Happy Father’s Day to Nsabimana Boniface, My Father: Do I represent you well, my dad?

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 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. He is Umusinga by clan, and our totem is Kite or Hawk (Sekabaka).

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 Parish, Muramba Sub-county, Kisoro district. Well, as of today (2026), Bunagana is Subcounty too (Bunagana Town Council). 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 farming and animal produce, both in Uganda and in D. R. Congo. They lived in Uganda. I am sure they met when dad was on one of his erands, maybe for my mom’s father.

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’. That must have been cute!
                                  
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 drinks too much alcohol (I do not want to call my dad 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. Why? Well, for thousands of times, she was and is still both a dad and mom, filling in all the gaps. We will have enough time to share her story too.

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All I am saying is that despite all his weaknesses, which are many, dad is still here, still caring about us or so he genuinely thinks. My mom says of him that ‘even in worst scenarios of hunger, your dad always managed to get us beans’. In Bafumbira Culture, beans are critical. Beans go with any other meal. A family with beans all the time is truly a strong family.

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 5 boys and 3 girls and ‘still under our father and mother’s care’.

Nsabimana Boniface, How did you do it?

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. Education? No way! Dad fought against it! Mom tried us on it! It is a long story!

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, in their own way!

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 – 2023, Thomas Died! R.I.P) ever worked in tourism industry, traveling across Africa, speaking English, Swahili and more. Mom and Dad tried, mostly mom!

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 managed to survive a bear simply because dad lived! I really don’t know but I am grateful to him. He made decisions such as moving to DR Congo, then moving back to Uganda, seeking servanthood here or there, settling the family here or there. And these are serious decisions, decisions only true men can make to survive, to preserve their own.

Precisely, maybe, I would be a Congolese! But I am a Ugandan. Sometimes, friends call me a Rwandan! It’s a small world!

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 (or slaves). I was born when dad and mom were servants. I grew up in this servant-hood. And you know what! It is not pretty, never!

Dad and mom struggled with our accommodation, food, security and general life. They worked for their masters, worked for others to find means of survival, and still had to spare energy to work for themselves. They overworked their lives. 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.

Nsabimana Boniface – Kampala, Kiboga, for livelihood!

Later, Dad 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 to cultivate land for others. Mom carried heavy loads on her back. Mom withstood abuse of all kinds, from the world and its evil people. 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!

I guess Dad was going through the same or worse. Dad later sent for my brother, Semanza John, to go and stay with him and help him out. However, according to my brother’s stories, the relationship did not work! As such, Semanza experienced a struggle of his own too! It is another story.

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

Did my dad, Nsabimana Boniface, 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 hard 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, 82 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 (should be obvious) 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 challenges at home or at work! I mean, can I live for more than 82 years given the same life as my father has lived? Can I look after 10 children or more given the same life or similar formal education and same era? How did or does Dad do it?

In my early childhood, my love for dad was not as much as it is now! 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 still alcoholic; abusing us, mom, and all neighbors all the time, not meeting his duties responsibly as a dad most of the times, and yeah, not a true representation of what to be a cool 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. He simply falls short on better ways to show it or, better put, has ‘terrible’ ways to express it OR we don’t have better eyes to see it! He does it in his ways.

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. 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).

When I was 8-12 years old, Dad gave me an embrace I will never forget! I was outside playing and dad was inside going on with his business. And then lightning and thunder striked hard and loudly. I was gravely scared to almost losing my mind. I flushed myself inside the house (I mean, the grass-thatched hut) in terror, my face and lips frozen. As soon as I threw myself inside, Dad picked me up, held me close to his chest, and prayed for me, for all our lives. He called upon Bikira Maria (Mary, the Mother of Jesus), Jesus himself, God, and the Holy Spirit to protect and comfort me. Dad then comforted me as he patted my back with his strong manly palm. He then slowly put me down and asked me not fear again. I felt loved, safe, and protected. I will never forget this embrace.

No education, no job, no property but a servant. And yet dad is still here; has looked and still looks after us. He still dances to music with mom! He calls mom, ‘Urihe, Yozafina Nyirakubanza, Umugore wanje nkunda? Turasazanye’ (meaning: Where are you, Nyirakubanza Josephine, my beloved wife? We have grown old together). And so I humbly wonder, Father, do I represent you well? Father, you are the reason I am here. For that, I am grateful. You are my father.

Happy Father’s Day to my dad, Nsabimana Boniface. I love you too.