Writing: Why Do It

At some point Social Media overtook movies, in terms of being interesting, and so I reverted my time, unknowingly to social media - Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp, etc. Reading people's statuses, watching clips, writing my own status, its really a handful, if you try and do it across a few platforms. There is nothing as wrong as putting a movie on, and then minimizing it to check Facebook - that will be the end of it! A guy who used to live for watching movies, even transfinite, now finds himself watching half, then quarter a movie and jumping to Social. Even as I wrote this, a movie is in pause (for the last few hours) as I scavenged social media.

Anyway, I'm putting context to this post. At the bottom of all this myriad, one is in

constant search of order. You want to have order, organisation. You want activities to follow each other logically, create an itinerary to what you want to do, and have your time to be maximally used. Why, so that you can be clear to others, be efficient. In recent years efficiency doesn't just mean personal time, it has increasingly become of resources use, vis-a-vis the environment, where by you have to be conscious of your impact to the environment. Still on context...

So we must pick a few things that we love and want to do, and then do them the best we can and in best coordination with the environment. There is too much information out there. And more is to come. As more people become connected, they become producers of original information, and we're all amazed at each post. 

Is there a role for structured writers? What about expertise? Since everyone is putting stuff out, by stuff I mean - status, photo, video, animations, gifs, and lets not talk about marketing. Is there order to this. It would seem like, for someone looking for order, delving into all of this is the wrong criteria. But is it? Can you create order to what you don't know. 

Order is a mind thing. You create order in the mind first, before arranging things or thoughts in a way that makes better sense physically. 

I do believe that the highest forms of being organised is being a writer - a good one. I have tried for years to organise my mind upto a level that, I would have a logical flow of thoughts. It hasn't happened. I dream of one day authoring at-least one book that makes sense, and yet what to write about totally desserts me. Whenever I ponder that, its like I become totally useless. Its like I know nothing. All things to write about vanish. So how can I want to author something, and yet at the same time have nothing in the head to write extensively, meaningfully, interestingly about. I don't know. I read an essay on a writer's masterclass, and it said "do not write sentences, write stories". In that my book would be a collection of short stories! A children' book perhaps.

Anyway, writing is fun, but getting your thoughts to be detailed enough is one heck of a task -one I'm constantly in the mechanical shop for.

My paternal grandfathers, an illustration

In the last almost 20 years (since 2000), I have taken as a pet project, while in secondary school, and while at university, and now, the discovery of my entire extended family members, to an extensive degree.

This meant that I have to make an attempt to dig up all the known history of ours. To begin with I wanted to get the the top-down picture, and create a structure of all know grandfathers and their wives. Here I found that there were the official married wife, or wives at home, and the unofficial women they never married, but had children with. Some children came home some didn't.

I proceeded from my father, who were his parents, and grand parents. I could only establish grand fathers up-to five generations back, that is five of my paternal grand fathers.

Here below is summary

My known grandfathers

Facts and Fictions

I had to fully examine and navigate the rumors, the facts and the fictions about true fathered children, and children said to be by outsider, but nonetheless family relatives, or growing up in a family and adopting it fully, while in fact the father was different. It was tricky, I had to listen to many different people, family, and outside to establish the structure.

In love with my father, Samwiri Mugyenyi

Me and my father, in the absence of anyone else, could be at home, when others are out, or out in the farm doing one or two things for cows, we always have these too direct and and too frank talks. He tells me the stuff that I do or believe, that bother him, and I tell him the stuff that he does or decides, that bother me. He once accused me of  "not loving cows". This is a very heavy accusation if you are a Munyankore-Muhima. Its like telling a Christian that "you don't love Jesus".

We call it "Okukunda Ente" - to love cows, and it is a high virtue among us, the Bahima. So my father accused me in my face of not loving cows! He based this on seeing over time, that I did not know all their names (we've always had between 700 and 1000 cows at any one given time, living in three of four herds in the farm). I admit, I do not match him in his love for cows, seeing that he managed to raise those numbers for the family, making our family the envy of other families in terms of cattle. I admit as well, that I deliberately did not make it my priority to store 1000 names of cows in my head. To make matters worse, I started boarding school in P7 all through to University. So I'd be away to school for most months in the year - during that time cows would reproduce, and the young ones would grow, in my absence. My father expected me to be straight in each herd and learn each one that produced, the colour of its young one, which cows got moved to which herd, and learn all that in the few weeks of my school holiday, so that we talk about it when we're together. I didn't, and so I let him down on that. But he loved my academic credential, I never disappointed on those results. For starters I spoke excellent English at home, and with my young siblings we would start speaking English at home, he'd walk in on us to find English sessions in progress, headed by me. Although he is not the smiling type, he'd later give credit to that.

