28 February 1983
Tom died. He died without reason, without warning, without goodbyes – right in the middle of life.
That morning, he rushed as usual. He showered, got dressed – ‘Where are my socks, I am late, where is my tie?’ – and guzzled his tea cold. Then he ran out of the house as if he would be coming home. But in the evening, on his way to pick up the children from school – wuubi, gone. That is how Nnaki the maid told it.
At first, perhaps because of shock, people blamed his new car, the Honda Accord. But as the facts became clearer – an army Jeep had rammed into his car on that dangerous junction on Kitante Road – common sense set in. Attention turned to the usual suspect, the widow. Everyone knew Tom had wanted to finish building his house in Busega but Nnambi, keen to show they were wealthy, had nagged until Tom bought that car.
And that was not all.
Tom’s love for Nnambi had died; who didn’t know? Not after what she did to Kirabo. But Nnambi, ever the lukokobe, was not giving him up. Do you know what she did? She went home to her people to fix it. And you know there is no witchery like witchery from Mityana – you marry there at your own peril.
There was nothing new in Nnambi fixing things: women routinely fixed dying marriages with all sorts. But in this case, instead of a remedy, the diviner gave her evil spirits he needed to dispose of.
Ways in which Nnambi had administered what she thought was a love remedy started to circulate. Some said she dropped the potion in the driveway; Tom drove over it and right into his grave. Others swore she hung it above the threshold; Tom walked underneath and that was that. And others still claimed she put it beneath their mattress; Tom rolled over it and was finished.
‘I tell you, that woman came into this marriage determined to stay, come rain, come shine.’
‘And if Tom wished to extricate himself?’
‘Mulago Hospital.’
‘How?’
‘Either through surgery, like removing a tumour, or death do us part. Guess what happened?’
‘Kitalo.’
By the time Tom was buried, there was no doubt who had done it. It was the classic case of fenna tumufiirwe – If I cannot have him, no one will.