images (10)

While at war with my traitorous mind, chastising my thoughts for venturing where I would rather not, and doing this back and block dance; throwing this wool cloth over those confines of mind whose counsel I reject, I am slapped by the beauty about me that I so often absently brush off like the pester fly, and rushed by the wind, I close my eyes, and simply inhale the brush and touch of cool crisp wet and dry wind, while embracing the delights my eyes devours.

Kampala is a beautiful place I gotta admit, all those lengthy greens, warm blooded and well meaning people so often plunged down into the chains of questioning their humanity clashing with need and poverty.

So traitorous thoughts, whisper once more to me those sweet nothings that remind me of how much I should be thankful for, but this day reject what is not right because that is a conversation we have had more times than I can count.