Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: BAGGAGE (02/08/18)
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TITLE: Old Age, Heavy Like Iron Ore | Previous Challenge Entry
By Robert Rutaagi
02/14/18 -
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There was a time when my senses were razor-sharp. Seven decades down the road of life, they [sense] are not sharp any more. I wonder what has happened? My eyes used to see like a kite’s. Now I see mirages and only haziness. I can only read Arial Black 14+ assisted by glasses. I could easily hear the preacher from the back pew of the cathedral but today, even when I sit in the front row, I hear him with difficulty. My tastes matched well with my appetite but these days both are severely compromised. Then, I could foretell what my mother and, much later, my wife had cooked. Not so now anymore. Then, whenever the barber shaved my head, nice feelings raced from my cranium to the toes. The same and more happened in the massage room. The massager’s tender touches would trigger emotions all over me. These days, I have to be awakened and politely reminded:
“Old man, I have finished, you can go.”
All this reminds me of my late dad [RIP]. He habitually smoked a pipe. Then he would call us, siblings and command:
“Help me to find my pipe!”
Frantically, we would not leave a stone unturned looking for the thing. After failing to find it, as he kept on fuming at us for laziness, before giving up, we would come to report. Lo, and behold, the pipe would be in his mouth! Culture disallowed laughing at the old man to avoid instant blindness or a worse curse. We would find a safe place to talk about it in whispers.
The other source of great fun was about food. At that time every family provided its own labour. We all worked hard on domestic chores. My father would return from the garden expectedly hungry. Mother would bring the best food reserved for a husband and put it before him.
“I don’t feel hungry. Give it to the children,” he would request.
To us that was a big deal. We always looked forward to it. We would enjoy father’s portion, in addition to ours but still remain hungry. I always wondered how one can turn down such good food?
My father would tell mother, as we eavesdropped:
“Last night, I did not sleep…worrying about school fees, government tax, land issues etc.”
I would wonder. “How can a normal person with a good bed like my parents had fail to get sleep?” In my case, all I needed was food and a bed. Many times, as we waited for food, sleep would gun me down and up sleeping hungry or eat as I struggled with sleep.
Over six decades down the road, my dad’s problems [forgetting, loss of sleep and appetite] are my inheritance, courtesy of advancing old age which comes slowly but surely until it becomes as heavy as iron ore without any one to share it with except God.
Non-fiction
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Well written.
Well done,
Blessings~