Track Listing (Table Of Contents)

1. Interlude

2. December 4th

3. What More Can I Say

4. Encore

5. Change Clothes

6. Dirt Off Your Shoulder

7. Threat

8. Moment Of Clarity

9. 99 Problems

10. Public Service Announcement

11. Justify My Thug

12. Lucifer

13. Allure

14. My 1st Song

What Kelly Rowland Said

I’m falling in love with my ex and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t really think there’s anything I really want to do about it. And that’s even assuming I ever stopped loving her in the first place. Which, if truth be told, I don’t think I ever did. What I did do however, is put my feelings on a top shelf somewhere. Somewhere high up, where I needed some kind of industrial ladder just to get to them.
Behind pretty distractions and a consuming job and friends who weren’t really friends but only people I could get drunk with. And for sometime it worked. I was oblivious to her existence. She hardly crossed my mind.
And then we started talking again. Started having those long conversations again. Started sending messages back and forth again.
And in the beginning, I was understandably cautious. I couldn’t help but wonder just what it was she was up to.
That old familiarity was beginning to creep back in and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
But I played along all the same. Just to see where it would go. But not only that. But because I missed her just as much as I suspected she missed me.
And then I saw her again and it was great. And in that moment, it all came crashing down.



In love with my ex- Kelly Rowland

Give Me Something to Believe In

So over the last couple of days I have been trying to gather as much information as I can on the much talked about Pay It Forward Foundation Uganda. And over the last couple of days I haven’t been able to come up with that much apart from a page on Wordpress and another on Blogger. and that’s after googling it.
Someone please get me some concrete info! Something more than just a mission statement. I want to get involved!
But (and this is realistically speaking) before I can do that I need to see something practical. Something I can bank on. I have the seeds of a great idea burning a whole in the bottom of my left pocket but I need something more than a mere ideal to plant it in.
So please, please, please; Baz, Rhino, anybody…hit me up and let me know what beez going down!

Much Appreciated.


Listening to:
“One”- U2

Someone Get Him Something to Drink, He’s Thinking Again!

We haven’t exactly talked about it. About what it means…us sleeping together. I’m kind of reluctant to broach the subject because I don’t want her to think I expect anything because of it. And the truth is, I don’t. It was sex. With my ex girlfriend. Not “just” sex because it has never been “just sex” with her. It has always been special. By virtue of the fact that it took a pretty long time to happen. A pretty long time by today’s standards anyway. And by the time it did happen I was so emotionally invested that I couldn’t help it from being special.
And so where does that leave me? Leave us, really. I have no illusions. I know there’s no getting back together. Not yet. The timing’s not right. Won’t be for sometime yet and the fact is, right now, I don’t want to get back together. Let’s keep it casual. Like how we were before we started dating. That was the original agreement, wasn’t it?
Sure it was. But who’s to say that agreement even still stands?
Well, you know Lloyd, you could always just ask her.
Yeah, I could, but why risk breaking the tentative balance we have managed to achieve? I like the way things are right now. The frills without the head or the heartache. Plus, I feel like I’ve found my best friend again.
Sure you have, but you have to ask yourself sailor, how far can you paddle out to sea without rocking the boat?
Hmmm, that’s a pretty good question…




We had one of our long conversations today. You know, the ones where you talk about everything under the sun and nothing worth mentioning all at the same time.
The reception’s pretty bad where I am so I had to move around quite a bit to find a clear signal. I must have hung up and called back four or five times. But still, it was well worth it. I thought so anyway.
We talked and teased. Her telling me about her Friday night. Me telling her about mine. Hers obviously more eventful of the two. Another clear exhibition of alcohol induced behavior.
“Maybe you need to stop drinking.” I suggested after she had completed her tale.
“It might do you some good.”
“I know.” She had replied,
“I’m on my last days, trust me. I’m going to quit soon.”
“I hope so.”
Before hanging up for the last time I reminded her that as of the day before, we had known each other for one year. Or as I phrased it, “yesterday was exactly one year since we first met.”
She laughed.
“You’re such a stalker, you know that? How do you even remember that?”
I told her. We had been going through the pictures of that night together a few days earlier and I couldn’t help but notice the date on them.
"You know me and my attention to details.” I told her.
“Even if…that’s still freaky…ish.”
“Whatever.” I said dismissively.
“Anyway, I think its time for me to go. Got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Okay then, good night.”
“Good night.”

