“Is it good? Is it bad? Only time will tell…”
My Ohioan Mormon friend always said this when I congratulated him on—what I perceived as—an achievement. Several years later, I think I get it.
Change schools and leave your friends behind. Good or bad? Only time will tell…
The year was 1997. Vimto was bottled nectar from heaven, Voltron followed an episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show that felt longer than an awkward handshake from a creepy uncle, and Buganda Road Primary School was still basking in the afterglow of Mr. Almeida’s revolutionary leadership.
I don’t remember much about Buganda Road, but I remember the canes. My buttcheeks still clench at the thought of the canes thumping on my bum and sending me into unrehearsed theatre.
T’sounds jarring but I remember Buganda Road fondly: The hard-to-wash but easy-to-soil brown uniforms. The delicious lunchtime chips bathed in tomato sauce and stuffed in polythene bags. The mangoes from the lady hawkers that mobbed you outside the school’s gates: the lush yellowish-orange insides. The ounce-perfect salt pinched onto the mango tip. The salmonella my mum warned against. The childhood disobedience. Perfection.
I loved Buganda Road, but in July 1997, my parents transferred me to Lohana Academy in a move likely fueled by their academic aspirations for me and fealty to Mr. Almeida, who helmed Lohana Academy at the time.
Plopped in Lohana in the final term of the year, I was confused and disoriented. Like Trump-led America. But, my life changed forever. Lohana opened doors I’m still walking through today.
Canceled visa. Good or bad? Only time will tell…
August 2016. I was about to be one degree hotter, academically speaking. Only data collection and Kampala revelry stood between me and my master’s degree. A few weeks before the start of my last academic year, a visa denial cut in line and replaced the data collection and revelry like a scoundrel in the bank with no respect for queues. One day I’ll write about the American visa application process but today, I am choosing peace.
I spent the rest of the year stuck in Uganda in a daze. My parents were anxious. I was anxious. Everyone was anxious. Amid this daze, an old acquaintance wrote a book and I platonically slid into her DMs to get on the waitlist for a hard copy. I attended the book launch a few weeks later because I was a school dropout with a research stipend to blow. That author is now the mother of my child.
Broken-heart. Good or bad? Only time will tell…
The year was 2010 and I’d just broken up with my first girlfriend. Inspired by my chiseled Pocahontas-lookalike roommate, I hit the gym to deflect. I bounced into the gym with the confidence of The Rock and got humbled by the bench press. Stuck under a 100+ kilogram weight; my figuratively broken heart literally breaking, a stocky half-German-half-Turkish lad with a full beard and a large button of a nose raced to my aid.
“You good, bro?” He asked smugly, with a thick accent you’ve heard on Al Jazeera. “Go lower, bro,” he said, advising me to stop overestimating my manhood like a middle-aged white man standing 10 inches away from the urinal bowl. The stocky button-nosed Turk became one of the best friends I have ever had.
Missed job opportunity. Good or bad? Only time will tell…
November 2022. The Kampala sun was upset at us. Why else would it be so hot? Luckily, I was leaving for a one-week vacation to a hotter country. Yay.
“Get snacks from the supermarket.” my wife texted. I hesitated to open the WhatsApp message immediately because once you read the message, the urgency becomes as unrelenting as a running stomach on a hot day with no clean toilets nearby. I rushed through the day’s tasks like a cat caught in a hurricane—helpless and flailing but determined. I finally got home to finish packing. As I placed my shoes in the corner near the front door like a good African, I got a phone call:
“Hello! This is Andrew from Bella Uganda.” The fuzzy voice on the other line muttered.
“BELLA?” I retorted; my tone rife with impatience.
“BAYLOR UGANDA,” Andrew repeated in a slower, more audible tone.
“Aaaaaah Baylaaaaa!” I said, confirming my recognition of the organization.
You see, I applied for a job at Baylor Uganda a while ago and when I didn’t hear back, I assumed the job application abyss had claimed another victim. Hearing from Andrew filled me with joy for 20 whole seconds.
“Are you able to come to our office tomorrow for an interview?” Andrew asked.
I was delighted and disappointed. Delighted I got a call back but disappointed about the timing. I asked Andrew if the interview could wait until I returned, but he offered no assurances.
Was the missed opportunity a good thing or a bad thing? Only time will tell…
Have a good week and remember, more often than not, things will be ok…✌🏾
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