Not that English speaking was important, but generally school had changed my priorities from cows. I knew we loved cows for generations, and still have special cows from six generations ago, passed on from father to son, but school had introduced new information that was totally foreign to me, and which I thought was important. So I effectively changed my priorities. There was science, there was history, although I turned the glory of stories in history class, towards the study my own tribe, cultural and family, for example this blog, but I admit I missed something on the cows. It is on this change of view that I also accused him of not being modern, and doing things of modern people. Although in that very accusation I also fail to qualify it fully because my father is by all measures a modern farmers. Just because he doesn't farm the way we see it in the movies. Its the movies that introduce wrong realities that we base on.

Anyway, we talk straight - me and my father and get it out of our system. I could never tell my father anything other than exactly what was on my mind. We have had that sort of relationship for the three decades that I'm now old. I did not value this before, I thought we were always quarreling. In my twenties it got hardest, as I went both away physically - to secondary school and later university, and mentally, as I deliberately sought to establish my own thoughts, independent of him. It was important for me to experience the world, outside of his strict guidelines. So for about 10 years, from around 2005 to 2015, I was on a solo path, we were not talking much. During that time I joined and finished university, and also did something things in the world, such as starting a successful I.T firm Nextel Systems Ltd, in whose offices I'm now writing these recollections, and recently an agricultural company Tarra Corporation. Both of these ventures have both surprised him and amazed him. He recently said "people do not like the things they do".

And yet I believe we share a deeply secret, love relationship. For example if we're talking with any of my siblings, about him or our family in general progress, mostly relating to how rich or not rich you have become as an individual, and they seem to think its his fault or problem that some things, I find myself defending his positions, or explaining them, dissuading them from a mindset of blaming someone else. I do believe that whatever we've been given, we need to make it work, in order to have fair judgement of people.

I was home in Kitegwa at my dad's farm for 2016 Christmas holiday week (20 - 30th), and I plan to do the same this Christmas. Long holidays are now my only available time for us to talk. A but there is no single day that I do not amuse myself, in private, of how I have turned out like my father. An ironclad will to do and to make things. What I love about my father the most is consistency. How he was in 1984 when I was born, is still how he is in 2017 when I'm 33 years old. We've grown from a few cows which he inherited from his father and grand father, few owing to the many children (about 20) who shared the family property on the passing of their father, to now a ranch in Kyankwazi, because of nothing but this consistency. We have not even changed our diet since the 1980's. Its an incredible thing to experience such steadfastness. I consider myself lucky to be borne by him.

Above is picture of local; village church, Kitegwa Church

A bit of background
We did not move much, our family moved in early 1990 or so, from our ancestral lands in Bwera, to Kyankwanzi. When we first moved here, our first place of settlement was a village called Kalukwajju, within Wattuba sub-county. Here we stayed for a few years, with our cows from Bwera, a grass and mud house and a kraal next to it - that was our homestead, in the new land.

My father never went out of his way to find fame or with people or riches from trade. He concentrated on two things - raising cows and the family. For the good part of our childhood, that was all we knew. I knew my father and cows - that was all that mattered. Have all the cows got home in the evening from long distance grazing, are they milked, how about the calves in their kraal (Ekihongore)? That was our life from the age of 1 in Bwera to around age 8 in the new land. It is these cows that did everything. From livelihood - food, drink, clothing, education.

People came to him, even from those days, in a new land. After some time, he build a town home for us, in Kiboga town. Kiboga was the big district town. When we moved to this home town, we moved our cows a new land that was near the town, the land called Kakinga. While in Kalukwajju the nearest school was in about 20 KM, Kalukwajju Primary School. I went there for a while.

