Tribute: He fitted indad’s shoes
Jun 17, 2010
MY name is Mark Twinamatsiko. I am 26 years old. I owe my life to Uncle Mzee Turyahikayo, a resident of Buhara village in Kabale district. The former primary school teacher adopted me after mum’s death. He educated me and sacrificed a lot for my sake.
MY name is Mark Twinamatsiko. I am 26 years old. I owe my life to Uncle Mzee Turyahikayo, a resident of Buhara village in Kabale district. The former primary school teacher adopted me after mum’s death. He educated me and sacrificed a lot for my sake.
When dad passed on in 1993, he left us an ailing mum. Often, she was in hospital and her situation worsened by the day. On Dooms Day, November 16, she passed on.
During mum’s funeral, in his speech, Turyahikayo pledged to take care of me. I moved to Buhara, a place that did not have electricity, TV, or my favourite Tom and Jerry cartoon.
I did not relocate with my siblings. Alinda remained in Kampala with a relative, while Susan lived with the nanny in Ruhama, Ntungamo district.
Uncle told me stories about land and warriors, and we became inseparable. I would sit with him in the living room as he listened to the 9:00pm news on Radio Uganda.
In 1994, he enrolled me in P.4 at Buhara Primary School, where he was a teacher. He would take me with him on his bicycle and always told me I was clever and handsome.
At the end of the first term, I emerged third and uncle was happy. That holiday he bought me a suit and told me he would buy me a bicycle if I came first the following term.
In 1998, I joined St. Paul’s Seminary in Rushoroza, Kabale district. Uncle once told me: “Barihira, my clan’s people, are hard working, aggressive and bright.’’ With this doctrine, I studied hard.
Years flashed by and soon I was one of the priests’ favourites. I was humble and always had a radiant smile. But in S.3, I was expelled for dodging mass.
I was hurt because St. Paul’s was my favourite school.
But I hurt more because I had betrayed uncle. But he instead comforted me. “It is fine,’’ he said, and enrolled me into a nearby school, where I completed O’ level.
I joined Kigezi College Butobere for A’ level. Uncle would visit me and inquire from my teachers about my performance. Whenever they reported well about me, he was happy and encourage me to excel.
In my S.6 vacation, the nanny died and Susan who was in S.2 came to live with us. I was overjoyed because I was reunited with my sister.
However, this was not long-lived. In 2004, I left for Makerere University in Kampala to pursue a bachelor of arts in English and Literature. Though I had not performed well, uncle paid my tuition.
Life at university was challenging. I was broke 24hours, but I never lacked essentials. Uncle often visited me and would spend the night with me in university hall of residence.
He advised me to be careful when relating with females. Uncle would sell sorghum and Irish potatoes to raise my tuition. He would go with me to the bus park and hug me before seeing me off.
At my graduation, when he gave a speech, I could not resist the tears.
Uncle is my hero. I found a dad in him. He still adorns me with unwavering care and when I take long without contacting him, I feel guilty. Perhaps he is the dad I lost.
As told to John Agaba
When dad passed on in 1993, he left us an ailing mum. Often, she was in hospital and her situation worsened by the day. On Dooms Day, November 16, she passed on.
During mum’s funeral, in his speech, Turyahikayo pledged to take care of me. I moved to Buhara, a place that did not have electricity, TV, or my favourite Tom and Jerry cartoon.
I did not relocate with my siblings. Alinda remained in Kampala with a relative, while Susan lived with the nanny in Ruhama, Ntungamo district.
Uncle told me stories about land and warriors, and we became inseparable. I would sit with him in the living room as he listened to the 9:00pm news on Radio Uganda.
In 1994, he enrolled me in P.4 at Buhara Primary School, where he was a teacher. He would take me with him on his bicycle and always told me I was clever and handsome.
At the end of the first term, I emerged third and uncle was happy. That holiday he bought me a suit and told me he would buy me a bicycle if I came first the following term.
In 1998, I joined St. Paul’s Seminary in Rushoroza, Kabale district. Uncle once told me: “Barihira, my clan’s people, are hard working, aggressive and bright.’’ With this doctrine, I studied hard.
Years flashed by and soon I was one of the priests’ favourites. I was humble and always had a radiant smile. But in S.3, I was expelled for dodging mass.
I was hurt because St. Paul’s was my favourite school.
But I hurt more because I had betrayed uncle. But he instead comforted me. “It is fine,’’ he said, and enrolled me into a nearby school, where I completed O’ level.
I joined Kigezi College Butobere for A’ level. Uncle would visit me and inquire from my teachers about my performance. Whenever they reported well about me, he was happy and encourage me to excel.
In my S.6 vacation, the nanny died and Susan who was in S.2 came to live with us. I was overjoyed because I was reunited with my sister.
However, this was not long-lived. In 2004, I left for Makerere University in Kampala to pursue a bachelor of arts in English and Literature. Though I had not performed well, uncle paid my tuition.
Life at university was challenging. I was broke 24hours, but I never lacked essentials. Uncle often visited me and would spend the night with me in university hall of residence.
He advised me to be careful when relating with females. Uncle would sell sorghum and Irish potatoes to raise my tuition. He would go with me to the bus park and hug me before seeing me off.
At my graduation, when he gave a speech, I could not resist the tears.
Uncle is my hero. I found a dad in him. He still adorns me with unwavering care and when I take long without contacting him, I feel guilty. Perhaps he is the dad I lost.
As told to John Agaba