A Quiet Covenant

For a long-distance couple living in separate lands and in a relationship forbidden by law, the decision to commit anyway is an act of quiet defiance. It is an acknowledgment that true marriage has never belonged to the registrar’s desk or the stamp of a bureaucrat; it is a living, breathing promise forged soul-to-soul.

Society often mistakes the shell for the substance. We treat the ceremony, the marriage certificate, and the public declaration as the origin of a bond, as if a piece of paper suddenly infuses two separate lives with meaning. Yet, legal recognition is a convenience of the modern state. For those separated by thousands of miles, the absence of a legal framework strips away all the superficiality. There is only the naked weight of a choice: "I choose you, across every mile, despite every obstacle or restriction".

This kind of commitment transforms distance from a barrier into a crucible. It requires an extraordinary act of faith to bind your future to someone you might only hold in your arms for a few weeks out of the year—and to do so knowing that the law of the land refuses to see you. Yet, that very invisibility can deepen the internal reality of the bond. 

To love across forbidden borders is to understand that freedom is not always granted from the top down; sometimes, it is practiced in private. The couple who commits in spite of the law redefines legitimacy; they strip marriage down to its elemental truth: an unwavering pledge of loyalty, and shared destiny. 

While the world may demand a certificate to quantify a relationship, the human heart knows a deeper arithmetic. Distance may test the endurance of the flesh, and hostile laws may threaten the sanction of the state, but a real marriage lives where the rules cannot reach—in the quiet, stubborn certainty that two people belong to each other.

A Profound Privilege

Stepping into the role of a mentor is a blessing and a profound privilege that allows you to pass on wisdom, build confidence, and help others unlock potential they may not yet see in themselves.

Transitioning from a learner to a guide creates a powerful cycle of growth where teaching reinforces your own understanding. 

I hope to be able to help those I mentor set realistic milestones while supporting them through both setbacks and breakthroughs, and offering them constructive truth with empathy and respect.

Good mentors do not build followers; they cultivate confident future leaders who can think for themselves.

The 17-year-old just got into Medical School so he got a congratulatory gift from me, and a peptalk. I've taken on the challenge of guiding him through his journey, to the best of my ability.

Still on my East Africa tour.

A Polite, Deliberate and Respectful Communication Style

The Kalenjin people of East Africa, primarily living in Kenya's Rift Valley, are widely recognised for their polite, deliberate, and respectful communication style. In Kalenjin culture, speaking gently and avoiding unnecessary loudness or aggression is deeply tied to traditional values of humility, self-control, and respect for elders and the community. 

This soft-spoken nature is often observed during social gatherings, traditional dispute resolutions, and everyday interactions, where active listening and maintaining harmony are highly prioritised.

I observed this softspoken nature and its impact independent of having it confirmed to me after I had brought it up and expressed my observation in a conversation. I found the softspoken nature striking, coming from the background that I come from — softspoken is NOT what Nigerians (of all ethnicities) do. 

I appreciated it, seeing it as a better alternative to the loud abrasiveness that one has been more exposed to. It is beautiful to watch, even if one does not understand the language. The deliberateness by which conflict is kept out the picture and everyday interactions are conducted, and potential conflict situations resolved, all with polite comments and smiles. 

I witnessed first-hand where a potential conflict situation was dissolved instantaneously. This was new to me, but that's just the way things are done here.

The Kindness of Strangers: A Testament to Human Connection

For a brief moment I was lost in Kenya. Then humanity showed up.

There is a unique vulnerability in being completely lost in an unfamiliar place. The world feels larger, colder, and distinctly indifferent to your anxiety. I found myself in this exact state of distress recently, standing at a designated meeting point in a strange location where my friend was supposed to be. When I arrived, the landscape was unfamiliar, my friend was nowhere to be found, and my calls to his phone went completely unanswered. In that moment, isolation settled in heavily. I was an outsider, swallowed by a strange environment, with no clear path forward.