Yesss! I'm re-united with my "Heritage"

I had taken a sabbatical of about 4 years not posting to this my family blog. Blogger even seems to have undergone mega changes itself, to the extent that my blog almost got lost. At some point I tried to load the address which then was (https://afrinational.blogspot.com) and was told the blog doesn't exist anymore, and that changes had been made to blogger that required me to update the blog, which I didn't do, but thankfully they seem to have carried it over to a new address (https://afrinational.blogspot.ug/) where I finally found it, after undergoing blog recovery process.

There is too much history here to lose. I kept trying to peek once in a while but had no time to read or update. But I knew I had to find it and reactivate it somehow. So now I seem to have full control of it once again.

How did I keep away this long? Life happened.

I had to compartmentalize my life a bit. Blogging seemed to me like a luxury the past few years. Its not like I was a student anymore, living between lecture rooms and halls of residence. There is a thing called "Work" in the real world - real world here means "life after school". So I had to work, that's my excuse.

Among the key things that have happened in the last couple of years (which would otherwise be full stories on this blog), I can recall the following - noteworthy

• My journey to find out all about my mother and the family she came from
• Spending a Christmas week at my dad's in Kitegwa with family, after a very long time
• My Sister (Grace Katushabe's) graduation 
• My young brother (Abel Matsiko's) journey to get married
• My younger brother (Ronald Mugyenyi's) wedding
• Conversations with Aunt Joyce
• Conversations with Aunt Kate
• How I spent a night in jail for taking pictures, an altercation with the guards of a Chief Justice, one John Buteera
• My road trips to Western districts in Uganda
• A lot of my university friends getting married - many a wedding tales
• Entering girlfriend territory
• When my mother visited me at the office
• Progress on my entrepreneurial journey

Okuhingira big-fat in December

On Fri 20th Dec 2013, we were at Nkoma in Sembabule district, at the home of Mr. Martin Namanya, the husband to my aunt Jane Kabusiiri. It was the give-away ceremony (Okuhingira) for cousin Winnie Abaho.


This was the second give-away ceremony in the family,  this year the first was for my ucnle's daughter (Nyabukazi Agather) earlier in the year.

It was good to once again be in Bwera, my ancestral home land. I travelled with my technically "grand pa" Aaron Mutatiina, a UPDF soldier, and my technically "aunt" Lorna Nabimanya.


Winnie Abaho is now officially married to a young man, also a UPDF soldier from Nkore. It was a grand ceremony well attended by family, relatives, friends - including leading politicians from the area - Minister Sam Kuteesa and MP. Anifah Kawooya.

There was a young lady, among those who entertained in the traditional Ankore culture, who did an emotinal song for the bride 'Okizinira', that made my aunties I was sitting next to cry - especially Nyamugyenyi I saw her look down and wipe a tear.

We had to travel back same day after the ceremony to attend to some business in Kampala, so we left immediately after the Kuhingira. Personally I had cancelled  a couple of work meetings, and had a test at graduate school next day. We did not get a chance to accompany the bride to the groom's home (Okushagarira), but many of my brothers, cousins and friends went.


Congrats to Winnie Abaho, aka "Big Fat"

pictures from outdoor projects

We've been working on a project for a Chinese machinery company recently. Pics from one of the visits...

 

My First Red Boots

My First Red Boots were exactly like this pair

For some reason, one of the most enduring memories of my childhood is the day my dad came back home from Kampala with  two pairs of kid boots; a red pair and a blue pair. He gave the blue pair to my elder brother Muheiwe and the Red pair to me. I must have been 4 or 5 years old, but the excitement that followed that day has never left my back memory. 

They were kid size and they fit me up-to below the knees; I was real excited to dorn them. Must have slept in them that night.


I remember we shoved them on instantly and started walking the neighborhood, observing each step as we moved. We were amazed at the immunity they provided when we started kicking rough things on the way.

See, the reason I remember these boots is that my dad wasn't the kind of guy that bought gifts for kids - or anyone! I don't know how I had formed that opinion at 4, but this was some kind of change of mind on himself. I loved them. I think memory is  the first good thing we have.

Works on the farm

On Thursday October 4, 2012, I traveled to my village to have a meeting with a couple of locals whom we share borders on the land where our farm is. It was called in the previous week after I had done correspondences with my dad and a district surveyor to start preparations for partitioning the land (Approx 2 miles) into its shareholders.

