My second home.
I remember it always felt like a home and not a house,
It was the last feeling I had close to that till we moved into my mother's home; the melting pot of homes. Besides that,
We moved into my second home right after we shifted from the flat living apartments in Makerere. It must have been an offer to my father since he used to lecture in Makerere University, which was basically right opposite our flats.
I grew up from the flats so my memories there are quite many.
However my second home, a beautiful place. We were neighbours with the then deputy governor of our central Bank of Uganda, basically living in the upper lavish side of our city centre.
My dad was working two jobs then so he was never home, he would come back late evening and I would be the one racing to take off his shoes and coat after a long day's work.
It was always something I felt like I owed him after he gave us all we wanted. It's least I could do.
Our family has always been big. Big, but just right. I had a relationship with everyone in the house. I learnt how to shoot my first hoops from there with my two sisters Tasha and Nana, That's where my swoosh came from, and the dribble from Lukman. He loved And 1, so he had picked up this quick dribble which I replicated and made my own. Although, right now, I'm pretty rusty so I can't testify to all that.
My sister and I always had this strange habit of fighting, I think it was all the wrestling our father got us to watch with him. It wasn't much of father-child thing, but everyone, thanks to paps, is accustomed to watching some wrestling without any hesitation.
The stone cold stunner was my favourite move till the walls of Jericho caught my attention, and my sister was always the test dummy for my runs. It's important to know that she always kicked my ass when we got down to reall business. I wonder why we always did that but it was fun.
Shouting out loud, "do you smeeeeeelllllllll, what the rock is cooking?" then bamn! I'd smack her down onto the sofa. After that it was hammer time for my ass, we would push the table aside and just got at it like mad.
Sweet memories.
The mornings were always beautiful, we would have so much breakfast on the table, with so much variety from cereal to sausages, splash and soda, all those really unhealthy foods, but diving into it was no problem.
School days, oh school days faking an illness was not easy but it happened all the time. Now I know why I hate going to school, it all started from the past, school is just such a drag. My little sister Amina and I always had the silliest of excuses not to go. The rest were always in boarding school so we had the house all to ourselves. So we had like a sequence. Today your sick, tomorrow I'm sick.. It was hilarious when the parents stepped out, the sick puppies turned healthy as a clowns, watching cartoon network, playing video games and for my sister, ripping her many dolls apart was a tradition. I wonder why they bought them?
The holidays, gosh the holidays, after waiting years and years for everyone to get back. It was time for them to come back home. We would go pick them up from school looking all unhealthy and extremely happy that it was time to go home, I hated boarding school. Although I eventually end up there for my secondary; Bad, bad memories.
When everyone was home, we would have birthday celebrations going on, cutting cake, inviting friends over, playing table tennis, dancing games, hide and seek. We were spoilt kids, I guess spoilt at the right time of life. Remembering all this just makes me feel blessed. Surely you never know what you had till it's all gone. I'm just glad I'v realised before it's all gone.
The video games, oh the video game sessions. We had a thousands of games, I basically grew up and learnt so many things from them. The funniest memory then was placing a bet for Solcalibur with my brother Lukman, whoever won the match was supposed to pay the other. The fraud star never, ever paid me. I can't remember how much, but I know he has my cash, lol.
Then the ease dropping on phone calls. My sister Maya was the biggest culprit, but all my sisters and their so called boyfriend's made us pick up this habit cause their phone calls were always so long, and the person using the phone would always go downstairs to the office for privacy. So the other phone connected to the same line was always calling out for someone to find out what was taking this person so long. But they always caught us as we snickered in the background and they would shout our names, "AMINA, IBRA! Get off the line."
Then the phone bill always had paps sending us to the dog cage as he complained about it; although, we would instantly snitch just to get out of trouble.
Then the point I also joined the phone crew. It was about the time of my primary six to seven. One of my older sisters was going to school with some rich kids so we used to go visit and play games and all that. There was this one girl, I can't say her name but she stayed there and we always stayed on phone for hours talking endlessly, about what, I do not even remember. But she got me hooked to the phone like one of those Ugandan business men, It was crazy.
My first fracture. This happened in this home, I remember this day pretty well.
Our home was seated on the slope of Kololo hill so the whole landscape had a kind of slant going on. The compound was big and had stairs leading to the swings and the lower side of the front yard. It was a really beautiful compound.
This one day, we were going to the swings or just sliding on the rails of the stairs that led us there. My sister, Amina, was on the left side and I slid down on the right. While we were at it trying to see who would reach the bottom first, I got my right hand stuck in between the holes of the railing, I struggled to take it out but it all happened so quick, then I fell over to the right side on my shoulder then, snap! My hand just broke. Everything after that is really blurry but Amina claimed I cried the whole evening till they took me to the hospital. Sleeping after that was tough, the cast was really itchy and hot. The cool part was all the signatures I got on it, at least.
The memories are so many, yet so blurry.
The swing. It was like a meeting place. We would all gather there to talk and do some dangerous jumps off the swing, the thrill was beautiful, explains my love for heights and sky diving.
Home was always beautiful, no matter what the time, no matter what happened, and the last highlight of the house was my grand uncle going mad, it was sad but also funny at a particular point. First off, may his soul rest in eternal peace. He was a great guy, always made us laugh, always had that old age frustration going on. Which to me is really amusing.
So this one day, we had just woken up I believe, the house help was doing her thing in the kitchen preparing breakfast then his wires must have tripped. He started saying uncoordinated things, barking at her, throwing staff all over then the epic moment came into play when he picked up a knife and attempted to swing it towards everyone that tied to reach out to him. It was such a crazy episode, all I remember at the end of it all was him being tied down by the security guard and bringing the.scene to an end
The fun all died away when the owners of the house had come back and wanted their old place back, so we packed our bags and started shifting all over Kampala. We house hopped for a while after that and somehow, we still are.
But my second house, was a home. No doubt about that.
