Happy Father’s Day: I am Worried I am not Representing My Father Well!

Today is Father’s Day and I want to dedicate it to my father by writing something about him. It is the least I can do; write about him!

My dad, born in 1944, was and still is a peasant (not a farmer, mark that) who has managed to successfully see us grow to this height and width irrespective of the many challenges he has had to endure. Surely, in my observation, I am scared I am not representing him or his endeavors the very best way. And, so, as the world (not the world since countries have varying dates) celebrates this Father’s Day, I am celebrating my father and the heroism in him. He was born in Kisoro, Muramba Sub-county, Bunagana Parish, Kanyampiriko village.

My dad married mom when she was young (maybe 17 years) and they have spent more than 50 years together. To be precise, my mother was born in 1949 in Gatsibo village, Bunagana, Muramba, Kisoro district. She married dad around 1966. Dad was a laborer in other people’s farms and mom was a home girl, who occasionally participated in her dad’s businesses, which involved farm and animal produce in D. R. Congo.

She (mom) never left home; her participation was in preparing her dad for business trips or simply taking care of some of her younger siblings. They (mom and dad) courted for few months and got married at Mutolere Catholic Parish. My mom tells me a story; ‘your dad carried me on a bicycle on our wedding day’.
                                  
Dad and mom lived in Uganda for some time and, through unclear circumstances, dad had lost his inheritance (few gardens) to his older brothers. In other words, actually, mom married dad when he was totally poor-owning nothing.

Few years after that marriage, life was hard and, basically, mom and dad didn’t have where to be. On the other hand, a brother to my dad’s dad had adventured into Democratic Republic of Congo and he later advised dad to migrate to Congo for land and survival.

Dad listened to the idea and off they traveled to Congo, a place named Gishalo in North Kivu, maybe in Rutshuru territory (i will have to ask mom or dad more about these places).
Anyway, they lived in Congo for about 18 years. I hope you now understand why I posted that ‘I am super-excited about DR Congo joining East Africa’. I want to go to those places myself without feeling a foreigner inside.

For those years, they gave birth to almost all our siblings. I mean, more than 7 of our brothers and sisters were born in DR Congo. Dad was and still is a drunkard and yet managed to look after the 7 children without anything. Of course, he had the support of a woman, yeah, my mother. Well, to be clear, mom is the most heroic figure on this planet; thousands of times, she was and is both a dad and mom, filling in all the gaps. We will have enough time to share her story.

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All I am saying is that despite all his ‘sins’ (drunkenness, wandering around DRC villages, marrying and de-marrying other women, lying, maybe stealing and or cheating, buying and yet selling off home property), dad is still here, still caring about us or so he thinks. My mom says of him that ‘even in worst scenarios of hunger, your dad always managed to get us beans’.

My dad and mom cultivated people’s farms for survival, worked for others for a bunch of matooke and, through all the hardships, raised us all. Currently, we are six boys and 3 girls and ‘still under our father and mother’s care’.

Sometimes I wonder; how did or does my dad and mom make it? To be precise, they aren’t educated (but knew or know how to read and write-I think they both didn’t go beyond primary three), have no formal jobs, have or had no single property (land or animal) and yet managed to bring food on table for about 10 children, took care of their health when sick, and, yeah, tried our education.

Concerning education, seriously, it failed! But still i wouldn’t blame it more on ‘having many children’ than their inadequacy in perceiving the value of education. However, still, I don’t think my dad and mom could afford the education of even one child (and I cannot advise anyone not to have any child simply because he can’t afford education or food)! Besides, I personally think the major issue here is ‘their (my parents) inadequacy in understanding the value of education, especially in those days limited their endeavors’. But they tried!

My older brothers and sisters know how to read and write. So they read the Bible themselves. And they can use a smart phone if they are interested. Julius and Thomas (Sad: Last month, Thomas Died! R.I.P) ever worked in tourism industry, traveling across Africa, speaking English, Swahili and more. Dad tried.