We met at around 4 pm, sat on locally made chairs (called foomu) under a mango tree at the local town called Mutuba in Kyenkwanzi district. The Meeting was attended by of 6 people, out of the 14 shareholders. The rest were represented by the present family members or would be informed of the outcome.

It went well. I expected to get a full list of all the rightful shareholders and their acreage, I got the list. They expected to get an update on the progress I had done with the surveyor and how much each one will contribute. I briefed them about the surveyor who will be coming to them soon, having met him earlier in the week. 

Whats happened on this land is that new shareholders have emerged, after some of the old shareholders sold to them and others passed on their shares to their children in  family.

So there is need to update the land registry records to this effect, for the new owners to properly process their titles. 

There is a number of requirements touching both local and national government departments to successful partition, and this is the process I'm coordinating. I'm one of the new shareholders. 

We'll hold another meeting in about 2 weeks, but before that I have to sit down with the district surveyor who understands district land board processes and obtain clear formal document in order to formally request for district letter to allow the surveyor conduct the partition survey.

So that's what I have been upto lately, and this one of my background-running projects.

Now back to  research for my Post Graduate BA course, I have to prepare a presentation for tomorrow.

New Ankore prince after late John Barigye

Charles Aryaija Rwebishengye has been  installed as the heir to the late Ankore  Prince, John Barigye.

Ankore Kingdom's late Prince Barigye and his wife at the Toro Kingdom fundraising at the Nile Hotel in Kampala

Rwebishengye  has vowed to take on his father’s campaign and advocate for the restoration of Ankole Kingdom.

I thank all those who accorded my father a decent burial. Culturally, I was not allowed to attend the burial.I want to thank Banyankore for the vigour you have showed that you need the restoration of Ankore Kingdom. I assure you that I will continue with the same campaign to make sure the Kingdom of Ankore is restored, which is what my father would have loved to see. I ask for your advice, he said. 

Ankore Kingdom's new young prince, Charles Rwebishengye installation

The function was held at Barigye’s Muhabura palace in Kariro parish, Rubindi sub-county in Mbarara district.It attracted many people from different clans mainly members of the Ankole Cultural Trust.

Aryaija sat on his father’s stool and put on his father’s sandals made of brown cow skin. He also wore his father’s coat and a cream Kanzu. Later Aryaija was given instruments of power including the spear to lead and protect his father’s family. He was also given a bark cloth and a milk pot.

The function of installing Aryaija was led by Razio Tumusiime, who according to Prof.Joshua Muvumba is responsible for leading such a function in Ankole. 

Aryaija urged  elders in the kingdom to always advise him. William Katatumba, prime minister for Ankore Cultural Trust, explained that, Aryaija was crowned as the heir and not a king. Aryaija is aged 20. He is a first year student at Uganda Christian University, Mukono pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Social Work and Social Administration.

Installation of Omugabe Ntare VI Rutashijuuka. November 21, 1993

His installation comes a day after the body of his father- Prince John Patrick Barigye was laid to rest at the kingdom royal tombs in Nkokonjeru Mbarara municipality.

Away from the madding crowd

Away from the madding crowd, my thoughts are recollecting around one of my major interests. Being in a quiet room and writing, for hours. It has occurred to me lately, more than before, how important it is that I publish my family book. A book I haven't written. But it's all coming back to me -the people, history, the relationships, the places, the events and the words people have spoken.

I cannot put out of mind, one particular event, which might have aligned the stars; the passing on of my paternal grand mother, Janet Kakatooma. We called her by her pet name -Kaaka since we were born. I didnt even know her real name, until I started noising around asking questions and writing. She's one of the key women who influenced me.

A few months ago, we laid her to her final resting place at my family farm in Kyenkwanzi in August. 

What a sad day it was! But yet again, what a glorious day! On that day, I saw the passing of the great race. Very few knew the story of the woman who lay in that ornate casket. The people in our neighborhood had known her for only the ten years that she had moved here. Even I didn't have much interaction with her during the adventures of her youth, but I learn about who she was from what I found.

Kaaka belonged in the generation of my grandfather, James Kanyorozi, which I have come to understand and label as "the great race".
 

