Ode To My Brother

Source: www.malaikamediaug.com

“Your mother is not here!” he exclaims. “You have to stop being careless!” “You have to grow up!”  My conscience pulls me out of sleep before more damage is done. I check my phone. It is some minutes past four o’clock. “How can you lose a uniform after one day?” This one question lingers in the backyard of my mind. I cannot make out the exact year, but it is pre 1998. Snapshots from my memory indicate that this is a familiar scene.

“How did I lose my uniform after one day?” That small voice inside keeps picking at me. The interrogator is clearly overwhelmed and fighting to hide his disappointment. My teary eyes only manage to severe his plight. You have an early day ahead. My conscience interjects, convincing me to pull the pillow over my head. Slowly I drift off into slumber.

Boma Moses. A female voice calls out, its source beckoning me to move to the front. Four other boys are already in waiting. Later that evening, we receive the first pair of our long awaited school uniforms. A pair of khaki shorts, a yellow khaki shirt, tie, belt, pair of socks and a sweater. When I broke news to him, Jacob couldn’t help but join in on my elation.  

Jacob is my immediate elder brother, and in a family of so many, we were the epitome of internal nemeses, fighting against each other in peaceful times, uniting in the face of an outside threat. We happened to attend the same primary school between 1994 and 1998, when he had to leave after his PLEs (primary Leaving examinations).  Jacob had been the voice interrogating me earlier on, my sub conscience affirms, bringing me to the realization; I had been on a trip down memory lane!

In a space of seven days, this was the umpteenth time he had to sacrifice his for my carelessness. I had lost my entire grab (bullied away from me), lost all my keys (three in total), spent all my pocket money, not to forget the scare I had him and mom into, chasing me on the highway, as I attempted running back home (Pallisa District) the day we reported for the new term (in Jinja district).

On this particular occasion, the school sweater was the subject of contention. A day after I had shown off my new uniform, Jacob had to surrender his sweater so I could dump the rag I was wearing.  I remember washing my new sweater that very evening but when I went to collect, it was, but no more. I had to settle for this very old sweater which apparently had been relegated to serve as a mop in our dormitory.

Thank you Jacob for all you have sacrificed for me. I look back and realize, your cross wasn’t one to easily bear.