Positive Parenting

By Dickson Tumuramye ‘You definitely know X!’ My colleague pushed hard in a bid to help me recall a person he expected me to know. On insisting that no matter how hard he tried I simply could not picture the person he was talking about, the description turned to the person’s likes. Quite often than not, I have heard people describe others by what they like or subscribe to. You probably have encountered lines like….so and so who likes African print, singing etc. We live in an age where people like even the ‘unlikable.’ I am always left perturbed for example by the ‘likes’ that outnumber comments on death announcements posted by social media users. Have you ever cared about the things you like? Our tastes and preferences speak volumes about who we are. In a university setting, where probably young adults come to experience the first phase of ‘freedom’ our likes need to be tamed. There is no one better positioned to watch over this than the individual. Likes form patterns of life. Ev

 By Prim K. Tumuramye Growing up, mother celebrated my birthdays religiously. She never sang for me the traditional ‘Happy birthday’ song. Every birthday I would wake up to her original composition of my birthday song: Prim....... Refrain: Yeee Obuyazarwa..... Bakamushabira Bamaraika b’omwiguru bakarugayo, baija kureeba Prim Nenyonyozi z’omwiguru zikarugayo, zija kureeba Prim. Literally translated, the song meant that when I was born, angels from heaven came to see me. It added that even the stars in heaven came to see me. Oh, what a personalized message that was for me. The picture it painted in my memory was synonymous to the story of the birth of Jesus and the star that guided the wise men. ‘I gave birth to you on a Sunday morning (11:57am to be precise) at Kabale hospital. That is why I called you Kesande. Prim means formal and respectable.’ mother would tell me my birth story every year. When I was of age, mother introduced me to Sunday school. I religiously atte

 By Prim K. Tumuramye ‘Did you see that? The baby just kicked’ I called out to hubby. ‘He is strong.’ hubby responded as he gently leaned on my bulging tummy to feel the baby’s movements. ‘It’s a she!’ I told him. He smiled and challenged me to a bet. ‘It’s a boy! Do you wanna bet?’ he intimidatingly asked me. Well, from the fifth month till our son was born on a Wednesday morning of April 17th, 2012, the baby’s kicks had been among the main highlights of our journey to parenthood. I had not taken a scan test to check the sex of the baby. Truth be told, all we cared about was having a healthy baby. Whether it turned out to be a boy or girl was immaterial. As long as it was a baby, we couldn’t wait to behold our bundle of joy. Being our first fruit of the womb, every day came with its own cares, joys and lessons. The nine months that had hitherto looked like eternity came to an end. The excruciating labor pains, the anxiety of waiting for the mid wife to finally command me to pu

 By Prim K. Tumuramye That night, adorned in my new red hot night dress with a matching red rose-flowered gown, I walked into the living room to catch a glimpse of the day’s happenings on the TV. It was the first time I was putting on this stunningly beautiful gown. Silently, I walked into the living room to join hubby and our three-year-old son to watch the news and also catch up after a long day at work. Both hubby and my son evidently looked pleasantly taken aback by my gown. ‘Wow....you look stunningly beautiful’ hubby exclaimed in admiration. Like a teenager who has just fallen in love, I muttered inaudibly, not sure of what I ought to have responded. Moving past the couch where hubby lay, he pulled me aside for a hug, I guess to emphasize his compliment. Not expecting this, I nearly tripped and fell off my feet. The little man was watching and never said a word. Later that night as I tucked my son into bed, he asked why daddy nearly got me thrown down. His question caught

 By Prim K. Tumuramye ‘Mom, I want to get married towards the end of this year.’ I said to my mother, blankly staring at the roof that evening. ‘You want to.....is it the right time? Who is the man? Did you say marriage?’ she asked countless questions with her voice visibly shaking. Prior to this conversation, I had privately gone through countless rehearsals of how I could break the news of my marriage intentions to my mother. How would I tell her that I wanted to leave and cleave to another person. Mother had been my brother, sister, mother and father all in one package. Feelings of betrayal hovered over me, like I was breaking a sacred covenant. I kept encouraging myself that she was only but a mother, not a betrothed partner, whose leaving would not shutter a soul. Yes, the time had come. Time to realize that I was no longer the little girl who would cling to the mother for protection had finally come. The call to venture into the reality of womanhood was so clear. I was sure

 By Prim K. Tumuramye A few years ago, this young man submitted his application to my office for internship placement. Having gone through the required stages, he was offered the internship opportunity. This meant that he would work directly under my supervision. We live at a time where procrastination and laziness arguably best describe most young folks. A generation that thinks that milk comes from the fridge, not the cow and a people bitten by the ‘instant’ bug. Just as there is the magical instant coffee, this breed believes that life should only offer ‘instants. ’ From the quest for instant academic papers, instant six figure jobs to instant spouses this breed lives in denial of reality. To say that my new intern was far above the normal college intern would be an understatement. This instantly drew me to deliberately mentor him in his career journey. This was not because I too suffered from the ‘instant’ bug effects but because I know for a fact that his kind in this generation

 By Prim K. Tumuramye ‘My daddy this, my daddy that” Growing up I constantly heard children in the neighborhood talk about their fathers. The stories ranged from how daddy bought something for the family to how he seemed not to be in good terms with mother. I would listen in admiration, praying silently that one day God would grant me an opportunity to have a story about daddy. It struck me then that the world is unfair. Why would I be the only child among my friends who seemed to live in a world where there is no father? Deep within me I knew I wanted to be like the other children on the block. I needed a story about father. Even children from very disadvantaged homes seemed to have a good story about their fathers occasionally. Some fathers in the neighborhood were such a disgrace! From battering their wives in broad daylight to drinking themselves silly, they not only embarrassed themselves but also their next of kin. In times like those, I silently thanked my stars that I was l

By Prim K. Tumuramye Looking back, it looks like yesterday! The year was 20 09 in the month of June and the date was 11th.  Yes, it was the aftermath of the Martyrs’ Day season. The memory is still fresh. I had left my workplace on the eve of the Martyr’s Day for a vacation in Kampala, knowing that Heroes’ Day would follow shortly after, making it an opportune holiday time. Well, that day, I met Dickson (now my husband). The first impression was that this young man looked well groomed and was a gentleman. His looks do not need a second thought…. he is strikingly handsome! To me, that was just it….he was one of the many nice people I had met in life. To him, (as I later learnt), this was not just coincidence…. he needed to know me more. We exchanged contacts and, in my heart, I thought…. ‘ this is an addition of one other contact that will lie idly in my phone till I get a new one and I delete it for space.’ How wrong I was….this very contact made my phone busy since that day! Ask

By Prim K. Tumuramye The nine-month journey finally came to an end. What a thrilling journey it had been. I had had my fair share of all kinds of bitter-sweet experiences every woman longs to go through in life. The morning sickness, the mood swings, the cravings and yes, the public sympathies every expectant woman gets. 'So, doctor, how will I tell that I am in real labor?' I would ask the gynaecologist at every antenatal visit. I had heard countless tales of women that had rushed to hospital during false labor, and I did not want to fall prey to the same plight. 'When real labor comes, you do not need anyone to confirm to you that labor has set in' the doctor reassuringly always answered my question, cheekily smiling at my naivety. The day I dreaded finally came, and yes, it could not have been anything but labor. We rushed to hospital in a bid not to waste any precious time. What began as mild contractions progressed to intense labor. The pain was unexplainab