Remembering Shwenkuru Musiime

When I was eight years old, I was told that I would be changing schools. However, first, I had to go for an interview. The interview was at Namagunga primary, and while I have recently learnt that getting an interview at the school is no mean feat, especially in the middle classes, any nervousness I experienced was more to do with going to a new school than the school itself. On the morning of the interview, dad dropped me off at one of my grandfather’s place in Kyambogo. That grandfather was Reverend Ephraim Musiime. To me he was simply Shwenkuru or Shwenkuru Musiime if I was talking to other people. My little cousins call him Kulu.

He was the one taking me for the interview at Namagunga. I never thought to wonder why it was him taking me for the interview particularly. Such details are not as important when you’re a child. Also, hanging out at Shwenkuru’s house meant that I would get to do whatever I wanted –that’s just how it is when you visit a grandparent. Those days, getting to do what you wanted meant loitering the place, asking every question that came to mind and eating whatever treat was available.

Now Shwenkuru was a man of few words. But there was a calm air about him that you could hang out with him in silence, without it being uncomfortable. I don’t know how he managed it. But I am not one with few words, and as a child without inhibition, silence was definitely not my virtue. He was writing something in a book on the dining table while I talked his ear off. Not once did he tell me to keep silent. He would nod along, sometimes raising his head and looking at me over his glasses like, a slight smile on his face. That smile might have been one of exasperation but I was too young to decipher expressions. I say this because he finally asked me whether I love reading and I said yes. He led me to a shelf and asked me to choose a book. I chose a Sesame Street book. It had several stories of the characters from the TV show on one adventure or another. That is how I fell in love with Big Bird and his friends. Since the book was big, he let me take it along for the car ride to the interview. Any nervousness I must have felt was forgotten as I immersed myself in the book. Before long, we were at Namagunga.

At the school, he asked me to answer every question confidently. The nervousness was back. I asked him whether he would stay with me as they asked the questions and he said no, assuring me that I would be fine since I was a big girl. However, when we got the headmistress’ office, she told him that he could come in with me. The relief! The interview was basic –my name, class, age, a little current affairs, nothing too difficult. That was until Sister Genevieve, the headmistress asked me how I would greet Shwenkuru if I met him in the morning.

I figured she was testing to see if I have my greetings right so I said, “Good morning Shwenkuru.”

“What would you call him if he was dressed like that?” she asked, pointing at Shwenkuru’s outfit.

I was a little confused. Shwenkuru was dressed like he always was. A suit with a black shirt –and the white collar around his neck. Let me first pose and confess that at this age, I didn’t about collars and who gets to wear them. I thought it was a fashion like the Kaunda suit. Anyway, I figured Sister Genevieve meant how I would refer to a person wearing trousers so I said:

“Good morning sir.”

She changed tactics, “How would you greet someone dressed like me?”

“Good morning madam,” I said, deducing that she meant the dress. See, my only interaction with nuns was from all the times I had watched The Sound of Music, and even then, I hadn’t figured out that they were referred to as Sister.

After a few more attempts to try and get the right answer from me, she must have figured out that we were not getting anywhere. She therefore explained that someone who was dressed like Shwenkuru would be referred to as ‘Father’ and someone dressed as her, ‘Sister’. This little exercise could have been very uncomfortable for me if Shwenkuru had been the kind of adult who tells the child to think or some other remark that adults tend to make when a child is embarrassing them. But Shwenkuru did none of that. He had been silent the entire time. Every time I had turned to him, expecting him to be angry at me for not saying the right thing, he would have a small smile on his face. That made the interview less intimidating.

I later joined Namagunga, and learnt that Shwenkuru wasn’t a ‘Father’ since he was an Anglican priest. I also learnt that Shwenkuru Musiime had taken other members of our family –aunties, uncles, cousins for their school interviews. I still don’t know why but I am glad this is a memory of him we all have.

Whenever Shwenkuru Musiime came home during the holidays, he would ask for our report cards. My marks in Maths were always below average but he would not raise hell over them. Instead, he would advise me to ask the teachers for help. Then he would give each of us a crisp note –Shs5,000 or Shs10,000. One time we even got Shs20,000. The money was no big deal since we never got to spend it on ourselves. In those days, when someone gave you money, you gave it to your parents and didn’t ask questions. The big deal was that Shwenkuru Musiime had come to visit, and that he cared about our education. When I got my undergraduate degree, he must have remembered my love for reading because he and Kaaka got me two books as a gift –they were both on advice for a recent graduate. Just the kind of thoughtful gifts I would expect from both of them.

Away from school, Shwenkuru Musiime was like our chief priest. I cannot count the number of weddings and baptisms he officiated. At the ceremonies, he spoke in that gentle way that I came to associate with priests. For a long time, I had a difficult time trusting any priest who didn’t speak calmly. At the weddings, he loved to talk about a basket with different fruits. I don’t know why the point of that sermon escapes me today but it was an insightful metaphor of marriage. I’ll give the details when it comes back to me. He was not just a priest of the family because of his collar. He also lived the Word he preached from the pulpit in ways I cannot put in words.

Before I travelled for school, my siblings and I went to see Shwenkuru Musiime. I was the last to arrive so I went in to see him by myself. He had been sick for a while but had been putting on a very brave and strong face. That face had convinced me that he would pull through. Or it may have been the naivety in me that still believes that the adults in my family, including Shwenkuru Musiime are the strongest people in the world, and can therefore overcome anything. But when I walked into his room that evening and saw him lying on the bed, it was the first time I acknowledge that he truly was not well. However, he greeted him in his usual, ‘happy to see you’ voice. He asked after me, and I told him that I was going away to school on a scholarship. The pride in his voice as he congratulated me will stay with me always. He asked for the details of my course, university, what the scholarship would cover and what it would mean for my job. Then we prayed and he asked God to watch over me as I did the same. When it was time for me to leave the room, he told me to come back with many stories for him. That bit breaks my heart a little now. But I believe that you are now watching these stories unfold.

On Thursday morning, I found out via WhatsApp that Shwenkuru Musiime had gone to be with the Lord. I don’t think I have detested the app like I did that day yet I cannot really blame it for being a messenger. I cannot really place the blame on anyone. Being miles away from home just made the sadness that much harder to deal with. Part of believing in God is trusting in his decisions and timing.

Shwenkuru, that you will be missed is an understatement. What we hope and pray for is that God comforts the family, especially Kaaka, Uncle Victor, Uncle Ernest and Uncel Tim. For now, we take comfort in knowing you are home with Shwenkuru Stanley, Kaaka Joy and all the loved ones our family has said to in this life. Till we meet again.

Ps.

Uncle Ernest and Uncle Tim, Shwenkuru let me keep the Sesame Street book. It had your names in it so I figured I should tell you what happened to it.