As you journey down the border,
To call on Busia and its grandeur, or even go beyond,
Into Uganda where you take a soda,
And a plateful of matoke in a café with mongrels on the front.
Just waking up, eyes smarting from lack of sleep,
Languid and lackadaisical ‘cause it has been a long night,
Never been on a bus that long, wanted to weep,
Excruciating pain in your groins and buttocks sore but you hold tight.
Before you come to Korinda, where the wrongdoers are given a chance to right their wrongs,
Long after you’ve passed the lake city in Luoland,
Our proud neighbors with whom we share names and a rich culture that lures, makes you belong,
If you curious and daring but always rejects the errant.
Look through the window to your right,
In the midst of those gigantic trees; murumba, cypress and eucalyptus,
Next to the Mundika Parish with walls white,
In this highschool; in crystal white shirt and black pants, maroon tie you’d find us.
My friends and I, shrewd young men with visions of tomorrow,
Today, never wanted to be a writer but always wrote my essays with amazing dexterity,
Reach for the stars, that’s my teacher in a voice full of sorrow,
Regrets of the past he stoically faced, and probably the only explanation to his laxity.
As you nonchalantly look, wondering what for,
All the excitement and anticipation on your foreseen destination,
The greenery and animated folks holding you in awe,
Know that’s a poignant reminder of my enlightenment, my education.