Stories Of Our World — We Are The GrandChildren — Part 1

Mr. Okello lay on a bed in the visitor’s room at his son’s plush residence, overlooking the shores of Lake Victoria. His heart was aching in ways, he never pictured it would ever ache. Imagine what my son could have been, if I had treated him right, even half the time. He would probably be owning one of the biggest enterprises in the world.

Mr. Okello’s son, Rwot Matthew is the CEO of Standard Chartered Uganda.

It was 8:30 AM, and his son had already left for work with his grandson named Innocent. I need to write my son a note.

Someone knocked at the door. It was the maid, Michelle carrying breakfast.

“Come in,” he said.

She opened the door and walked to his bedside gracefully, and placed the balanced diet on the wooden stool by the bed.

“Good morning Jajja,” she said.

He smiled and cleared his throat, “Good morning Child. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Excuse me, please get me a notebook and a pen.”

She returned five minutes later with his request.

He sat on the bed, and took a deep sigh ,and opened the notebook and wrote, I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry, son.

If I had known all the pain and struggle, that’s an understatement. I don’t even deserve to be giving any justification for my actions ,ever as your father. I knew better, but I didn’t do better. I let darkness take over my heart, until I became the darkness itself.

And how have you repaid me?

You have forgiven me. You have said its okay. You say it’s my treatment, that built internal muscle on the inside of you. I want to take back all the words I told you. All the pain I caused you. It seems a little too late for that.

Tears welled up in Mr. Okello’s eyes, and a few dropped onto the open notebook. He sniffed and sobbed quietly. I’m the worst person to ever walk this earth. Who else gambles the money meant to pay his children’s school fees, the way I did?

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree but you have defied it in every way. You have become the opposite of me. A kind, loving, and good hearted person. Everything I never was, and will ever be. All I can say is I’m sorry. There’s no way I know of how I can be of value to you at this time, but if there’s any way to make it up to you, please let me know how?

God, what can I do for my son? Maybe I can share with him my history. How life was growing up under colonialism. Coming home from school one day to see my father’s dead body, hanging by the neck on the tree from the suicide, he had just committed. The days of moving from relative to relative.

The first time I rode a train, and bike. The first shoes I ever owned. The first time I sat in a car. There were a lot of firsts, not only for me, but for a lot of the Ugandans then, considering the British were just beginning to take over.