GNL Zamba’s Letter To His Father

To the man that taught me everything I know.

My father attends all my shows when he can, He is always the first to purchase our BFE clothing brand items or Music  He bought me my first radio and introduced me to sounds from all over the world sparking my curiosity all while encouraging me to always learn and be open-minded. I was raised in the ghetto of Kawempe. The school of the hard knocks not the flashy parts but the parts where the criminals on the evening news were people we knew by name. It is now that I look back and see how hard it was to raise kids right in that environment. I always wondered why they (my parents) didn’t allow us to roam and play with other kids, their solution for our protection and focus on education was to create a home bubble. Where the door shielded is from the chaos and lure of the ghetto outside. Occasionally you would hear a night chase as LDU pursued a gang of thieves who did parqo summer-salts on our rusty roof to getaway. If it wasn’t that then it was a quarrel by our neighbors who were so creative with insults that they shattered souls when they made the “heavy curse words” seem like a mere punctuations. Often the reply from the insulted neighbor would then be something heavy enough to shift the earth from its axis.

My father would turn up the radio or tv volume so we wouldn’t hear them but we did. I watched my father struggle to provide for us. Everyday he rode a bicycle to work but we lived like kings at home, compared to our neighbors, we had all the education, video games & bikes the rich kids had but few make it to my age where I come from and many become victims of the challenging environment. My father worked so hard that when I made it as a rapper! There were rumors that I was a rich man’s son that had just come back to Uganda from Canada  and even when I told them I grew up in a poor ghetto in my lyrics; They thought I was merely claiming that because it is what sells. They didn’t believe that someone from my ghetto was that well dressed, mannered or creatively well spoken.         

I owe him everything! For I remember the days he would take a lunch break from his work to walk 5 miles to bring us lunch at school  now the Catholic school provided lunch but my father though porridge  alone wasn’t good enough nutrition for his children so he brought us lunch everyday to school. If that ain’t love then I don’t know what love is.                         

Here to fathers and other under celebrated heroes of the ghetto. He was besides me at my wedding and also at a mural unveiling that my home town painted to hour my contribution to the hip-hop culture of Uganda !!!   

I hope he is there standing with me as the heavens continue to bless us through this journey.