Richard Stupart

Everena Okott (67) finishes speaking in the partial indoor light. Geoffrey translates politely, “She says, as you can see, the small lights here (he points to the ceiling) these were bullets and they were firing… that’s what she says… There is no one to get up there and fix it. And when it starts raining there’s actually no defence… But she is now old, and when she looks at her children, yeah, she doesn’t know what their future is.”

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It’s late and my eyes burn a little. My clock says its sometime after midnight. It feels like it’s always sometime past midnight, but there are journal articles to be read. Things to learn. It’s the third week into my Masters in Media Studies at Rhodes. I’m almost halfway through the readings for the semester so far. One journal article at a time. In the background of the otherwise quiet room, Satellite by BT is playing softly.
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[Sketched on the back of a napkin at many thousands of feet somewhere between Kampala and Kigali]

With the passing of the Great Ruler, it came to be that his eldest son – long spoken of fondly throughout the kingdom – would ascend to his throne. A date was fixed for his royal coronation, and word of the new ruler-to-be began to spread slowly through the land through the merchants and musicians and other sorts of folk who live, in part, through stories and gossip with those they meet along their travels.
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