This year, I am dedicating two hit songs to all of you who wished me a happy birthday, which gave me time to reflect.
Looking back, one aspect of my life tells me I have surely grown. As a teenager, I was never scared of gunshots or bombs; they thrilled me to the max. I still recall 1986, when rebels attacked a police post in Njeru township, near Jinja. We were on our way to a cousin’s birthday celebration when chaos erupted, and we had to rush home. I can still see it clearly: a soldier turning a machine gun and firing right beside me as we ran. A stranger abandoned his car and sought refuge with us, spending the time in my room while bombs rattled saucepans in the kitchen and shook the windowpanes.
The intense crescendo of the machine guns sounded a lot like roasting simsim. While my guest curled up in fear, I was unbothered – even entertained. At one point, he looked at me in disbelief: “Young man, you’re reading? Are you all right?!” I was reading a comic book the entire time. Looking back, it feels bizarre. But there is a singular quality of youth that defies naming. It is not fearlessness, innocence, or naivety; it is a mindlessness born of inexperience, until life slowly teaches its lessons.
Take, for instance, when I was six or seven. I picked an empty tin of shoe polish, clipped off its lock, filled it with petrol, and walked over to a fire. Misfortune struck: the tin’s hole faced my legs, and a flash of flame jetted toward me. I panicked a second too late and fell in a heap. Thankfully, I was unscathed, but the incident taught me a lesson: never play with a combination of petrol and fire. Fear and wisdom were instilled—but not yet in the context of war.
My fascination with history likely contributed to my insensitivity. I devoured accounts of Mediterranean empires, biblical wars, and post-World War conflicts. They were thrilling adventures shaping men’s destinies. When the Falklands conflict broke out between Britain and Argentina, I followed it intently on the radio with my father, a retired army captain. We cheered the British and marvelled at Thatcher’s oratory. The loss of lives never weighed on me then, even after fleeing home during wartime. Such was the wild, untamed naivety I carried.
But today, I understand what war truly means. Ultra-lethal ammunition is being stockpiled. States are resolving to manufacture even more. Multi-polar power axes are emerging with unpredictable consequences. Regional and global alliances harden, negotiation tables are dismantled, and hotspots flare, causing untold suffering. The teenager who once read comic books under gunfire is now filled with apprehension.
And yet, life must go on. As you all wished me a happy birthday, my wish in return is simple: may my fears never come true; may we live to see not only another day but a future of lasting peace. The comic books I clutched under gunfire once taught me adventure; today, I cherish the hope that humanity’s story can hold peace as its grandest adventure.
So, to you, I dedicate two songs: John Lennon’s timeless Imagine (1971) and one of my all-time favorites, Sade’s Cherish the Day (1993).
Shalom!
IMAGINE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOs9Osz3UFQ&list=RDiOs9Osz3UFQ&start_radio=1
CHERISH THE DAY: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKhfoKOTwZY&list=RDpKhfoKOTwZY&start_radio=1
