The sun would set on my time in the hills of Kabale, in the hills that raised me. Those hills remind me of mountains, my Lord. And once, I thought they were sleeping giants, waiting till they would be woken again.
My childhood was very depressing, kind Father, it was very dark. As we left the hills of my childhood, I knew not that I would be bidding my childhood goodbye. The hills had been very kind to me, and had it not been for the pursuit of money in my parents' eyes, I would have gladly loved to be raised there.
But the promise of new-found wealth had enticed my parents into Kampala, leaving behind the chill breeze that lifted my spirits each morning as we zigzagged in those hills and valleys.
The city had its initial moments; three years at a boarding school allowed me to fully indulge in new camaraderie, setting the pace for understanding solidarity and the meaning of friendship in my soul.
But it was here that my parents began to resent my new found spirit. For I had always been a quiet child, my Father, but at Winston boarding school, I had become my rowdy self. I had developed a detest for all forms of authority, for the authority at that school was very authoritative.
And this had irked my parents, and they decided to shop round for a school that would return me to my former self.
If only they had let me be at Winston, my Father, if only they had kept me there. In the three years of moving to the city, my parents indeed grew into new-found wealth, and built a big home covered with vast foliage to illustrate it so. But, while away at my boarding school, and I suspect due to the emergence of their new wealth, they unfortunately begun to grow apart.
My wants, needs and cares were cast aside, my Father, and I became an object, a burden that needed to be taken care of, rather than a son that required care and guidance. My Father, when my parents attained this wealth, they shifted me from that boarding school, filled with so many kind friends, and moved me closer to themselves, in the city. They chose for me a day school, and it is at that school that I got to witness the relationship of my parents disintegrate.
My Father, life in the city was lonely. Away from the hills that raised me, from the mountains that cared for me, I felt like an alien, trapped amongst uncaring foreigners. At this day school, I was surrounded by an amalgamation of children from rich families who kept to themselves, shutting me out and off from the warmth of their friendship.
Father, I do not mean to insult who they were. For my own parents had placed me there, and they themselves were paying my fees. But I knew nothing of wealth, my Father, for I felt I was best placed in the hills from whence I came. My peers, on the other hand, were much more accustomed to their splendour. The loneliness of feeling sidelined begun to creep in at that school.
It was also at this day school that I first had my heart broken, kind Lord. My primary 3 teacher had become incensed at my saying goodbye too early to leave with my parents. Because of this, he had descended on me like a wild spirit, his heavy hand and cane descending upon my body for the entirety of his lesson that day.
It had scarred me, for it was not that I was being disciplined, my Father, it was that I was being shamed and paraded in front of my class, whimpers and all, by what had felt like a cruel injustice to a young boy in an unfamiliar environment. I was shaken. And things at home did not make life easier.
For my mother, as she had grown apart from my father, had taken to sandles and shoes and belts and insults, hurled at my heart for not being intelligent, or a particularly good looking child, or friendly and welcoming in any way. For, at the very least in her eyes kind Father, was less than ordinary. I felt in those days, less than alive indeed.
I had begun to feel dead inside, as my spirit shattered under the weight of all those blows I constantly received, the love, joy and peace begun oozing out of my heart in those five years between my primary 3 and 7.
My Father, for as the life flowed out of my heart, I turned to comfort food. And, in a relatively short time, grew into obesity. When I did, everywhere I passed I was ridiculed with insults concerning my weight and how I wobbled around because of it. I often found that I was the fattest person, in whichever environment I found myself.
It broke me more, Father, it pained my heart my Lord. For, not only was my body disintegrating, my heart was withering away with it. I became so disillusioned, so filled with pain and hopelessness, that in those short years I grew into a sociopath, and I begun to derive pleasure from inflicting pain on others.
For I was not fulfilled in my life, my Lord, and I wandered why anyone else should be if I wasn’t. And so, Oh Good Father, anyone who I found with hope in their heart and joy in their eyes I made my mission to disillusion and make hopeless just as I had been.
Everyone who was kind or caring towards me, everyone who tolerated or even liked me, I detested, abused, manipulated and belittled just as I had been, following in the foundations my mother had laid in me.
I became deplorable, and I wanted everyone to hate and to loathe me, to fear me and to stray from me, as I feared and strayed from my mother. But, even then kind Father, you saw me, and, though I was detestable, I see now that you loved me even then.
For, in my injustice, you would have been just to order my eradication from this world. I knew the extent of the workings of my hands, and I knew I deserved nothing less than death for my actions.
In those years, my Father, I begun to look for hope in loving someone. In my final year of primary, I longed to love someone, to behold them in my heart, just as I wanted to be beheld. I kept it in my mind that there is hope in love, and it is in that year that my heart first opened itself up to the prospect of loving.
For, in love, I could become free, and my eyes could be open to all the wondrous and marvelous sights of this world, as long as I could. To this day, kind Father, I am grateful for everyone I have ever loved, and everyone who has ever loved me.
For in love, or more specifically, in the longing to love, I found hope, that one day I would love and be loved, behold and be held. And, as the sun slowly set upon the mountain that became my childhood, the eyes of my heart opened to prospect of love.