Call summary: 3:54

Wait, (double take) did she just say love?

“Did u even feel de slightest love 4 me Lloyd? I hv bin wonderin wat exactly it is dat u feel 4 me coz u hv bn distant eva since we left GULU. Nway nice tym n pliz take care.”

-Robinah (via text message)

4:47 pm

***

I got it on the bus. On my way back to Gulu. I had to smile. Love? Was she serious? I mean come on. It was just sex. Better for her than it was for me, I’m guessing. She was talking like a sixteen year old girl. And you have to understand, she wasn’t a sixteen year old girl. Not even close. This is a grown ass woman we’re talking about. A government job chick even. And yeah, I know government job chicks have feelings too. I wont argue with you on that but after one week? No wait, that’s not even close to the truth. Try two days on for size. Two days and she was already getting all girlfriendy on me and stuff.

And that really wouldn’t have been a problem, I might have even been able to go along with it but for the fact that I just didn’t have the capacity to fall for someone like her. Someone like her meaning someone other than my ex girlfriend. Given any amount of time. I’m fighting to get her back you see. Even if subtly. No matter what my friends may say or think about it, she’s the one I want to be with.

And so you see Robinah, honey, you didn’t have a chance. Never bank on a man who fucks you on the very first night. Because the fact is, he wont respect you in the morning.

So consider this a lesson learned sweet heart. And for what its worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that man. I really am. You’re just not her.

Now, for those of you out there who are wondering how I can be in love with one person and fucking someone else, let’s just say that its…complicated. Meaning that I really don’t think its worth the energy and in this case the ink to explain it to you. I can say this though, no one excites me the way that she does. No one can make my blood boil or my heart pump the way that she can. No one intrigues me, makes me laugh, messes with my head or makes me want to be a better man better than she does.

And maybe, just maybe, possibly, if I looked hard enough I could find someone who tops her in all of that. But the fact is, I don’t see any sense in searching for another, quite possibly lesser version of her when she’s standing there right in front of me. It doesn’t make any sense.

And so in conclusion, Samantha, (and yes, I know, you don’t have to say it but you’re just going to bear with me on this), baby its you.

***

“I appreciate yo honesty, hv a nice life”

-Robinah (via text message)

8:40pm

Playlist much?



1. Lesson Learned- Alicia Keys ft. John Mayor

2. I think that she knows- Justin Timberlake

3. Regrets-Jay-z

4. S.E.X. Nickelback

5. Leave out all the rest- Linkin Park

6. Youre a jerk- The new boys

7. Best I ever had- Drake

8. Number 1- R Kelly & Keri Hilson

9. Senorita- Justin Timberlake

10. Thinking of you- Katy perry

11. Intruder Alert- Lupe Fiasco

12. Hero/ Heroine- Boys like girls

13. Better than me- Hinder

The Ex-Perience

As I lay there, one eye on the television, one eye on her, I was quickly reminded of all her little nuances. In her voice, in her face and in the most miniscule of her gestures.


We were both stretched out on her old zebra print blanket, talking as if nothing had ever happened. Like it was3, 4, 5 months ago. Like there had been no move, no tears, no break up. It was like I had miraculously stepped through a wrinkle in time. A wrinkle to a better time. It made me wonder. Put a wary smile on my face. A few butterflies in my stomach as well.

Was this really happening?

I had expected it to be awkward. Even if just a little bit. And I wasn’t wrong in thinking so. The last time we had see each other it had been awkward galore.

But for some reason, this time, it hadn’t been. And for several minutes there, that had made me rather wary. A bit on the cautious side. But as my inebriation levels continued to climb (courtesy of our good friend Uganda Waragi) I became a whole lot less wary and a whole lot more receptive to the “positive vibes” (whatever the hell that means) that were coming my way…








The sex was hot. Unexpected…and so unprotected.

