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While sipping on juice the other evening at a sister’s house as I fussed over and was absolutely fascinated by her wee little bundle of joy (yeah, it amazes me every time to think that we all metamorphose from that helpless state), she pointed out how lucky we were that little we could actually sip on our juice… and even taste it while there was someone lying in a hospital bed who didn’t even have the strength to use a drinking straw.
A fortnight ago, as I join other Ugandans in mourning Doreen Tashobya, the girl who died in a gruesome accident in Entebbe recently, and think of all the great things she was yet to achieve, I am forced to think about myself, and what will be considered my last message. What will I really be remembered for? I know I am a story teller, but what story will you remember me best for?
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