First Gen

I could talk about many things

But it don’t mean a thing

If it ain’t got that swing

Du wop, du wop, du wop, du wop,

Du wop, du wop, du wop, du wop

I claim to be from many places

Make myself comfortable in many spaces

Sentiment claims me as drive

Through the South and West Sides of Chicago

Midwest all on my tongue and in my mind

Blackness all encompassing

Melanin layered on me the color and texture of chocolate

Thanks to Daddy’s darkness

But I have the privilege of pointing

To a spot on the globe

Where The Ancestors belonged

Where my ancestors belonged

I love my culture

Being Ugandan is my inheritance

Passed down from generation to generation

Even though the gift was given to me in a small Chicago hospital

With a proud new dad calling home to the elders to ask for a name for his baby girl

Being Muganda is my inheritance

No matter how bad my Luganda is

My parents are who they are

It amazes me

How my last name is a magnet

Strangers will ask about my name and my family

Then share memories of time past

Being Ugandan is my heritage

No matter how much I don’t understand or advocate tradition

Tradition is not so kind to smart, assertive and ambitious women

Patriarchy is so pronounced

That wives and ex-wives totally dependent on husbands and indifferent men

Has become the rule instead of the exception

Girls too poor to go school and learn independence

Become wives with children and tear-stained faces

After their husband finds a younger woman

I criticize out of love

My people have potential

But they don’t realize it

They refuse it

Iron grips on tradition

While the world moves on around them

Leaving them behind

But it is my inheritance

To greet everyone in the room when coming to the function

Saying hello with hugs and respectful kneels as a sign of respect

Busuutis, kanzus, kwanjulas, kasikis and Kiganda dances

Consonant-vowel symmetry in every word

Kawunga or posho, sambusas, matooke, rice pilau, and muchomo

As I can remember

Doing the Tootsie Roll with friends

Riding crosstown on the school bus

The first time Mom let take the ‘L’

I remember the first time I tried the Kiganda dance

And decided I was good at it

I remember Kasisinkanos, our own family reunions

I remember dinners and road trips

To Michigan, New York, Pennsylvania and the suburbs

I remember my first flight on KLM to Uganda

I remember seeing my uncle and auntie at Entebbe when Dad died

I remember playing with my little cousins who called me Jaja (Grandma)

Simply because their grandparents were of my generation

I remember traffic jams and knowing we were in Bwaise, without looking up

Chicago is home

America is home

Uganda is my birthright

Miss Me

Like I miss you

Like I wish you would

Try to try me

Come by me and see what happens

I have played it cool

Letting logic rule

While your emotion have been running the show

I know

That I only have to lose my mind

One good time

For you to understand that I mean business

Tricks are for kids

And you are far from that

Or are you not?

Do you get your rocks

Off by bothering me?

If so,

Go find your pleasures elsewhere

Because I don’t care

About your nonsense!

KMT

What Chicago Was To Me

Familiarity

Lines patterned and weaved into a grid

A blanket of numbers and names to give me security

My Chicago

Home stretched out like a Cartesian plane

Daddy’s compass and taxi cab with Mommy’s numbers

Gave Baby her way round the town

Segregation and classism never bothered me

‘Cause we had just enough money

And my neighbors looked like me

Though Mom said not to swim in the Park District pool

‘Those kids have no home training,’ she said

And I followed that

The sweet smart big little girl with the weird name

I knew my times table by kindergarten

But also loved

Red Kool Aid

Snow cones from the corner

Sandwich bags full of candy

25 cent bags of Hot Flamins with nacho cheese

Nachos with ground beef and cheese made with Doritos

Jumping singles

Orange mixtapes

But that little girl grew up with four eyes wide open

Understanding why Mom wouldn’t let her walk three blocks home from the Green Line

Understanding why all the Aunties and Uncles never came to visit

Understanding why the Diasporan kids all live on the North Side

Living in Kmart aisles lit up with blue light specials

We hold on to what is so dear so tight

As much as I love Chicago

She can be a frigid bitch

So she taught me to pack my things

And never look back

At the stranger who looked so familiar

National Poetry Month

Gosh! I was told by a good friend that April is National Poetry Month. I'm such a slacker. In celebration of such, at least one poem. Here. Daily. Can ya dig it?!

Confidence Conundrum

I must be frank that this essay (Prose? Post?) all started with a picture. I had my mom take some full boy pics of me, so I could send them via WhatsApp, to my dear friend across the pond, Nachi (shout out for sparking this essay/ blog post). I was really proud of myself. My jeans in the photo were big (wearing them one last good time) and my shirt hadn’t fit since I bought it and brought it from London almost 5 years ago. Until yesterday. OH. YEAH!

Nachi loved my pose, so of course I said that I would teach her. Confidence sold separately. Her response was, “Where can a girl get some confidence at?” After looking at her new WhatsApp avi I couldn’t believe she asked me such a question. The avi was TOO fierce.  She explains that she can fake confidence well, but she can’t sustain true confidence. My response to that was that I wasn’t sure that I could teach her that, confidence is more than a mental thing.

I tried to talk and reason through what I thought confidence was.  I did come up with something (on the fly). “I decided that I was good enough at about 18 and the rest was history.” “You have to believe that you are somebody are somebody, the best somebody you can be. That’s confidence.” Nachi was impressed and awed at what I had written, but I was still grappling with the concept and in lieu of writing a book (really time and labor intensive, been there done that) or creating an app (not smart enough to do that), I promised to write something up here.

Ruminating more about it, confidence isn’t mental, like I originally believed.  Confidence is more of a decision. A person is confident when deciding to be who they are no matter what and to be happy with that person. I got tired of feeling insecure when someone “prettier” , slimmer, “richer”, “cooler” or “smarter” walked into the room, so I made a decision to like the Mukisa I was/ am and work to become a better Mukisa and appreciate and accept the process of betterment.

No matter what the scale says, I AM AWESOME. No matter what books I do or do not read, I AM AWESOME. Whether I get 2 things done on my to-do list or 20, I AM AWESOME. THAT is confidence. I was strangely (thanks God) affirmed in my views in confidence by reading Pretty in Plaid by Jen Lancaster. (Best accidental read EVER. Found it in Goodwill.) She struggled with insecurity in her high school and college years brought on by comparison and insults by her peers. She finally had a turning point (after a few serious mistakes), deciding to like herself and be authentic to herself.

Confidence is liking yourself, being true to yourself and making choices to support that truth and like. It starts with that one decision. On that note, I will go and confidently drink some lemonade. All this thought has me parched.

Dear Fat

Dear Fat,
Oh how I miss you
I must be true
And say
I have endeavored to lose you
Because my biological anchor
Was just too much to bear
But know I fare awkwardly
Like my body doesn't know what to do
Without you
Like the friend you love to hate
Once they pack up and leave
Your hatred has no target
Even in spite of iron pills
Cold creeps in a little easier
I have taken off some of the insulation
So the temple is drafty
Seats and corners get harder
As curves turn to edges and lines
All the time
I wonder
What's next
Dear Fat
I am sorry I treated you so mean
Please help.
Love,
Me

Bravery

We tend to worship bravery
Like it is a silk pair of pajamas
Instead of the soft cotton underwear we wear everyday
I have heard people say
"Oh Mukisa, you're so brave!"
I am brave to put my health first
I am brave to undergo my first surgery ever
I am brave to recover well and quickly
But others' silk pajamas
Are my soft cotton panties
I can't let fear stop me from being me
I can't fear stop me from being
From breathing easy
From living
From giving
From loving
Bravery is not a deity
It is mortal
It is US
So put on your soft cotton underwear
And enjoy your day.