No glove, no love? Never even heard of it.

I fucked her with my socks on and my boxers around my ankles. What? Don’t look at me like that. I was in a bit of a hurry okay? And plus, you must have some sort of idea of how difficult it is to maneuver out of your clothes while maintaining as much lip-lip contact as possible.

I must have managed to slip them off at some point though, because I remember afterwards (estimated time being the average length of an episode of America’s Best Dance Crew…and no, that’s not as long as you may think), the knock on the door that sent us both scrambling around looking for our clothes. Socks, boxers and panties included.

And don’t worry sweetheart, I did the sensible thing and pulled out with a couple of seconds to spare. So rest easy, I’m not going to make a baby mamma out of you just yet!

Thankfully, it was a false alarm. The knock at the door that is.

By the time we were what is generally considered as “decent”, whoever it was was gone.

She assumed it was the lady who walks around the hostel selling clothes (she had already bought a cute little sweater while I was there) and so leaving the door slightly open so that some air could “circulate” (she didn’t want to announce to everyone that walked in that we had just had sex) she climbed back onto the bed.

Lying back down next to me, she picked up the remote. She had that cheeky smile of hers.

“So…what episode were we on?”

Day- It Doesn’t Really Matter: The End of Common Sense…Lonely

She told me that she was lonely. That it had been something she hadn’t been willing to admit but had finally, painfully, come to terms with.
Her friends were no longer her friends, home was well…home and she felt like she no longer had anyone she could really talk to. To share stuff with.

I let that sink in.

She was lonely...it wasn’t just me.

I blinked. Licked my lips.

“So what if she’s lonely?” A part of me flared up (let’s call him Common Sense).

“What? Do you think that makes you two peas in a pod or something? Hardly. All it means, Lloyd, is that she feels lonely. Don’t read words you can’t see.”

I sighed. Away from the phone. Counted to three. Then counted to five.

“Maybe it’s just a phase.” She added a moment later.

I shrugged. She was trying to console herself. I couldn’t really blame her. God knew she was one step ahead of me.

I (sigh)…was still in denial…semi anyway. I was still telling myself that I was too busy to feel lonely. Even though it was a load of crock and I knew it. But whatever gets you through the night, right?

“I’m praying for you, you know.” It was the only thing not damning that I could think of to say.

But why did that sound so damn familiar? Oh yeah, it’s because she had told me the same thing a couple of months back when things had still been unbearably hard. When the ink had still been wet on the page.

“By the way,” I added “I pray a lot these days.”

For a while we talked about the mundane. Or rather, I talked and she listened. Which put me off a little bit. I had called to hear her voice. To listen to her talk. The sound of my own voice droning on and on and on got sort of boring after a little while and more than a little annoying.

But what could I do? I needed the connection. Craved for it and by George, I was going to hold on until I felt I was satiated.

Well, as it turns out, by the time we said our goodnights, I wasn’t. And I have the inkling that maybe I’ll never be. And that sort of scares me. For obvious reasons. The least of which being that she’s over 350km away and it wouldn’t do any good to get attached to having to hear the sound of her voice every day. Or every other day…or whatever…says Common Sense anyway. But who listens to Common Sense these days anyway? Certainly not me.

“So what are you saying?” Common Sense asks me. He has that tone he gets whenever he thinks I’m about to do something stupid.

“That you’re going to allow yourself to get attached?”

I pause before answering. I know the answer already but make as if I’m reasoning it out. Like common sense would want me to.

“As much as she’ll let me.” I admit a moment later.

“ well, good luck with that.” Common sense tells me. He seems disappointed in me. Ashamed even…I should know better.

“You know where to find me when you get tired of playing such foolishness…right between Peace of Mind and Self Preservation. Ciao.”

I watch him walk away. Right out the door.

“Well it’s just us.” I say, turning to my friends Hopeless Romantic, Hopelessly Hopeful and Hopeless Enough. (Once again, thank you Mr. Wentz)

“Let’s go get stupid.”





Listening to: Glass Ceiling- JC

Sunday Afternoon...Basking

I found God today. It was the most amazing thing. He was everywhere. In Everything. I couldnt hide from him. And for the first time in a long time, I didnt want to.