I heard the Angels Sing to Kaaka’s coming

Kaaka (RIP)

I heard the angels sing that night, when you passed on. They had not received one so faithful. Your passing caused joy in the heavens, as your birth did in our lives. Your life was our family fairy tale; I cannot mention all, but these are some of the things that you did! You taught us to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success; you taught us not to substitute words for action; not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm, but to have compassion on those who fall; to master ourselves before we seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean and a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future, yet never neglect the past; to be serious, yet never take ourselves too seriously; to be modest, so that we  remember the simplicity of true greatness; the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. You taught us, with your life, how to be men, and how to be gentlemen.

Nkore Games >Okutchumita Enziga

I'm convinced that if we get all the traditions of the Bahima before they are forgotten, the next generations will stand to benefit a great lot. Now there was this game, which we used to play in the land when we were little. Our play time was always when we were out taking the cows or calves to 
graze.

This spectacular game was called "Okutchumita Enziga". Enziga is basically a wheel, curved from young flexible branch-lets. This game was played with two items:- Enziga and Orubango/Embango (when prural). We specifically used a famous tree called Omukoma or Emikoma to make the circular-ring wheel because of its nice-straight flexible twig-lets.


One player threw the wheel at his full strength, so that it rolled very fast on a clear stretch of land.
If you can visualise a detached car tyre/wheel without rims, rolling at high speed, thats the same idea. So the thrower set it rolling...


The rest of the players, it could be one, two, three or any open number available, had to make a score by throwing (okurekyera) a spear-like stick called Orubango. This was a straight stick sharpened at both ends, to successfully go through the rolling wheel and pin it down. The player who pinned it down was considered the winner. It was like throwing a dart and hitting the bull's eye; chanting and excitement was always present when we went out to Kutchumita Enziga.... cant wait to do it again at the farm

My Homeland >Bwera bwa muntu

I cannot brush off as irrelevant, nor accurately measure the impact the concept of cultural geography, the place one holds a long history and a deep cultural association with — has on the individual. These may sound metaphorical but they're more real than we know.

Recently, a cousin and friend -Charlotte, gave me a song 'Abanya Bwera' by a choir done at a wedding in Bwera, which reminded me of where my identity began. 'Bwera bwa muntu', thats the complete praise name as it was. They were singing about places and names which are still fresh in my mind - it went something like;

Kwokunaga ameisho obuseeri oreeba Rutungu, eine Nyabubaare, oreeba Wakigando eyegamiirwe Obusheeka...

It simply connotes my origins. We used to go to school in Rutungu as small children. There is a primary school there which had a pink and black uniform, where I went for my first day in school. My late uncle George Katongore's farm is still there, in Nyabubaare. My dad's farm (before moving to Kyenkwanzi) used to be not far from Nyabubaare, in a place called Rwendahi. We used to graze our cattle in the plains and bulls used to fight at the water fronts on the lake when we took them to water. Hippos used to emerge from the lake at night and move up northwards following warm winds coming from our cows -and come home to eat salt with cows. When you came out of the house on a full moon night and gazed into the kraals, you certainly saw the shinny backs of Hippos among cows. It was a spectacle. There is an impeccable story of how a Hippo charged at uncle George on one such night, and chased him into thickets, where he spent the rest of the night.

My relatives, in fact my grand and grand-grand fathers are buried in this place. It is ancestral!

The people who have settled this place are some of our closest friends and kindred.

I have gone there on two occasions in the past 2 years, for cousins' weddings. It was was like home-coming. A deep sense of mixed anxiety and foreboding came over me as we rode through the tall trees among which I was born. I wondered if they still knew me -for I used to climb them and shake their tops. We used to play a dangerous game with these trees. You would identify a young-ish tree, about 6-10 meters high and climb it. Then you'd ask a friend to cut it down while you were up in its top shoots, so that you enjoy the thrill of falling with a tree, while its soft shrubs lessened to impact on the ground. I bet those trees remembered me.

But now, much of this land has been settled by a whole different kind of people. I noticed they have cleared much of the plains to make the land comfortable for Fresian cattle which produce a lot of milk. The long horned Ankore cows are scanty in this land, nearing extinction. That is how Capitalism has taken its toll upon my people...