To be specific, he isn’t the one who took them to school nor did he pay our school fees (actually, he failed us in various ways). But he is the one who produced us; he gave us the chance to live, to be here. And maybe, mom was able to live, maybe just for one day or to survive a bear simply because dad lived! I really don’t know but I am grateful to him. He made such decision as migrating to DR Congo, then migrating back to Uganda; settling here or there. And these are serious decisions, decisions only true men can make. Precisely, maybe, I would be a Congolese! But I am a Ugandan. Sometimes, friends call me a Rwandan!

I didn’t finish the story. In 1980s, dad and mom later left DR Congo and came back to Uganda, their motherland. They found a land where to stay while taking care of the land owner’s property or farming. To be specific, they were servants. I was born when dad and mom were servants and grew up in it, I mean servant-hood. And you know what! It is not pretty, never! Dad struggled with our accommodation, food, security and general life. Mom sipped on this pain more than anyone, more than dad himself! But they stayed, lived. They didn’t commit suicide or think about leaving us.

Dad later thought about finding another life for us. So he traveled to Kiboga, central Uganda. Dad tried Kiboga life but never succeeded. I think he almost gave up on life. Dad lived in Kiboga for about 8 years and, for all those years, mom was alone, looking after us all by herself. Mom is a man. Mom knows how to establish relationships. She is hard-working.

She made sure we didn’t sleep outside. She took care of our school, health, and all life requirements, all alone in servant-hood. Mom had or has cultivated land for others. Mom has carried heavy luggage on her back. Mom has withstood abuse of all kinds. I can’t finish mom’s story here; it will be for another day. Mom’s story is so huge. And I will tell it, I promise, Oh God!

Dad, after all the ‘failing’, returned home and found us still struggling, and he has struggled alongside us since then.

Did Dad Succeed?

In the world’s definition of success, dad has never succeeded and doesn’t deserve to be celebrated. But in my own definition of success, dad is the only hero I ever wanna emulate. He has lived a ‘failed’ life and yet never gave up on it; he always had things to do, deals to cut, hoping to make it any better. It does not matter how many times he fell, he always stood up; still falling and standing up. Dad, I love you.

Currently, dad is, according to the years he gives us, 75 years old but I know very well he is older than that. And yet he is still alive!

Sometimes I wonder if I will make it, even with all the better things I have access to in this world! He beats me in the years he has spent but, most importantly, he beats me in the struggles he has had to endure to be alive.

You should see how stressed I get when I am hit by a small bounce at home or at work! I mean, can I live for more than 75 years given the same life as my father has lived? Can I look after 10 children or more given the same life or, even given the formal education, employment, and money I have? How did or does dad do it?

I grew up with no much love for dad; according to me, he had no air of love around him or, better put, I didn’t notice anything worth loving about my dad. He was and is a drunkard; abusing us and mom and all neighbors all the time, not meeting his duties as a dad most of the times, and yeah, not a true representation of what to be a father is or should look like. But I was wrong; dad is the most amazing person in my life. He has love for me, for us his children and for mom, his wife, but lacks better ways to show it or, better put, has ‘terrible’ ways to express it OR we don’t have better eyes to see it!

During high school and in my book, ‘The 3 Loves We Need‘, I had written wrongly about my dad: ‘after growing up in the hands of unloving father’ were the words in my preface. However, by 2011 during my college years, my understanding had grown! Later I edited the book and wrote this:

‘After growing up in a very humble family in which I noticed no love from others and our God; after growing up in the hands of my father who I thought never cared, loved or treated us ‘parentally’, I always asked whether true love exists. However, as I grew up and came to pick some meaningful illustrations, I discovered that both my father and my mother had love for me but the difference was in how each expressed it. Indeed, it is possible to leave love at home and move the world seeking for it. So I went back to the crib, and there I found all I ever longed for’ (The 3 Loves We Need, p. 5)

No education, no job, no property but a servant. And yet dad is still here; has looked and still looks after us, 9 children and still dances to music with mom! Father, do I represent you well? Dad is the reason I am here. For that, I am grateful. Happy Father’s Day to my dad, Nsabimana Boniface. I love you too.