EPISODE II: From Childhood Struggles to Silent Strength

Part2: The Rejection

The Lonely Road of a Rejected Mother-to-Be

Thank you for walking with me on this journey. When I left off, I had just shared about my birth and the grace of my mother keeping me until I was 21, when she passed on. Today, I want to take you deeper into my childhood the years that shaped me.

My growing-up story begins when I was about five years old old enough to notice what was happening around me. I grew up in Old Kampala, right behind the Old Kampala Police Station, in what were called custodian houses. My mother rented a small single room there. That room was everything for us: a sitting room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and even our bathroom. Life was not easy, but it was ours.

I had siblings, but in many ways, I was the “lucky” one who stayed closest to my mother throughout her life. Perhaps it was because I was the child who never knew a father, the one who needed her most.

To survive, my mother brewed a local drink called Nira Nira and sold it for income. She also worked different jobs. I remember she used to make and deliver twisted towers, though I didn’t fully understand her work then. What I do remember clearly is the milk business. Every evening, crates of milk from Uganda Dairies would arrive 12 liters per crate. From about seven years old, I became the “milk distributor.” I would carry the milk to our regular customers around Bombay Garden, sometimes even to the police barracks. When milk remained, I would set up a small roadside stall at Martin Road. That was how we made ends meet.

During the day, I went to school at Chagwe Road Primary School, where Mukwano Mall now stands. I studied there from P1 to P6. But life turned again when I reached P4 my mother lost her job. She later found another as an office assistant at Uganda Foundation for the Blind. With that, we relocated from Old Kampala to Makindye, in a small village called Mukuli near Misaka Primary School.

Moving to Makindye felt like an upgrade. For the first time, we lived in a two-room house. My mother partitioned one room into a shop and her bedroom, while the second room became our sitting area and my small bedroom. And yes, we continued brewing alcohol  because survival demanded it.

In Makindye, I truly understood what it meant to grow up without a father. My elder sister went to live with dad, and my two younger siblings were taken in by their father. I remained with my mother, her “special child.” But she never made me feel less. She provided and cared for me, ensuring I grew up just like any other child.

We stayed in Makindye for about two and a half years, until my mother lost her job again. This time, she moved to Gulu to start a small business. I was about to sit for my P7 exams, and because school fees had become difficult, my mother transferred me from Chagwe Road to Mary Magdalene Primary School in Gulu, where I completed my primary education.

The years in Gulu opened another chapter of my life  a chapter I will share with you in Part III.

If you are a single mother reading this today, or perhaps a child who has grown up without a father, let my story encourage you. Life is never easy, but God has a way of turning our struggles into testimonies. I am living proof that He never abandons His children.

Watch out for Part III  my story in Gulu.