much smaller proportion of a rapidly growing population...
This was followed by Intermarriage between the Afro-argentines and the Europeans/mixed ancestry ... And that explains that ...
Throw in the 1871 yellow fever that majorly affected the Negro population...
Whenever I feel down,
I run to poetry.
Sometimes, it is the Sonnet,
its fourteen rooms of ordered grief,
where sorrow learns to count itself
and ends, always, in a couplet of relief.
Another time, it is a haiku,
small as a fisherman's lamp on Lake Victoria,
three lines holding what the whole night could not say.
There are days I need the free verse,
loose as the beaten paths of Busiro,
words wandering barefoot
past the mango tree,
past my mother's hut,
refusing every fence I build for them.
And when grief is old,
older than my own remembering,
I go to the dirge my grandmothers kept,
the one that does not rhyme
because loss never learned to.
Poetry does not lift the weight.
It only sits beside me on the ground,
the way an elder does,
saying nothing,
until the silence itself
becomes a kind of standing up.
So whenever I feel down,
I run.
Not away from the sorrow,
but into a house with many rooms,
where every ache I carry
already has a bed made,
and a lamp lit,
and a name written with a quill.