She scanned through the crowd. Some wiping away tears. Others trying hard to hold back theirs. The rest – just staring at nowhere and nothing.

For her, it was the heat making her wipe her sweat-dotted face.

“Look, daddy’s photo is there,” she said, unaware of who lay in the coffin before the crowd.

“Did you come with a car?” she asked, probably amazed at the number of cars parked at home today.

“See, they said we shall not go back to Gulu again.”

Innocence. Ignorance. Wonderment.


We listened. We asked why.

We emphasized with the lady, upon whose shoulders all these pain rests.


Looking at his face for the last time, we saw stillness, lifelessness.

We wondered if his laughter still resounds in the life after.

We asked if calmness, sureness still typify his gait.


As we mourned departure, we also marveled at our life.

As we pondered about when we shall take leave, we told ourselves;

Live. Hold life when you still can.

[To James Eriku’s Memory]

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