Mum, my hero.

It all started when Dad decided to abandon us. I was 8 when he left us to fend for ourselves, only because we chose Mum’s religion. We were a family of nine, ten with Dad. Tears ran down my cheeks, Mum and my siblings were crying too. Hopelessness arising, we felt like we were born to suffer, worthless, helpless and lost.

All the stress was on Mum; she had no job but she always had hope. And because of this, she tried all she could to raise us up. She sought for assistance but only a little help came in, which was as much as nothing. We were exploited and given little support. I had always been afraid of ending up on the streets, and as Dad threw us out that hot afternoon, it became a reality.

Being on the streets was like saying you have given up life; it is survival of the fittest, where only the strongest survive. Dad had been the money maker, we had all depended on him as our source of income. 3 years on the streets, surviving, thinking of what to eat the next day, and homeless, created anger and bitterness within me. As children, we thought of suing Dad as revenge but Mum said it was not the solution. She always told us,‘‘The future is bright for you.’’ But we got angry at her words, like a bunch of people denied jobs after intensive and hard training.

I later got involved in illegal activities, like selling drugs and forging documents for people. (I was called ‘‘Omuubi’’, translated as ‘‘the wrong’’). I was thrown into jail but luckily, I was bailed out by Mum; she worked tooth and nail to keep her children out of trouble, even though she looked foolish before many people. Some of her friends advised her to take her children to the village which meant in their eyes, that there was no hope for us, but Mum’s answer to this was a big no.

Mum never gave up hope. Friends told her the same thing, ‘‘sue the man’’ (meaning Dad) but she kept to her word, “revenge is not the solution’’. My oldest sister was attacked, robbed, raped on her way to a food store. 3 months later, we realised that she was infected with HIV aids. Weeks later, she got very sick, there was no money for her treatment and she died. This brought agony, complete hopelessness, and Mum wept. But unbelievably, I remember her weeping and pounding on the table, ‘‘I will not give up hope!’’ This shocked me and I said  to myself, ‘‘what a woman!’’ Even though I admired Mum for her hope, I personally hated Dad. I was so ready to take revenge that on several occasions, I looked for a gun.

This hope Mum had was like an anchor of her soul, a hope both sure and steadfast. Over the years, her hope disarmed me and it blew me away that I could ever feel that way too. Mum always challenged me by this hope and gradually i started picking it up. Even though life was still not easy, i believed that some day, some time I would be a person of significance. It is my prayer to keep this hope in me until I reach what I always desired to become since I was a kid: my Mum, my hero.

By Tyris Kakooza.