Kampala Poem by joshua madiba

KampalaKampala Kampala
The name its self created a good impact in the ears of the listener.
That most of us couldn't sleep,
when we heard that we where going to Kampala.
In the villages where we lived.
The stories that we heard.
The skyscrapers on the streets.
The famous "Mapeera" building that everybody wanted to see.
Celestial hymns, rythms of the famous artists.
The so called Chameleon and Bebe cool.
Kampala was filled with wonders.
The Kampala of those days.
The early 2000's.


Kampala Kampala Kampala.
Kampala made me shade tears.
Kampala made me forget myself.
My mother tongue that I spoke like nothing.
Is now not seen on my lips.
"Luganda"is a key every where.
That even my brother's daughter,
calls herself a "Muganda".
I don't remember the last time i ate our local food.
That even the "Bugandan"food is provided as left overs.
Our customs, the black soil
Though hot but still home.
Kampala made me change.


KampalaKampala Kampala.
I reminisce the famous songs that we sang.
When we were leaving the Gulu land,
but now we live as desserters.
Poverty has taken us down.
Hunger has disfigured our identity.
The humanity in us died back then.
We the old roots are all shading away.
The new roots have no space to breathe.
The community is filled with murder, rape.
And the so called absorption that most young girls do.
Where is that old Kampala?
Where did it go?
So that we should find it.