Author: Gawaya Tegulle. PHOTO/NMG
Before the “revolutionaries” came along and messed up just about everything, Jinja was Uganda’s finest town – what with being at the scenic intersection of the world’s largest freshwater lake – Victoria - and the world’s longest river, the Nile!
And that is where I grew up, taking both for granted, and walking every morning to Victoria Nile School, right at the Source of the Nile.
A few months ago, I dropped by Jinja to walk down memory lane and also to congratulate my little brother and his wife Joy, on completing payment for their house.
I peeped over a big cup of one of Joy’s finer teas, keenly sipping away, as she told me the story of how they acquired the house.
For quite a while, the real estate broker had done what brokers do: give a steep quotation, ensure you don’t access the house owner and tell you that someone else is just about to pay double what you have, but he is only helping you...because he really likes you and wants you to have the house.
Nine times out of 10, the house owner will have their price, and the broker will have his prices (several of them, all much higher and ones that he keeps adjusting depending on what car you are driving, what clothes you are wearing and the kind or grade of woman you are dating or married to – parade a trophy chick and the price promptly goes up).
Turned out the house owner was a lady whom my brother had never met. And to her, he was just another potential purchaser. Half an hour into the negotiation that was not going well, she, for lack of a better thing to say, asked what his name was.
When he introduced himself, her face went quizzical. “That name...we had a headmaster at Victoria Nile School who was called Gawaya, many years ago. ”That’s my father,” said my brother.
Everything changed at that point. "What! You are Gawaya’s son? Why didn’t you say so before?” My brother was speechless. “That man educated all my children,” she said. “They are what they are today because of him.”
The negotiation stopped forthwith. She informed the broker that the house was off the market. Her son was taking the house, she said. She slashed the price by half, ordered the tenants out and ordered the new son in, telling him he could pay whenever he got the money.
How could a Gawaya pay rent when she had a house here? For her it was no longer about the money, or the purchaser; it was all about an unpayable debt to a teacher whose dedication to his profession enabled her children to succeed.
Without knowing a thing or saying a word, Daddy, 80km away, had sealed the deal for his son.
Legacy is the name of the game. Beyond educating our children and leaving them large tracts of land and billions in the bank (which can be wasted in a jiffy); a parent must be wary of one thing – the way the world handles your children today when you are alive is far different from what happens when you are gone.
And there is absolutely nothing you can do about what the world does to your kids, when you are six feet beneath, when the ground you walk on today is now the roof over your head. And when you, Mr or Mrs Big Shot, are now lying still, where the yams sleep.
As part of the insurance for your children, purpose to leave a pleasant taste in people’s mouths, a pleasant aroma in their nostrils and sweet memories in their minds. And that speaks to how you treat people; how you make people feel when they are at your mercy, and how you behave when you hold all the aces or trump cards in your hand.
Society doesn’t forget; people write your deeds and misdeeds in their books of remembrance. And history can be a harsh judge when you are the kind that thought you had it all and other people were nothing. Out of public life now, daddy is still alive; 84 when this month ends, quiet as usual and can be found at home, taking his tea on the front porch, as he watches the sun setting in the west.
Gawaya Tegulle is an advocate of the High Court of Uganda
