My journey to university of Rwanda began early in 2015 when UNEB released the long awaited UACE results. I appeared in UACE examinations in 2014 at St. Henry's SS Kitovu(in Masaka) with my hopes high of joining Makerere University. It had been my dream for long and I couldn't wait to get myself a room in Kikoni. My cousin, Balikowa, had always told me tales of Kikoni that got me hankering to become a resident there. Balikowa is my cousin. My father and his are brothers. Their family lives in Nakalama, a couple of miles away from ours, which is located in Nambale subcounty, Iganga District. His father is a teacher at Nambale Primary school, while my father was an engineer working with Iganga town council before he got sacked due to alcoholism. Balikowa used to take me out in Iganga town, where we did a lot of stuff. Notable among other things, is taking beer, watching English soccer and narratives of Kikoni, a dwelling in Makerere University or thereabouts, that has a lot of cool stuff with 'hot' girls atop the list.
That's what gave birth to my love for Makerere University!
When my UACE results came, I had passed well. I calculated my weights and I had enough of them to enable me to enroll in Makerere University for my darling course, Bachelor of Science in Medical Radiology! I was as happy as Lary! My father, Mr Mubiru Joseph, is one hell of a dictator. He makes decisions without either consulting or consenting with anyone else in the family, some of which are utterly ridiculous!
How I resent that part of him! One warm dusk, my father summoned both my mother and I to our tiny dining table. Supper was not ready yet so it was obviously not for dining purposes. We heed to his call and assembled our suspicious bodies to the table. He told us that he had finalised plans for me to go to campus. We were all excited though not surprised before he added that I was actually joining University of Rwanda. Lord! I was disappointed! The ugly truth was that his decision was never questioned; the uglier truth was that I'd never heard of that university but, again, the ugliest truth was that my dreams of Kikoni were shattered!
He went on to tell me how all was set for me to leave in two weeks time to start living with my uncle in Kigali, while I explored the place awaiting the commencement of the new semester. I felt the bitter truth sinking in. It felt like a disgusting song playing on a loud speaker you have no control over! My father had repeated the same mistake he'd done seven years ago when he skipped all the good schools in Busoga and Kampala and took me to some district called Masaka. He was lucky I later loved the school so I forgave him. Now, he was at it again taking me, of all countries, to Rwanda.
As I left the dining table, I pondered on my dad's decision. Finally, the optimist in me found something to be happy about. I was going to be on a plane for the first time in my life! This, too, was shattered when it dawned on me that there were coaches in Kampala that plied the Kampala - Kigali route! That meant a road trip not a flight as I had earlier anticipated. There's this thing that happens whenever something unpleasant is coming up. Time tends to hasten up more than Kiprotich getting to the finish line. In no time, I was aboard a Trinity Bus heading to Kigali. I'll never forget that fat dark guy who drove that coach. His speed put the fear of God in me! He drove so fast OMG! I'd never felt as nervous. Thank God we reached safely. My uncle had been waiting for me at the terminal for close to an hour. I alighted and we carried my luggage to his grocery store in the central business district. It was about three hundred meters from the terminal. I spent my first day in Kigali at my uncle's store. I had braced myself for breathtaking views of gorgeous Rwandan girls along the streets. A dream that never was! "Rwanda is clearly overrated!" I said to myself. Back home, it was a unanimous truth that Rwandan girls are beautiful! However, judging from my observation of the women I saw along the streets, all the beautiful ladies must have fled Rwanda to Uganda for reasons I don't know. Because it looked like even my own sisters and neighbors, typical Basoga, were more beautiful than the ladies that littered the streets that day.
My first day in a lecture room at "Kaminuza" was largely adventurous. University of Rwanda was locally referred to as "kaminuza y'u Rwanda", so folks here just say Kaminuza. The lecturer, upon introducing himself as Mr. Chabota from Lusaka, Zambia, told us that he'd chose five people to introduce themselves. I was chosen among the five and I introduced myself at last. "My name is Musana Eric Mubiru, I am a Musoga from Uganda. I'm glad to be here and to meet y'all at University of Rwanda. Thank you."
