My friend Denmut
‘But through it all, when there was doubt. I ate it up, spit it out and I stood tall and did it my way.’
My friend Denmut
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WHAT’S UP!
Sometime in March, I was invited by the Njabala Foundation to attend the opening of an exhibition at their new home in Nakwero, along Gayaza Road. I had never heard of Nakwero (it sounded like it was those sides of Nakapiripirit), or knew where it was. But my friend Denmut was an artist and lived somewhere on Gayaza Road. So, of course, I reached out to him. He was intrigued.
“An exhibition in Nakwero? Sure, let’s go,” he said.
I explained that I was not quite sure where Nakwero was, but I wanted to walk there, since it was on a Saturday afternoon. And Saturdays are my hike days. I would use Google Maps to guide me. It was straightforward, he assured me. And it was. To make sure I was ok, he drove the last few kilometres behind me.
Along the way, he made jokes about my walking style, and how if I was the Greek warrior sent from marathon to deliver the all important message, the Greeks would have lost that war. Yeah, right. We got to the Njabala place in good time, went through the traditional exhibition opening (like me, he felt exhibition openings are really just hype and sound bites), inspected the pieces on show, and spoke with the artists. He had to leave, though, as he had another exhibition opening to attend at the Umoja gallery in Bukoto.
Foot injury
He was the same old Denmut, except for the foot injury he suffered earlier in the year when he stepped on some broken glass, which did not seem to heal. So, it was with shock that I was told by another colleague barely two months later that they had just visited Denmut, and that he was not doing very well.
How was that even possible? It was diabetes, the colleague said.
About a week later, Denmut suffered a diabetic coma, and was admitted to hospital. No visitors allowed. Last week, we attended his funeral at his home in Kitetika, Gayaza.
I don’t remember the first time I met Denis Mutyaba Katende. It must have been during those early days of the Rhino Athletics Club. We were young and fired up and ready to change the world through sports, and rubbed that into people’s faces every chance we got.
Denmut (from Denis Mutyaba) was always there, not making noise or demanding to be noticed. But he was there, with his quiet smile and a joke for every occasion. The world seemed to amuse him, like he wondered why everyone took things that seriously when we were really just passing through.
Denmut was a fine artist, and while he might not fit the stereotype eccentric artist we read about as children, he was one, to a degree. We often refer to people as eccentric when we don’t understand why they do what they do, or don’t do what we do.
The good old days
I once asked him if he was an eccentric, and he laughed long and hard. That was the longest I ever heard him laugh.
Usually, his laugh was short, as if he had to move on to more important things. That joke was done. Could we move on to something else?
But this time, as he tried to explain what eccentricity was, he would stop and chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Who is to determine how people should behave, he asked? Basically, people are individuals.
And although society would impose its will on how they behave, he argued, it really was up to the individual to find their own ways and place in society.
If artists were to conform with all society norms, they would lose not only their voices, but themselves.
So, if society was to refer to him as an eccentric, let it be so. No hairs off his legs, so to speak.
Before that exhibition in Nakwero, Denmut had asked me about two things.
First, he wanted to buy a camera for his daughter, who was studying photography at university.
We discussed what kind of camera would be suitable for her, and I pointed him to where he could get one. Unfortunately, I had not yet followed up on whether he actually got the camera, and how it was working for her. But I promise to do so.
Second, he had a joint exhibition at BUMU art gallery in Lubiri, and had asked if I could pass by. Again, unfortunately, I did not manage to do so.
But we had planned that I could always go to his home and look at his work from there. I will fulfil that promise.
At Denmut’s funeral service last week, Fred Masadde Kabuye quoted a verse from Frank Sinatra’s song My Way, as a tribute: ‘Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew/When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt/I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all, and I stood tall/ And did it my way’ Yes, Denmut did it his way. To the very end.
You can follow Kalungi Kabuye on X: @KalungiKabuye