23 March is my birthday,how injustice helped me escape religions and it’s God virus!

I have been here long enough, I mean on this site. I haven't bookmarked anyone as my friend. I think there's a problem between me and the people here.I talk to people, after exchanging few emails, as the conversation gets better, they stop abruptly. I don't expect much anymore apart from being judged by people who know nothing about me. It's for this reason,I am writing this note to anyone interested in reading and knowing about me. I hope by this, I will be judged fairly by the same measurements and standards that the elites,by this I mean people presenting themselves as those who grew up walking on red carpets and being spoon fed. I wasn't lucky to be like them. Enjoy this note.

I was born in 1979, or atleast that's the year the people who brought me up tell me. There's no record of my birth. I don't know the exact month and dates that I was actually born, when I started travelling, that's when the question of which year were you born started to surface. My father,who is still alive, was far from me and not friendly,I had no one to ask,so I chose my immediate date that crossed my mind on that very moment. The date I thought I will remember always. That's how I chose 23 March. Even when I started the elementary school, there was no asking of years, what the authorities at the school did was, to ask you to rise your arm over your head,if the tips of your fingers torched your ears on the opposite side,then the school administration knew that you are ready for school. There was no kindergartens. So I started my elementary school in 1987, but the Baganda ancient knowledge presumes that when a kid is able to touch the top of his ear , after rising the arm overhead,then that kid is either seven or six years. I was seven years then.
My mum gave birth to me few feet away their house, in the banana plantations. I survived infant death since many babies born this way don't live to see their fifth birthday and sometimes,even mothers die too. This was Kibaale District, currently known as Kakumiro district. I was later brought to Mubende District currently known as Mityana District in a country that many people call Uganda. I was six months old when my mum dumped me at my granny's home. I still strongly believe that Uganda is not a country. It's a White man's business project. The way Uganda functions and all it's dictatorial and foreign gerrymandering systems, there’s no doubt; it’s still a British Colony. The White colonialists used religion to manipulate and spread their God virus across Africa. This infected Africa severely. My granny was no exception; she was immersed into it by her father who got infected through religious schools. I was born in injustice, and grew up fighting. While I fought for my survival, my granny was busy manipulating me, by immersing me in religion and superstitious lifestyles.

I grew up in an extended family that was extremely big for the years I spent in Uganda. This family lived on a bigger chunk of land that was overextended downhill all the way to the bedrocks of Lake Wamala. My granny was the central invisible head of the family since her husband drowned in Lake Victoria. This family description could be defined as a homestead. My granny had many sons. Two of them had independent family units on either side of the land. Other sons lived far away in the city. My granny’s home was the center of the two sons and their family units. Each of these sons married and had children both within and outside of wedlock. All the children out of the wedlock were stuffed with our granny where we all slept. During day time, our functions and responsibility rotated as the need arose amongst the homestead. Our family unit had polygamy as the driver of our tribal imperatives and the agrarian economic survival. Sometimes, we would all, go and work in the family shared farms together. We would sometimes go as a team to collect bunches of bananas for beer brewing since that was our source of income, or fetch water from wells or sit around the fire and listen to parable telling. That was our family. On the other hand, we had other members of our family who were not related to us biologically yet they influenced the way we lived our lives daily life year around. Our only dividing line was the invisible frontiers that separated our land from theirs on.They were also moslems.. All these factors created a cooperative, bigger, chaotic unbreakable family.

My granny didn't love me because of family problems, I didn’t even know about as a child. She associated me with the promiscuity of my mum. As a result, I was unfairly judged by her and all other household members. She thought that I was dumb. She never had any affection towards me. In this family, I was just the other child. I was abused, and a loner. There’s no better way of understanding this than acknowledging how jiggers and lice feasted ...