My introduction sparked off unending murmuring from every corner of the lecture hall. It turned out to be that I had literally confused everyone by saying that I was a Musoga for they referred to everyone from Uganda as "Omugande", their translation for Ugandan. So after the lecture, everyone was looking out for me to explain what I meant by Musoga. That day I was able to get acquainted with a number of students. I also made a couple of friends. One of those friends was Gitonga Elvis. He was a Kenyan and Kikuyu particularly. He was fairly tall, chocolate skinned and with a contagious smile. We met at an eatery where I had gone to catch some break tea. He was a freshman, just like me. When we talked, I realised he was in the same hostel as me.
Elvis was doing bachelors degree in Computer Science but one thing I realised was that I was more passionate about his course than him. Back home, I was a tech guru. I fixed all minor bugs of electronic devices at home. I was almost a social media addict; I had a Facebook page with two thousand likes and a twitter account with one thousand five hundred followers. I think I was one of the best at that in our entire district of Iganga. That and Elvis' stories of his lectures were some of the reasons I found myself penning an application to change my course to some tech course. I chose Software Engineering. My change of course request was fast approved and I started lectures in my new course. Elvis was so instrumental in initiating me in the college of science and technology. He, further, taught me a lot of stuff. Fortunately or unfortunately, whatever Elvis taught me, I'd gradually outsmart him at it. Notable among others is coding. He introduced me to coding. I was fascinated by his expertise at python! However, in just two months after he'd introduced me to coding, he was a no match for me at the other coding languages especially Java.
Elvis, just like me, was terrible footballer but he was such a soccer freak that he'd watch even the worst of matches, say Sunderland Vs Newcastle! What a waste of time! I found that ridiculous! He also loved to argue with fellow soccer freaks about English football!
I found it utter crap, sitting somewhere in Kigali and start arguing on which group of 11 men can better negotiate a sphere into a net and get paid for it!
One day, unlike usually, while we were watching soccer, Elvis disclosed to me that he was building an application. He was working on a mobile app which could read a footballer's picture and be able to tell his biography gameography and things of that sort. I was baffled by what on earth had really inspired him to build such a useless application. But again, I was keen on the whole idea of building apps. After about a week, he told me he was going to discard his plans, since he'd failed to create the user interface of his app. I asked for his laptop and crafted a good user interface and enabled his app to work with both iOS and android. He was so excited. He went on to launch his app on our college's ICT Fair. To my dismay, he introduced a whole crew of five people who "had helped him build the application." I kid you not, reader, I was not on that team! I don't know how to explain to you that had it not been me, that application would be an illusion to this date. Later that evening, I invited him to a coffee dinner to "congratulate" him upon the milestone. He didn't know I was going to confront him. We went to a Café just opposite our hostel. He loved cappuccino so he ordered that. On the other hand, I decided to have a Macchiato.
A bad day is a bad day. This whole day had been execrable and the cup of macchiato was not any different. This was, however, seemingly contrarious to Elvis' mood. He was noticeably enjoying the cappuccino and overly excited about the successful launch of his bogus app probably. I waited for him to quaff more than half of his cappuccino. Then, I unleashed the roar some beast that had grumbled in me that whole day. "So, Elvis, what did I need to do to be on that team that helped in building your app?" He tried to gaze at me but he soon lost focus. He looked up at the glowing light bulbs in the cafe but quickly abandoned that too. He folded his lips and bent down the table. He then tried to look at me and I realised he'd grown absolutely outrageous. For a moment, I got nervous. I thought he was going to pounce on me and hit me. His eyes became teary, he broke down and cried.
"Yeah, he's feeling the guilt," I thought to myself. In my mind it played like a line from some Eddy Kenzo's song "Are you feeling the heat?"
