I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell this story but it just so happened to touch my heart and I couldn’t ignore it.
My soul aches for Kiluta and all the Kiluta’s of this world who are most times mislead with the idea that the grass is always greener in their neighbours compound only to take a closer look and realize they shouldn’t have even looked in the first place.
Kiluta(not real name) a 34 year old Rwandese was lured to think that Uganda could be the Country he could accumulate his fortunes from and on September 23rd 2014 he embarked on a journey from Rwanda to Uganda on the early morning bus.
He reached Uganda in the night and was ushered into the country with a lot of joy from his Senga (aunty) who believed the young man would make diamonds and gold out of his hard work.
As he received endless hugs and songs of praise in Rwandese, the party couldn’t stop as the golden boy made his way to Uganda.
In the morning, Kiluta couldn’t stop playing Rwandese gospel music and some French joints because he had finally made it here and all his dreams were finally coming through.
With no work permit and no grasp of Luganda or English, Kiluta knew it would take a couple of weeks for him to learn Luganda and embark on job searching.
With the help of the Rwandese community in Kawuku, he learned a couple of Luganda words which could help him find a job as a casual labourer.
But all hell broke loose when he moved in with his cousin who was supposed to get him, “the supposed job” as a casual labourer in the Akright Village.
An excited Kiluta moved in with his cousin on Friday to prepare for the first day at work on the following Monday. Being a staunch catholic, Kiluta saw it fit to go worship the Holy Mary mother of Jesus for all the wonderful things that were happening in his life.
From Rwanda to Uganda and for just a couple of weeks everything was happening as he planned. He really felt blessed and there was nothing not even language barrier could stop him from going to the house of God.
So he asked his cousin to direct him to a nearby church and his cousin took him to a church in his neighbourhood and told him he wouldn’t find him by the time he got back but he would leave him the house keys at the neighbours.
On getting back from church Kiluta indeed found his cousin the house locked like he had been told but his cousin had not left the key with the neighbours.
With a little grasp of Luganda he tried to ask for the key but the neighbours told him they didn’t leave the key with them.
When he asked the landlord the landlord told him something he didn’t understand. Amidst confusion Kiluta called his Senga to come to his aid and on showing up the landlord told them that his cousin had shifted.
He had a pending rent debt which he paid off shortly that morning after Kiluta left for church and shifted with all Kiluta’s belongings and money.
Left on cross roads with no money or extra change of clothes, Kiluta’s story is a story of every job hopeful who lives his home Country for greener pastures.
In his case it’s not Uganda or its crazy labour laws that fucked him up, it is his own people that trusting lured him out on a rouse and took away everything that could keep him abay while he was still on his search for opportunities.
As I am writing this I believe Kiluta has already boarded the bus that heads to Kigali by now. That is the reason to why my soul aches for Kiluta.
It is because he left, he gave in to pressure, he got tired but then I question myself, what did he have left to do? He had nothing left; his clothes and money were stolen.
He even had to borrow the money he used to pay for the bus fare and I know he deep down doesn’t know when he will pay it off.
He came in so hopeful but he left an empty man though with a smile on his face as he waved bye to his Senga, Kiluta has gone back a changed man and trust and hope are two of the things that he has learned not to give away easily.
Kiluta has lost a part of himself that no one not even his Senga can offer back to him because his cousin didn’t see it fit to offer it to him-trust.
I don’t know what your Kiluta story is; but you can share with me in the comments.