Pain – Unexplainable

25.07.2026 threatened to be a good day. For the better part of it, it was.

My dear cousins, Davis and Annet, came by to see my ailing mother, and it was an emotive yet sweet time. If I have ever seen love personified, it was in the version shared between my mother and Aunt Hope, whom she fondly called Muramukazi—that is, sister-in-law.

For more than ten years now, my mother's health has been a roller coaster. She always told Aunt Hope that she was at peace knowing that if she went to be with the Lord, Aunt Hope would be by my side—not only to comfort me, but also to eulogize her.

That, however, was not God's script.

A year ago, Aunt Hope departed from this world. Perhaps one day we will recover from that loss. For now, we continue to bandage the wounds it caused.

Davis mentioned that I looked stressed. I could not deny it. I told him it was true; the past month had been one of the hardest seasons of my life. Every day felt like the ugly claws of death were menacingly taunting me from very close range.

My cousins hugged me and said it would be well. I silently prayed that indeed it would be well.

Yet it was not going to be well—a few hours later.

Not because of my ailing mother, but because a healthy brother, going about his life on an ordinary day, would have the ugly jaws of death pounce on him and nip his life in the bud.

Dennis Wandera, the pain you leave behind is unexplainable.

It was 4:53 p.m. when I received a call from Eriah Lule.

This was no surprise because Eriah and I connect on many fronts—from the alumni body of Uganda Christian University to the Public Relations Association of Uganda, and on a more personal level, as fellow enthusiasts of the hilarious memes he shares.

His call lacked the usual banter-filled preamble that often leaves both of us roaring with laughter.

After brief salutations, he went straight to the point.

"I heard that you worked closely with Dennis Wandera during your time at Uganda Christian University. Can you confirm which years those were—when he served at The Standard?"

Before I even allowed my brain to process the information Eriah was asking about, my spirit was excited. I thought I knew where this was leading—another alumni profile loading.

"This is a good choice," I thought to myself.

"Eriah, you know I have been working for many years and increasingly I am losing my sense of timelines. Let's call Arthur, who worked directly with The Standard, so that we don't mix up the years," I responded.

"Okay, let's double-check elsewhere and get the years right. It's sad that Dennis has lost his life in a fatal motor accident in Kampala this afternoon," Eriah said.

"No way! Not Dennis! It can't be Dennis!" I whispered into the phone.

I kept muttering. I guess Eriah eventually ended the call.

In denial, I rushed to check whether there was such a report on the Compassion Leadership Development Program alumni page.

Sadly, my fears were confirmed by the messages flooding in.

Dennis was gone.

Rest well Dennis

I wished I was having a nightmare that I would wake up from. I wished I could unhear Eriah's words. I wished I could unread the WhatsApp messages.

Yet there was nothing I could do about what I had heard and read.

I fondly recall Dennis from his student days at Uganda Christian University (2008–2011). I joined UCU service in 2010.

To me, Dennis was not just another Mass Communication student. He was a focused young leader with a confidence that made him stand out among his peers.

We had also shared the same breast through the ministry of Compassion International, and that automatically sealed our kindred bond.

After earning his bachelor's degree, Dennis was among the outstanding students who got the opportunity to work for the university newspaper, The Standard.

If you have read any of Dennis' writings, they reveal the calibre of the astute learner and critical thinker he was.

Our offices were only a stone's throw apart.

Working in the Public Relations Office, the media was one of our key stakeholders. The Standard, as an in-house media powerhouse, became an inevitable partner.

I worked with Dennis on stories, university exhibitions, and other events. Naturally, this watered our relationship.

Life later took Dennis to the United States, and you would think the diaspora arrivalism syndrome would hit him.

Not Omuhongo Dennis.

He remained the same Dennis with whom we roared with laughter over the intercom when we could not hold conversations through our office windows.

He was the same Dennis who would graciously ask me to send him to the canteens for snacks to save me the long walks. I was in the childbearing season of my life.

He remained the same young man who shared the newest food-point plugs around Mukono so that we could grab pocket-friendly meals while at work.

In 2024, I traveled to the United States and met our mutual friend and mentor, Uncle Jacob Kitonsa. Dennis somehow got wind of it and was thoroughly unimpressed by my minimal use of my time there.

"Comrade, how do you come and go back home without seeing the Battuze (locals)?" he asked.

"My brother, this country of yours is too complicated for me to maneuver around unaided. Do you think this is Buranga or Nyaruhanga, where I can move about with minimal support? Or do you want to see me on CNN in the lost-and-found segment?" I mused.

And the typical Dennis replied:

"My sister, during your next trip, share your itinerary early. I will personally pick you up from Colorado and take you from comrade to comrade. We will have a great time."

My next trip to Colorado was meant to be this September.

A motor accident has cut short not only the simple dream of Dennis helping me reconnect with long-lost friends in the United States, but also the much bigger aspirations of a devoted father, husband, and servant leader.

Dennis was a passionate crusader for justice and good governance.

When he shared about his work with Freedom House in Washington, DC, as Program Officer for Sub-Saharan Africa, I remember telling him that I would not be surprised if one day he Obama-ed the United States of America.

The world has lost a good man.

Ashley, you have lost a wonderful husband.

Your little children have lost a good father in a world where responsible fathers have become an endangered species.

Comfort to the Compassion fraternity. We have lost a dear comrade, a critical thinker, and a visionary leader.

Dennis, there was no trip you made to Uganda that did not include me in your itinerary. I have since learnt that you looked out for so many others in the same way. If I wasn't available, you would look for my husband—even though I was your primary friend.

You looked out for friends

One of those random 'let's touch base' moments

You leave me with an indebted heart. You lived so intentionally, almost as though you knew that yours would be a short stay on this side of heaven.

May God comfort all of us who are devastated by the news of your demise.

Fare thee well, Comrade Dennis Wandera.

                                                           ©Prim K. Tumuramye

Prim is a Christian, wife, mother and communications specialist. She is passionate about reading, writing, youth mentorship and intentional parenting.