Then I suddenly felt disgusted with his crying, I got up, walked to the cashier's till and paid for our coffee. I left him and went to my uncle's house like I had usually done. The next day, I received a call from Anna, Elvis' girlfriend. Anna was tall dark-skinned Tutsi girl. She was doing a Bachelor's Degree in Public Administration. She had known me as Elvis' friend for almost a year. She told me that I was needed at the hostel immediately. I rushed there.
I got to the hostel and the rumor was that Elvis had tried to drink poison. No one knew why and that's why I was called, not as a suspect but as a close friend; to explain or at least try and find out from him. Elvis declined to talk to me as he had done to everyone else. No one knew what I knew.
My friendship with Elvis got soared for about a week but we got along later at a Tech workshop and our friendship was rekindled but not as smooth as it had been.
One Sunday afternoon, about two weeks from Elvis' suicide attempt, Anna came to my room. It was her first time and I was unsure why she had come. She found me ironing my shirt. I was going to attend a discussion at the campus. I called off my plans. I knew she loved omelette so I made a plain omelette for us to eat as we talk. She told me she'd come to seek my advice about her boyfriend, Elvis's unbecoming behaviour of late. She said Elvis was nagging her about almost everything. I first confessed to Anna. I told her how the whole suicide story. I thought she'd get mad at me but she didn't. She went on to narrate to me how it was not his first suicide attempt. “Elvis tried to drawn himself when we were on a boat cruise six months ago. My phone rang when we were on the boat and he tried to force me to answer the call, I didn't want so I junked his orders. He got mad and accused me of infidelity.
When I tried to defend myself, he accused me of disrespecting him. When I tried to reply, before I knew, he'd thrown himself in the lake. He'd be spirits now if it was not for the swiftness of the boat crew guys who ran to his rescue."
Anna somehow managed to convince me that I was actually not responsible for her boyfriend's suicide attempt. We had a lengthy conversation on how to help Elvis. At about a quarter to seven in the evening, it was getting dark and Anna stood up to say goodbye to me, we walked a few meters as I gave her company. There was something Anna usually reminded me of. At St Henry's, I got Banyankole female friends whose only form of greeting was hugging. Anna was just the same. She would hug you for a greeting and a goodbye. So even then, I got that hug, as we were hugging goodbye, I saw Elvis walk to us, he stared at us and got infuriated. He walked away. Anna didn't see him. When I told her about it, she didn't give a rat's arse and told me not to worry too.
The next morning, I got a shock of my life. Elvis was found dangling in his room, lifeless! He'd finally committed suicide! I had caused it! He must have thought Anna was cheating on him with me, poor boy! I was psyched up! I regretted the day I had stepped into Kaminuza. I loathed my father for making such a sick decision, if I had gone to Makerere University, I'd never have met Elvis (RIP. I'd never have faced all this. At around 9.00 am, Anna came to my room and told me the police had taken Elvis' corpse to the mortuary for postmortem and that they were coming for us to record statements. Talking of recording statements, I knew what that meant back home in Uganda. I couldn't be that stupid. I explained to Anna that we were headed for the worst and she knew that as well. I told her to come with me. We went to my uncle's place. My uncle looked at me and knew something was amiss even before narrating my ordeal. I was nervous like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. At first, he thought I had impregnated some rich man's daughter. Then I narrated to him. He knew I was in trouble, so he gave me some forty thousand francs and instructed his truck driver to take us to Kabale town in western Uganda, from where I would board a bus to Kampala and then to our home in Iganga.
When I got home, I narrated my ordeal to my parents and they sympathised with me. Anna stayed at our home and everyone liked her.
One day my dad suggested that I propose to Anna and get to marry her. That was a no-brainer since we were never going to Kaminuza ever again. I kind of loved Anna and she noticeably liked me too. So I proposed to her one day when I had taken her on a tour at the source of the great River Nile. She said yes and we moved in together. We lived in fear knowing the Interpol would one day come for us, it's been almost three years now and we recently received our new family member, Baby Musana Andy Mubiru.
RIP GITONGA ELVIS
