Our Dear Ntwatwa,
By the time you appreciate this letter, you will have, I trust, passed through the greatest of your latest fatigues. Six month’s long bloody fatigues! Do not set your occupation with it too great an anxiety. Take it calmly, and let your health be the prime consideration.
The first thing that stroke me on learning of your recurring illness, in February 2017, was the same whenever a misfortune befalls another; they will have the pleasure of trying the resources of their spirit.
However, on your telling me that you were too sick to be seen, I could not help but revert that you had to be seen, whether you wanted it or otherwise. It was the least I could. In you, I had discovered and made a witty, chatty, sensitive human being, a solicitous and loyal friend and brother, a sympathetic observer of men, and the affairs about them, a sagely philosophic commentator of your own and other’s works, on the questions of your and other’s art, and on some of the vexing, unsolved problems of our existence. In you, I found a lover, of words, and men, who, tortured with doubts, and the uncertainties of unfulfilled passion, shared a language of both beauty and anguish at times almost too painful to be borne. I had to see you. We have to see you.
By your illness, much has been crowded into your young life. Within a few years, you have known most of the vicissitudes that are usually spread over a long life. With us, Lillian, for example, you have shared some of them, and, equally, held back, perhaps, most, but, thankfully, we ably acknowledge the strength of your spirit; to accept your fate and to rise above it whenever you are thwarted by the idleness occasioned by hospital walls. In those walls, of sand, steel and stone, we have visited and asked you to accept to reside, until you are much healthier, even when you would prefer being in the self-interesting, indulging, and good state of occupation. Whenever your eyes can afford it, stare at the ceiling, you just might see the stars.
Even for those of us who are somewhat better than you currently are, we are consequently obliged to be in continued burning of thought about many things which have long been the subjects of our and your inner conflicts. We are, like you, trying to understand this our world and to know and master ourselves to put our great powers to their best uses.
These, your powers, have been put to good use before. Before I had last visited, I had delivered, to a gentleman, Collins, Flame And Song, a Philippa Namutebi Kabali-Kagwa book of poems and prose, one which you have reviewed, who said he did not know you, but he did your poems. In an environment where poetry is a strange creature in a culture so low, it delighted me. You have a portfolio which we should by all right see, and that ought to have all the fame it deserves. You are an artist with, luckily, a public.
To return to churning out more of the same, and the best of it, will require the usage of that magic language of yours to illustrate your vision of your and our lives, the kind of life that lies behind unfathomable representations, and what we feel, believe, experience and what might be our significance in this procession of creation.
To return to doing that – as, like I have said to you, there will always be a lot to do – will need, absolutely, returning to a healthier you first. Please find it within yourself to gather as much endurance as you can to weather off all that pain, to serve your time – really, and to let the genius that Crystal sees in you grow with whatever it feeds on – until you reach your full potential growth. The world is and will always be here for your taking just as you tell me you wish.
Sickle cells anaemia is, in the description of Kasichana, who, also admires you and the way you weave words; a bitch. A challenge, she means. Your struggles with it have enlightened, to you, and us, the dearth of hope, the untold anxiety, and the embarrassment it occasions upon both patients and guardians. Heart-breaking, indeed. It is my fervent hope that you will always remember that through it all, you are not alone, and, importantly, that you are loved, and wished the best – always.
Be as happy as you possibly can, Joel. Keep hoping, praying, and believing; in you, in us, and in God. For our, and your family’s sake, be cheerful. Our hearts speak to you.
Your illness is a rather long lane, but we will see you through and at the end of it, and shall mend our paces, together with you, as well as possible.
Let your health be your prime consideration. We will be anxious to see you spring back up again. It is no mean gratification to become acquainted with a man like you.
God Bless You, Nevender.
For your most affectionate friend(s), Twino.