Fare-thee-Well Uncle:

“it stings for a bit, then time heals everything”

I don’t remember the movie but in one of the movies I watched about a month ago I gathered that quote and of late I find myself in the habit of trusting time, believing that it heals everything.

Last night I learnt that my grand Uncle; a man I took the names Aboga Valentino from had passed on about three months after the passing on of his sister-my grandmother who passed on in late November last year and while we didn’t meet or talk that much due to distance, I was fond of the old man and he equally as attached to me.

A few years ago, me and my brothers rode to see him some 30kilometers away from my village in Rackoko towards the direcction off Pader and I remember those five days as being one of the best in my life.

In the absence of the urban life- the tech and amenities we enjoyed a simple life surrounded by lots of food and the family and love to share It with, he was never short of stories and for the life of him could never manage to put on a shirt in the evenings when me and my brothers felt it was cold.

Mzee was shirtless the whole time, even on days when we squeezed by the bonfire brought together to hear his many stories and scare away the cold, the old man just sat there shirtless; laughing and telling stories of his exploits about the farming seasons, the places he’d been to, he just never did run out of stories.

In the day time I visited the families of his different children meeting one son’s family after another, one of my uncles took me to the center in Pader and ordered for wine (not your usual fermented wine) and we drank; the fact that I was underage forgotten and I remember struggling to act all macho and resist the urge to say all these words in my head, when we got back home Mzee laughed- despite my attempts to hide it, he could tell.

At the end of that trip in 2012, I would return to Gulu with lots of stories for my dad, the pride of receiving my first chicken and blessings from the old man would stay with me forever.

When we met last year after my grandma’s burial I’d re-introduce myself to him and he’d remember me and we’d chat briefly and I’d catch him up with what I’ve been up to and he’d wish me luck with a training I was running to conduct and send me on my way both o us thinking that it was goodbye since I was heading to field and he was heading back to Pader.

The last time Aboga Valentino Sr and I met last December.

Luckily for me my workmates would request to come home to condole with our family after work and that evening yet again I would meet him again after my initial goodbye and add yet another moment to remember him from and again we’d talk, as always I would leave him happy.

So, when I learnt of his loss it real hurt, stung like a bitch and with all my pain I wrote. Somehow the pen is where I run when overwhelmed by pain.
His loss is one I deeply feel, his wisdom is something that I’ll miss, his larger than life every time we’ve spoken, when I think of that time I visited him in Pader I’ll look back with pain, emotional but also happy that I got to experience that and maybe with time the sting won’t hurt this much.

So from this Aboga Valentino to the one in heaven, you’ll be missed, you left a mark on many lives, are loved and kept in our memories, I’m glad that I got to be named after a fine man.

Love,
Aboga Valentino Rackara.