I Remember Bongole

From Bwera to Busia, from Nimule to Mutukura

All fashions of men, great and humble, have stood:

Names have been flung across the ends of the sky

Some, elephants that shadow the ants-

But I remember the name Bongole-Lutaya;

I remember that his music clenched fists for justice

When silence and stigma had splintered our voices-

That his songs were the hands that glued the pieces,

 ‘Today it’s me, tomorrow someone else

 It’s me and you we’ve got to stand up fight’

And when the baton is now set in our hand;

This day when our nation is fractured,

And silence keeps our feet from rising-

This day when blood is the currency of peace,

When fear chokes our best hopes…

Shall we be the soldiers who rescue the vision?

I remember the day Bongole-Lutaya died:

The city was dark and quiet,

Quiet with the stillness of a sombre sadness…

Hundreds huddled in vigil at the city square,

Flames dotting the shadows with yellow spots

As songs rose in tribute to a voice now symbol;

I remember the sobbing of sullen women,

The pregnant silence of stoic men,

And the long and languid sighing

Of a city parting with its legend-

But mostly I remember the challenge he left

I remember worthy names that yet go unsung

Names like Dr Mathew Lukwiya,

Noreen Kaleba, Alex Mukulu,

Names that raised their fists against mountains

Roused consciousness, and defied the apathy;

I remember that their deeds dipped desperation,

That their will wrote lessons that anchored souls

And their spirit strengthened spirits shy of strength

But mostly I remember that they made a stand

Yesterday was them, today is someone else

It’s me and you we’ve got to stand up fight

And on this day, when our nation cries for heroes:

When greed, that dark serpent, uproots our values

And media infects our minds with nudity and vanity,

This day when bribes take the place of governance;

When guns and kiboko are the language of dialogue

And silence blinds conscience to the power of voice

Shall we be the voices to stand up and fight?

Out there somewhere, alone and frightened,

A poet wails the pain of days lost to darkness:

Today it is me, tomorrow someone else

It’s me and you we’ve got to stand up fight

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