It was during this peak of panic that the true beauty of human nature revealed itself. Two local men, total strangers to me, noticed my visible distress. Instead of walking past or ignoring a foreigner in need, they chose to step into my situation. They approached me not with suspicion, but with genuine concern.

Their assistance went far beyond merely offering directions. From the moment they stayed by my side, their presence became an anchor. They spoke to me with calming words, reassuring me that I was not alone and that we would solve this problem together. In a situation where they owed me nothing, they gave me their time, their patience, and their protection. They walked with me, guided me through the unfamiliar terrain, and actively helped me navigate the area until, at long last, I was reunited with my friend.

This experience left a profound mark on me. It serves as a powerful reminder that beneath the divisions of geography, language, and background, there is a shared thread of humanity that connects us all. These two men did not see a stranger to be ignored; they saw a fellow human being in trouble and chose to act with empathy. Their selflessness turned a terrifying ordeal into a beautiful lesson about grace, community, and the quiet heroes who restore our faith in the world. I will carry their kindness in my heart, a reminder to pay that humanity forward whenever I encounter someone lost in their own storm.

Papa, can I assist you?

It was a large backpack, and heavy. I struggled with it, but the idea had been to put most of the heavy items in it to avoid excess baggage charges. The backpack was carry-on baggage that wasn't checked-in as luggage and is therefore not weighed most of the time. This is a tactic travellers use to get around the checked-in luggage weight limit. The checked-in luggage travels in the cargo hold, the carry-on baggage travels in the passenger cabin with you, usually stowed in the overhead bin. 

So it was a large, heavy backpack, but I was sure I could easily manage the weight climbing up the stairs into the aeroplane. I did not realise that it was obvious to onlookers that I was struggling. Then I heard the voice of the flight attendant standing at the top of the stairs, "Papa, can I assist you?", with her hand held out as it to help me up the last few steps. Now, no stranger has ever called me Papa in my life, so the offer of help to a struggling elderly person that was directed at me hit me hard.

This same flight attendant made the point of offering to help me down the stairs after arrival at our destination. Of course her offer of help was kindly refused, both times, I was too proud in both those moments to accept that I may now be a senior person who sometimes might need the help of others to do mundane, everyday things.

The term for it is Age Epiphany —The sudden, sharp cognitive realisation that you have transitioned into an older age bracket or life stage. It is usually triggered by a specific event, or seeing a photograph of yourself.

So, guys, I guess I am now Papa to all of you.

Note from Kampala

We've just been on a drive around Kampala in the early evening as the sun set, and I was taken aback by just how large this city is. This is my second visit to the city in the space of two years, but it has taken this long for me to fully appreciate the city's true size, how spread out it is, and its magnificence. 

Previously, my knowledge of Kampala was limited to the Central Business District, Entebbe Road, (which is the direction towards where I have my lodgings—I'm lodged in the same place as last time); Masaka Road, Bwaise, the Express road from Entebbe, Namirembe, and not much else really. From the Expressway I always saw the roadsign with arrow pointing towards Mulungu, but we often came off the Expressway at the Kajjansi exit, with Mulungu still further forward; mysterious, out-of-reach. This evening that mystery was unravelled. 

I should start by doffing my hat to the architects profession of Kampala. They are doing an amazing job. I'm still picking up pieces of my jaw that dropped to the floor from how awestruck I was just from seeing such dazzling architecture as I did, driving down this road; homes styled and built to such stunning effect, accentuated by a hilly landscape that makes for structures located on a higher elevation at the rear being just as visible as those at the front. It was like a mural of stunning architectural magnificence presented to my visual senses that left me totally stunned, and utterly dumbfounded that I knew nothing about this at all before now. And this was just the beginning, as we drove down this Expressway towards Mulungu. 

For the duration of the drive until we reached Mulungu I remained in shock for having no idea that I actually knew so little about this city that I like, one that I have often described as one of my favourite cities. 

It was calming to later on stand on the shoreline in Mulungu in the fading light of the dusk, an anticlimax to the earlier surge of emotion. I came away from the lake with a large, deep-fried Tilapia fish to console myself.