Offphh, my head hurts. God, I still cannot move, and I’m still in this damned clinic. Can’t these people identify me? Can’t they recognize me? I am literally on the bloody news every other day. They literally elected me. There was a time my campaign posters were peppered all over this damn village.

You’re to be seen, not heard,

Your problems debated in boardrooms across the Atlantic,

Solutions aired at the next summit.

I hate it when people who haven't risked anything call themselves romantics.

Ticket. Check. Outfit. Check. Drink. Double-check. The event was advertised a month ago, and you're beyond ready to spend some hard-earned shillings. You could've gotten the ticket for free, but you don't mind paying, especially when the artist is worth it. You need this. You've been stressed, working yourself to the bone so you can do things like this.

The thing starts at 4 PM, and you're there at 5. But this is Kampala, and most people won't start trickling in until an hour later, two even. Y

My palms were sweaty, and words stuck in my throat. My eyes—well, they couldn’t be bothered to do what I had practiced them doing. I couldn't look at you; I couldn't let you see this longing, this feeling of loss since the day you left. You had picked up your keys off the table, paused at the door, and sighed. You didn't look back, nor did you say a word. You just stood there, as if deciding between two impossible tasks. I never thought you would leave. I'll admit it plainly here—I got cocky, fu

The time on the clock read 6:30pm, Steve will be home any minute. A casual stroll passed the living room mirror reveals my makeup and hair are still perfectly in place. Red. Steve always loved this tight red dress with its plunging neckline. It seems fitting to wear it on a night like this- they say, I don’t know who said it but someone said, ‘at the end of everything, you always think of the beginning’.

The kitchen, redolent with the scent of the chicken luwombo fills the room and brings with