I went to my fathers grave, for the first time since his burial. Black beautiful cold marble holds his body at rest in the grave. An old bouquet of flowers lay deserted on his grave. Daddy lies besides his father, my grandfather Andereya Buteraba whose grave is tiled with creamish porcelain tiles. Besides Jaja Buteraba lies my mothers child called Saatuka which is translated from Luganda as I never arrived. This is the oldest grave in our family graveyard. A lone purple hibiscus lay discarded on Saatukas tiny grave. As I stood at the family graveyard with my step-brother Frank, he spoke revealingly that in that moment we were stepping on the very ground we shall eventually be buried in. Sobering thought! I debriefed about the final preparations for the lumbe with two of my step-sisters. The graveyard is a sacred place for those of us who bury our dead kin. It is our final destiny in this galaxy.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Dec 2014 18:06:31 +0000
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