I had peace. It was like I had not a worry in the world. And the worries I did have, it was like all of a sudden, they didnt really matter. It was like God was patting me on the back and saying, "Hey, its really not that serious man. Ive got it taken care of." and for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

The praise and worship was...phenomenal. the songs rolled off my tongue like I had known them forever and for then some. I felt free. I danced. I had this goofy grin on my face I couldnt get rid of and for the first time in a long time, I couldnt have cared less.

I found God today. It was the most amazing thing. He was everywhere. In everything. And for the first time in a long time, I basked in the fullness of his Glory.

To Let These Tears Fall

From the moment I had arrived I had been on the move. There was no time to relax, no time to slow down, because to relax would be to give myself a chance to think about what had happened and whether I knew it or not I did not want to be given that chance. Looking back, I guess a part of me knew that to keep moving, to stay kinetic would keep me from falling apart. and I couldn’t afford to do that. I mean, after all, what would people think? and so in my quest to keep it together I took countless pictures, toting my camera like it was some sort of life support. I became an observer. That way I could remain objective. Look at things with a photographers detachment, with artistic interest, shelving my emotions.
And when I wasn’t doing that I was doing what I could to help with the funeral plans. We had two days to pull it off and there was so much to do. And although my role was a minor one I tricked myself into believing it was integral and threw everything I had into it.
To keep moving was to keep it together.
Anything that needed typing was mine to handle. I was in charge of the program. It was my baby, it took up most if not all of my attention. It kept me from hanging, it kept me from idling; it kept me from falling apart.
To keep moving was to keep it together.


Monday Morning

The call came at around 7:30. It was my uncle Roger. He wanted to know how far I had come along with the program.
"Only a few more details need to be filled in," I assured him
"I'll be home by eight."
"Be prompt." He warned me and told me to call him as soon as I arrived at the house. We had to go over the program together before meeting with the presiding bishop who would give it his final okay.
Setting down the phone I took a sip of my coffee. It was exceptionally strong but still wasn’t having quite the affect I hoped for. I needed an extra kick to get me through the day. I hadn’t slept properly since the night my mom had called me with the news and it was starting to catch up with me.
Just get the old man in the ground, I told myself, and everything will be just fine.
Finishing the last of my bread and throwing back what was left of my coffee like it was a shot of whiskey, scalding my tongue in the process, I stood up.
I had told Uncle Roger 8 O'clock and here it was already quarter to. Grabbing my backpack, I swung it over my shoulder.
I marched out of the hotel, leaving the key to my room at the front desk.
To keep moving was to keep it together.




