When I walked by the little children who played in the field near my old house, they stopped me to ask what changed me.
They wondered what took the light out of my eyes because now I half smiled when I met them playing by the palm trees
They were curious to know why I now smiled only with my mouth and why my eyes never beamed with light each time I met them like I always did.
They wanted to know why I now walk with my head down and arms behind my back like an old widower yet I had no wife nor children of my own.
They wanted to know why I was balding and had the lines on my forehead.
Deep lines like those of their grandfather.
Most of all, they wanted to know why I now talk to myself a lot like a madman.
I doubt they would understand if I told them I was my own best friend.
So, I gave them half a smile with my lips and walked on because I did not want to be tormented by the innocence of their childhood.

When I went to church, the usher asked what was wrong with me. She wanted to know why I now sat in the backseat and not in my usual front seat that directly faced the pulpit.
She was curious to know why I no longer sang my heart out during mass like I used to and instead folded my arms across my chest and simply hummed each song like a mute person.
She was worried about how I swayed from side to side like a dying tree in the wind when the piano played.
She wondered why I was always the first person out of the church when the priest said “Go in peace, the mass is ended”
I could only shrug my shoulders and give a deep sigh because she would not get it.
It would have been like feeding a whale to a crocodile.
For how could she understand if I told her that I no longer felt the presence of God.
That maybe God was tending to sheep and not listening to me when I prayed or sang his praises.
For sheep, unlike humans, were simple creatures with no emotions, no laughter, no unending demands and no tears.
All they need is grass and a staff to direct them to the next green pasture.
So, I left her at the church entrance and sat quietly at the back seat Where I was immune to her critical stare and overly joyful personality.
Joy I never felt even when in the house of God, my omniscient father.

When I went to gatherings, everyone wondered what was wrong with me.
They all wondered why I always showed up alone unlike my age mates who always came with their wives and their little fat children
Or nicely shaped young women with perfect teeth.
They wanted to know why I hadn't found myself a nice young woman to marry
One who will iron my shirts on a Sunday night, serve me luwombo to fatten my sunken cheeks and make me laugh
For I looked like a man who hadn’t laughed in weeks.
They believed that the sadness on my skin could be exterminated by the gentle touch of a woman.
They were curious to know why I danced like that when the music played.
With my body off tune like a man fighting against the sinking tide of quicksand.
But, I shrugged my shoulders at their perennial complaints and dusted my mind of their demands
the same way i always slapped the dust off my trousers after a long boda boda ride.
For they would not understand the weight I carried on my shoulders nor the worries that drowned my mind.
Love, for me, was a luxury.
I had long made peace with the fact that I would walk to the barbecue and only smell the aroma.
If love was to find me, she would have to look for me and knock on my door, and hope that I am home.