On Libyan Crisis

Before foreign missiles rained in on Libya, I had a flicker of hope that something genuine might come out of the internal process, something resembling a democracy. I know that Gadaffi was not the most liberal of democrats, but when some foreign elements couldn't wait for the cooking pot, and chose to act in incredible haste, usurping the gains of the people, the true intentioins of the west were laid bare -imperialism again! Dont forget there is an axactly similar uprising & condition in Bahrain, but no war planes have been sent there...there isnt enough oil there so they turn a blind eye on that one.

This invasion throws the whole consensus out of balance. The entire revolution has lost its legitimacy. No one can accept the outcome of a foreign military intervention as the verdict of a revolution. The point of revolution is not the accrobatics of the war... its in the consummate gains of a people who have led the struggle & pulled themselves up with a clear sight of what to do better... a people with a clear mandate. Now who has the mandate of Libya? These are the acts by the west that punch holes in their own democracy and make one think that Russia & China were right.

Because of your impatience, you might have handed Gadaffi a reason to fight longer - defending his country against invading imperialists! I imagine he will win the support of many straight thinking heads of state.

Therefore, for all its diplomatic posturing, the UN has acted short sightedly on the Libyan crisis, and lost the war.

Party with friends

Was at a party with friends recently, at the new building (Course View Tower) on 21 Yusuf Lule road, where Thomas (top, on phone) was opening SOHO Cafe & Grill, a posh new hang out and eating place.

I can't take hot stuff

This is one of those habbits you don't know you have until it is something you get to do in a routine. I recently discovered that if you give me a cup of tea, or anything straigh off fire, it will be on the table for some time before i can touch it. I don't know when I developed this habbit, but when I started taking a cup of tea at my office every evening, it came to the surface. I leave the cup on there for a while, doing other things or chatting away, until when the cup is warm to the touch. I dont know if there is something about my oesophagus (the muscular tube that carries food from the throat to the stomach) but I just cant swallow the wet heat coming out of the cup, possibly causing scalds produced by the splash of hot liquid.

I like it luke warm, the same with other foods. So folks, dont blame me if I take the longest to finish my food, it is because I was waiting for it to cool a bit down. To me, hot is the devil's temperature;

More On Ankore Folklore - Okwiita Ebiito

"Okwiita ebiito" is another Ankore tradition that we used to do a lot of, growing up, now in my twenties we dont do much of it anymore, except I was pleasantly surprised to see one of my facebook friends post in her status "Shaku-shanku, nakutera akatakweba?". This reminded me a lot of those childhood times. Whenever we met with other neighborhood children, if it was not to play outdoor games, it was sitting down and exchanging these folk-lore-ish games, which involved questioning each other spontaneously, to see if the rest knew what it meant. In fact, the questions and the answers to them were simply passed on from previous generations, I cant say I know exactly what they meant in details. Take an example of the above question from facebook; literally translated it could mean "I have slapped you a spell you will never forget". And the answer to that, or at least one of the answers to that was always - "N'akahoro k'oyerariize", literary meaning -it is

If you failed to answer right, the asking person would then ask for a cow to tell you the answer, by saying "Mp'ente yangye" -give me my cow; Of course this was just a game, not real cow was given -but if you asked the hardest ones and carried the day with the most 'cows', then you'd earn a reputation in the neighborhood and would be called upon whenever the game was on.

So there were many of such questions -hundreds, if not thousands or tens of thousands. I want to try and update myself and this page with those legendary questions or "Ebiito". Here are a few I remeber, and the likely answers; some of them have more than one answer

1. Nakuteera akatakweeba

• N'akahoro k'oyerariize,
• 
  
• 
  

2. Nyabwengye n'obwengye bwe

• N'ente kwinika amabeere, etaate mate,
• 
  

3. Akeinika omukama (literary meaning what would make a king bend)

• N'akabaare k'omunkeito
• 
  

4. Kaayera Ns'eeri

• N'akeika k'Abatabaazi
• 
  

5.

Kyenkwanzi Home Pictures

Some pictures of the new house at home in Kitegwa, Kyenkwanzi district

Remembering Annette Katerere

A poem for my late sister, Annette Katere Mugyenyi, who perished in a motor accident on Sunday 6th February 2011.

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

From: The Prince's Progress and Other Poems, 1879