It was hot, I was tired and I felt more detached from the entire thing than I ever thought possible. I felt like a stranger on the outside looking in. And in a way, I was. Clutching my bottle of water, sitting at a safe distance, I watched the service with a clinical coldness that surprised me.
The programs had not been enough and I had had to dash back to town on two separate occasions to photocopy more. A third time had been required of me but I had refused saying that by the time I got back the service would be over and there would be no need for them.
I sat there in the same clothes I had worn the day before, three coats of dust covering my skin. The initial plan had been to finish the programs in time to get back and shower and change before the service but I hadn’t been quite that lucky. Now all the rooms were locked and the keys were with my mom who just happened to be sitted in the same tent as the president whose security made it damn near impossible to get the keys to me.
It was managed somehow and I found myself climbing out of the shower just as the president was standing up to speak.
Purple shirt, black trousers and black chucks turned brown from dust and I was finally forced to slow down. To not only observe but to participate, to finally come to terms with what we were all doing there.
He's gone Lloyd. See it, accept it and move on.
Picking up a discarded program I flipped through it.
It was time to put the old man in the ground. Standing up I hurried to join the procession making its way to the grave site
No time to take pictures now, I mused silently.
I was right in the thick of things. No longer playing the observer but now among the observed.
That's not to say however, that I didn’t notice things. I noticed almost everything. The pile of soil sitting demurely to one side of the open grave. Some parts of it the color of ground coffee, others the color of milk chocolate and others an earthy shade of red. Its pungent smell tickling my nose even from several meters away.
I noticed the crowd of people milling about me. The collective sense of loss that bound us together almost tangible. I could taste it on my tongue, feel it in the pit of my stomach. It stroked at my beard, whispered in my ear, ran an intimate finger from my chest to my navel making me shiver.
Tapping me on the shoulder my aunt handed me a reef of flowers, telling me to set them down near the pile of soil. I didn’t think twice. Pushing my way through the crowd, I did as I was instructed.
Standing up straight, the sun hitting me square in the face, I looked about me. Found myself staring into the faces of people I'd known my entire life and loved more than words can say; and others who I had never seen before that day. But all of them had one thing in common, we all did- the man who we were about to put in the ground. and that made us, all of us, of one spirit. Of one accord.
The bishop was saying something. He had his bible open but from what I could tell, he was not reading from it. His words, however, went in one ear and out the other. I was in a different place. I was being drawn into myself.
A sob broke from somewhere to my right. I felt my stomach tighten. Clenching my jaws I closed my eyes. But only for a moment. When I opened them again I felt tears in them.
Another sob and then another erupted around me. The coffin was now being lowered into the hole in the ground. I suddenly felt cold. Lots of tiny goose bumps erupting beneath the arms of my shirt.
To keep moving is to keep it together, I reminded myself.
Sure it is Lloyd. But look around,
I did.
Where are you going to go? All roads lead to the very spot you’re standing in right now. Get a clue.
As if to drive the point home, a tormented wail tore through the crowd like a rip tide, breaking the dam and people began to weep openly. without any inhibitation.
The tears stung at my eyes but I still tried to hold them back, dabbing lightly at my eyes with my hankie. After a moment I blew my nose, it was starting to run.
What the hell is this? I asked myself.
The sensation was new to me. It was one thing to get teary eyed at a sad scene in a movie but this? This was something else.
And still I tried to hold it back.
Sucking it in, I blinked away the tears and looked around. My cousin Eva was doubled over weeping freely, an aunt and an uncle supporting her, keeping her from falling. Bongo stood as rigid as a statue, a pair of shades covering his eyes, his expression unreadable.
The younger ones looked lost. As if they didn’t know how to feel or how to react. Their eyes wide with stunned incomprehension.
Bowing my head I stared at my shoes, analyzing the streaks of dirt that covered them and the layer of dust that had powdered them from heel to toe. Tried to distract myself.
Just let it go Lloyd. Why are you trying to fight this?
The voice was almost audible. I heard it in my ears. I was one step closer.
Because to let these tears fall is a sign of weakness, I insisted.
Is that what you really think?
It wasn’t but I had to come up with something.
But that something wasn’t going to be enough and I knew it. The more I tried to push, to keep my grief at bay, the more determined it seemed to manifest itself, to see the light of day.
I knew it was a losing battle. I knew it was time to let it go.
Thud.
The coffin was finally in the ground. I felt my stomach tighten. A sob crawling up the walls of my trachea and sitting at the back of my throat, making it hard to breathe.
Hugging myself, I leaned slightly forwards; my face involuntarily contorting itself into a grimace. Dislodging itself from the back of my throat, a single sob rolled down my tongue and broke as it passed my lips.
My body shook as the tears streamed down my face. My chest heaved, my nose ran, my stomach ached but I didn’t care. My Auntie Vilma, who had been standing next to me, wrapped one arm around my shoulder and another around my waist and that was all it took. In that second I stopped fighting. In that second I finally allowed myself to cry.

