Written by: Admin_SheEvo
Some people, especially Christians believe in generational curses, whereas ‘historians’ believe that history repeats itself. They all are correct in one way or the other. In December 2012, my family was reduced by one; after months of battling with liver failure, my brother and follower succumbed to the disease and went to be with the Lord.
As the eldest and first daughter, I was involved in his upbringing and life until the day he died, so his death hit me harder than I could have imagined. Although I had lost a twin sister earlier (she died when we were barely two years old, so apart from seeing her in photos, there’s nothing in my memory box about her). However, my parents were hit even harder as he was the fourth child they were burying. Being ‘Baganda’ by tribe (Uganda’s largest and most prominent tribe), cultural norms were to be followed during my brother’s burial. From what I know about this tribe, children are a blessing, but twins are a blessing and more; hence, they receive ‘special’ treatment from birth, as they grow, and after death.
According to my mom, she gave birth to us (me and my twin sister) at a tender age with no knowledge about how twins are treated in cultural settings. Nevertheless, she and my late father were given the names Nalongo (given to a lady who gives birth to twins) and Salongo (given to the father of twins) and ‘us’ twin names.
This meant that if any of us died, we would receive the ‘twin treatment,’ which included not attending any twin-related funerals, among other things. As a result, when my late brother passed, my mother, sister (twin to my late brother), and father were advised not to bury nor get involved in anything related to it. Relatives carried out all cultural rituals while we stood back and watched. My father, however, wasn’t obliged by the cultural rules as he engaged himself in the entire ceremony.
My brother passed on from a public hospital in the evening when it was too late to complete the clearance, allowing us to take him home. The following day, my father went to the hospital to collect his body, something he should have never done. In addition, he partook in the burial (in Buganda, burial is when one goes to the grave, gets soil and pours it in after the body has been put inside). He was brave and correct; after all, who in their right mind would not send off their child? On the side of tribe advisers, he was very wrong, and repercussions of all kinds awaited him sooner or later.
Months later, my dad got very ill. Whether it was cultural retaliation or God’s plan, whatever it was, it came solid and determined because he never recovered. On December 27th, 2022, he breathed his last, the same month my brother died, which made me declare December a month of doom.
Why I changed my perspective on December.
If there’s anything I’ve learnt over time, it is that; “life is what you make it”, good or bad, and the power to decide so lies solely in one’s hands. Knowing this, I decided to look at the positive things December has blessed me with. It’s in this month, in the years 2012 and 2013, that I obtained my Diploma in hairdressing and Beauty Therapy, respectively. Moreover, when I decided to return to school to pursue my dream course, journalism, my graduation took place in December. Therefore, I can proudly say that December, I remember!
