Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Back Tonight for the First time I Get…oh hell Blog Again Step-Child!
A true story
I’m not a guy who asks me too much of this life. All I need is a room and peace of mind to write, two daughters and maybe a son with the good woman who gave them to me, and for their sakes to not be poor but neither either offensively wealthy. Only to be rich enough to provide them with the kind of life that enables a frame of mind with which each of them can believe and know they can do and be anything in this world of their choosing. Simple wishes then. But it’s the simplest dreams that struggle hardest to come true.
In my world there are malevolent forces always primed to squat hard on these simple entertained musings. Once it was the daemon of laziness in me, an attitude of mind that celebrated short-term pleasures over enduring long-term gains, an inner back alley Molotov wielding anarchist torching the stores of my own dreams, before she came into my life. Unexpectedly it was in school too from the sneering lips of thwarted stunted lives with quarts of Uganda waragi bottles peeping from worn trousers in front of classrooms with dull-minded deskmates who couldn’t understand why I got it before the teacher explained it. Too many times too, it was the people I worked for who spoke of their workshop as a “family” but paid too little to keep the family fed. Sometimes too, painfully, it was a friend become blood brother. But never before, in my own life, was Judas the bank. Like Nile Bank that out and out robbed me last week.
One of the rules in my life, after witnessing the tragedy of a family friend and the others I see around me everyday like end of the week bus wreck in the process of unfolding, is to never let money and the hunger for money rule my life, “Cause money's like a strong prescription drug, it's got me addicted to the pleasure and the pain it inflicted Somethin bout the paper wit the pictures of the president's, head Damn, it's like a motherfuckin plague!” And yet from time to time in the temple of Mammon, for my loved ones, I worship too.
Lately because of my big November plans, my ardour has been more intense than a Namugongo Martyrs’ Shrine pilgrim who won’t be distracted. And frowning annoyance at petty amounts of shs. 5000 and shs. 10,000 that always seemed to be missing from my Nile Bank ATM account from time to time has turned into saliva frothing rage because the nibbler at my account this time bit off a whole chunk.
On the evening of Friday (I know, how clichéd) 13th October, I went to my Nile ATM account all geared for a roistering weekend, backpack slung over my shoulder to discover that shs. 120,000 is missing from my account! The bank claims the impossible, that either I withdrew the money off the ATM or someone used my card on the 10th October at 12:30pm. A finicky lifelong habit of retaining for at least a month all kinds of receipts I receive disproves I may have withdrawn that money and forgotten all about it because I have all my month’s receipts for deposits and withdrawals and there’s not a date in them that I don’t remember ever, itchy-fingered, going there. My ATM card never left my wallet unless it was to be slotted into the ATM machine by myself all this time. But the bank insists the money was withdrawn using my card and it is I who withdrew it. There is nothing they can do for me. I’m still in shock.
Head Bobbing To: If I Had by Eminem