The Garden

The tubes were gone.
From his nose, mouth and arm. The catheter was still there but that was to be expected.
He was eating on his own again.
Well, at least without the help of some plastic tubing. Even if his diet did consist of only water, soup and porridge.
As I walked into the room, nudging the door with the tips of my fingers, then holding it open for my mom, I found Aunt Betty patting him down with a towel. She was stimulating his muscles. "Physio-therapy" they called it.
With each light pat came from him what I can best describe as a cross between a moan and a loud gravelly sigh.
Pat..."Aaaah."
Pat..."Aaaah."
Pat..."Aaaah."
Each time was like a needle in the arm and the feeling you get when the nurse misses the vein and has to try and find it again, again and again.
Unsettling as it was, I forced myself to watch, my eyes traveling from his haggard, unshaven face with the sunken eyes to his swollen, bed sored feet.
"So this is what he has become." I announced to myself.
"A wraith of the man, of the pillar that had been a presence in my life since the day I was born."
It was hard to believe and I guess that is partly why I stayed away for so long. Because I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe that he would be okay, that everything would be just fine and I was afraid that seeing him like that, shrunken and dilapidated as he was, would crush all my hopes of conjuring up the miracle in my mind that I knew he deserved.
But no matter, I was there now and not only because I had to, but because I wanted to. Because deep down I knew that this was the end for him and I felt I needed to say goodbye.
Coming back to myself, back to the room, I found my mom standing at my grandfather's bedside. She had a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him, her voice raised, her words pronounced clearly so that he could hear her.
He answered her lucidly, telling her how uncomfortable he was. He was tired of lying flat on his back. He wanted to sit up.
"With no support." he had insisted.
They tried propping him up with a couple of pillows but he still complained that he was feeling uncomfortable.
My uncle Charles walking into the room, greeted us then went on to ask us what was going on. He was my grandfather's eldest son and in the eventuality of his death would take over as head of family. He therefore automatically took charge of the situation.
Suggesting a wheelchair, he sent one of the orderlies to go and get one. He then went ahead to order us to hold my grandfather up right until the wheel chair arrived.
When it did arrive, it took four of us, my uncle included to maneuver him into the wheel chair.
After positioning him as best as she could, covering his legs with first a leso and then a blanket, propping his back with a pillow, my mom asked my grandfather how that was.
"Better," he kept repeating,
"Much better."
"Good." She breathed. Then turning to me,
"It's a beautiful day out, why don’t you take him for a little walk? I'm sure he would enjoy it."
I turned to look at my uncle Charles, as if asking permission.
"I think it's a great idea." He allowed, nodding his head and pulling at his beard.
"I'll go with you. Come on, let's go."
With my uncle Charles at the helm and I beside him, we wheeled my grandfather out of the room, down the hall and into the sunlight.

The garden was beautiful.
Flush with reds and blues and yellows; fragrant from an expanse of well kept and much loved flower beds.
It was around midday and the sun was high in the sky and although it was neither too hot nor too bright my uncle and I thought it wise to station my grandfather as well as ourselves beneath the shade of a large tree that hard obviously seen the better part of a century.
Breathing in the fresh air I watched my grandfather. Wondering what kind of affect the change of environment was having on him.
"Ask him." My uncle blurted out suddenly as if reading my mind.
Walking over to him, I stared down at my grandfather so that my face filled his vision.
"How are you doing Grandpa?"
"Lloyd..." He said in recognition, trying to point up at me. His voice was akin to throwing gravel into a running garbage disposal; his breathing labored.
"Yes, it's Lloyd, Grandpa." I tried again, "How are you doing?"
"Nice...very nice- out here."
The effort of talking obviously tired him.
My Grandfather had always been an eloquent talker and it pained me to see him reduced to such few words
"Yes, it is nice," Uncle Charles offered,
"Very nice."
Several members of the staff came over and said hello, asking us how my grandfather was doing.
"He's much better, thank you." Uncle Charles would answer almost automatically to anyone who asked. After engaging in a few minutes of polite small talk, the members of staff wished us well, wished "Mzze" a quick recovery and went about their way.
"I want to go home." my grandfather announced abruptly. His voice was clear, some of the gravel like quality momentarily lost. It sounded so full of despair that I literally felt a shiver run down my spine. I'm still convinced up to this day that he was talking to neither me nor my uncle but to someone neither of us could see- he was ready to go.
My uncle making light of it, however, threw a smile in my direction. I however, couldn’t return it.
"You’re going to go home very soon Mzze."
He said.
"Any day now. You must be tired of this place."
"Yes...yes- very tired." My grandfather agreed emphatically.
Uncle Charles chuckled.
"Yes, very tired."
The same orderly who had brought us the wheel chair now came walking towards us across the grounds, cup in hand, a small plastic spoon protruding from it.
"Yes," my uncle said as the orderly approached.
"Very good. He must be thirsty. Give him something to drink."
Uncle Charles pointed at my grandfather as he said this.
Nodding, the orderly squatted at my grandfather's side. He then went ahead to spoon some water into my grandfather’s mouth.
Each spoon produced the same sound as each pat of the towel had done earlier.
Slurp..."Aaaah."
Slurp..."Aaaah."
Slurp..."Aaaah."
When my grandfather refused to drink anymore the orderly stood up and suggested that maybe we take Mzze back inside.
Uncle Charles seeing no reason to refute medical advice even if it was really nothing more than common sense readily agreed.
We wheeled him back inside.
The anti-septic smell and white plaster cleanliness of the hospital seeming even more oppressive after the brightness, splendor and flourish of the garden.
We took him back to his room and with the help of a couple of nurses placed him between the sheets of his freshly made bed. The room had been cleaned and wiped down while we had been outside.
He was asleep within seconds. I could tell the outing had been good for him however, as short as it had been. The lines in his face seemed a little less defined, his body a little more relaxed, his breathing a little less labored. It brought a small smile to my lips. even if a sad one.
One of the nurses, telling me that my grandfather needed his rest, tried to usher me out of the room. Everyone else was in the adjoining ward the hospital had let the family use as a visitor's room.
Telling her to give me a moment, I went and stood at my grandfather's side. The nurse hovered somewhere behind me, making sure I didn’t disturb her patient but I really didn’t mind.
Placing a hand gingerly on my grandfather's arm I said a silent prayer. Then telling him I would see him soon, I walked out of the room; my head bowed, sneakers squeaking quietly against the linoleum, hands in my pocket.





That was the last time I saw my grandfather alive; he passed away the very next day.
I miss him and so does everyone who's life he touched.

Today/ He Was (In Rememberance)

Today…

Today I wear his name on my back.
Today I let my hair down.
Today I wear a rubber band on my wrist even though I don’t think I will need one.

Today I sleep through my alarm.
Today I walk in late.
Today my mood foul.
Today my mood is up.
Today my mood is down.

Today I don’t eat lunch.
Today I walk to the pool.
Today I meet JB.
Today I’m consumed by doubt…

Today I miss him.
Today I hurt.
Today I swear never to forget.
To never neglect.
Today I wear his name on my heart.


…He Was

He was seventy-nine when he died.
I am a part of the proof of his existence that he left behind.
I am a third generation.
A grand son.

I worked with him.
Walked with him.
Worked for him.
Did anything he asked.

We had long conversations.
He told me stories.
He advised me.
Was stern with me.
Told me off…but always in love.

He had a wonderful laugh. Hearty. From the belly.
His smile always reached his eyes.

He was wise.
He knew things.
He loved to read.
He loved the Lord.

He was, is and always will be a model of the man I aspire to be.
He is my hero and I miss him.

***

It’s been one year. One year to the day. One year since I received that phone call. One year since I listened to my mom’s tear soaked voice at two o’clock in the morning as she told me that he was gone. That his heart had finally given up and that God had finally called him home.
Has it really been that long?
I absently pull at a strand of hair easily longer than half the length of my forearm- It has. The proof was right there, pinced between the pointer and the index of my right hand.
I sit back in my chair. Scratch at my beard. Remember my mother’s words.
“He was so proud of you.”
We were sitting beneath his favourite tree. The Gulu sun warming our skin. It was a few days after I had moved back home. My mother and I had some things to discuss. Like what was happening to me. This was two, three months back maybe.
I watched as she bent over and plucked at some grass. Her gaze was far off.
“So, so proud.”
She turned back to face me. Her eyes beseeching. She wanted to see what affect her words were having on me.
I never could pretend with her.
Her mouth turned downwards.
“but this boy sitting in front of me right now- yes Lloyd, boy, and don’t you think for one moment that you’re anything but because you’re not, not even close- this boy sitting in front of me, he wouldn’t have been. Not one bit. And don’t you look away from me Lloyd, because we both know it’s the truth.”
My mother’s words had stung. But she was right- it was the truth and we both knew it.
I swallowed. There was nothing I could say. There was nothing to say. I let her words sink in. I felt her eyes watch me as I let the words sink in. and as they wade past the shallows, mingling with my particularly dark shade of melanin and then proceeded to gnaw through flesh, bone and finally marrow I felt a sob, small, almost insignificant, claw itself up my throat…
I couldn’t shake her words.
He had been proud of me. Heaping on one praise on top of the other. I had been his golden boy. Not anymore though. And that was the harsh reality of it. And that scared me. What had happened to me? Swallowing, I made my decision right there and then to do better. To make him proud. To honour his memory the best way I could. With all that I am. And not doing it half way either. His memory deserved better than that. Better than what I had given him.
I looked up and met my mother’s eyes. Her gaze was intense but this time I did not look away.
“I know.”
My voice was a whisper. My voice was a croak. Putting a fist up to my mouth, I cleared my throat.
“I know.” I said again.
Her expression softened. I watched as she pulled up another bouquet of grass, a thick clump of soil attaching itself to it. Bits of soil sprinkled her feet but she continued as if she didn’t notice them. She threw the clump of soil with its crew cut of grass in the general direction of the gate. She waited to see where it landed before wiping her hands on the thighs of her jeans.
“I know you will.”
She had that far away look again.
After a moment she stretched out a hand and patted me on the knee.
“I know you will.”

Day 37: Or is it (The end) Thirty-Eight [?]

It’s at times like these that I realise just how much I miss her. But not only that, but also how much I need her. It’s at times like these, when I stand aside from myself that I examine the person that Ive become without her…
It’s been thirty-seven days. Thirty- seven days (or is it thirty-eight?) since I sat up in my bed one morning and told myself that; enough is enough. You are no longer allowed to mourn over her. To mourn over us. You are going to get up, get out and make a conscious effort to flush her from your system, you hear?
And for the most part I succeeded. Twenty something odd days in and I was making moves. Moves, of course, with the intention of moving whichever girl it happened to be that night to a room with thick curtains, a bed and a locked door.
One morning not too long after this though (day 29 if I remember correctly), hung over and in dire need of a third bottle of water, I asked myself what the hell I was doing. I had climbed out of one pit only to fall into another. And no one had to tell me that the first pit was a whole lot better than the second. Hell, the first pit wasn’t really a pit at all, if I’m to be quite honest.
I loved her, plain and simple. And I was doing all of this in an attempt to hide that. Not to change it, mind you. Because instinctively I knew that was a pretty tall order. Because barring an act of God, there was no chance of that happening. Its still something I cant explain. Maybe it has something to do with that tattoo I got. The one that said eternity…in Chinese.
Flip it around in your mind a couple of time and you might be apt to believe that maybe, just maybe, whether consciously or not, whether intentional or not, she branded me…for eternity. I distinctly remember my cousin Derrick saying as much anyway. And no I’m not about to make some harlequin reference to the song “Tattoo” by Jordin Sparks so squash that from your mind like as soon as immediately. And wipe that smile off your face as well. Because I am completely aware just how stupid and irrational that sounds. Like 21st century voodoo. Stick a needle in me and I’m yours forever. A load of crap right? Well, it’s either that or what some Mills & Boon reading, sixteen year old sobby little girl would have no problem calling “true love”. Now that’s a scary thought. Especially for this twenty-three year old guy who has always prided himself on his innate knack for playing the field. I mean, what would the guys think? And so I settled for talking trash with the best of them. Walking trash as well. Cos’ these days it’s a requirement that you back up your claims with action just so anyone will take you seriously.
But now, thirty-seven days in (or is it thirty-eight?) and the act is wearing pretty thin. This is not me. It never was. I was the quiet messy haired kid who sat in the back of the class and listened to metal while writing bad “I feel so alone” poetry.
And so where does that leave me?
Not quite between the Devil and the deep blue sea but certainly close enough to taste the salt on the breeze.
And so after much thought and much deliberation and after such agony…I choose love.