The Windham-Campbell Prize, for the relief and exposure.
The Arts Council, for the grant (2015) to research this novel.
Cultureword/Commonword, for the open doors.
My mother, Evelyn Kyagaza Kalembe, who shared her family history and the history of her villages, which I have distorted and perverted with happy indifference.
George William Mulondo Majweega (Wabudi), for more family history and for the laughter.
Martin De Mello, whose savage reading of this book ultimately led to a better shaping of it.
Enoch Kiyaga, my Luganda dictionary and cultural reference in Manchester.
My (literary) guardian angel, Michael Schmidt, for consistently calming my insecurities about this book from way back in 2001.
Ellah Wakatama Allfrey, for listening, but particularly for that precise diagnosis and advice.
Vimbai Shire – who describes her work on this novel in terms of midwifery. I am lucky to have you as my reader and editor.
Nicole Thiara, for reading this book and insisting it is fantastic. For consistently telling me that it is all right, don’t change it.
Manchester Metropolitan University MA class 2001–2003.
Kate Ezra, for introducing this novel in its rough stages to readers at Yale and for the advice on that chapter.
Cedric Ssebalamu Makumbi, my chauffeur as I did research. And for putting up with my demands.
Catherine Makumbi-Kakiiza and family, plus Sheila – for the accommodation, transport and love while I did research for this book.
To my brother, Ronald Mayombwe Makumbi – I love you.
Damian Morris, words are inadequate.
Marie Goreth Nandago, thank you.
Martha N. Ludigo-Nyenje, who first read this story in its shoddiest draft back in 1998.
Sarah Terry, for the sensitive but determined editing of this novel.
Masie Cochran, for the enthusiasm and vision for this book.
Juliet Mabey, for believing in what I do.
Danny Moran, for the beautiful photography.
James Macdonald Lockhart and Veronica Goldstein, thank you for everything.
To my children, Ssebalamu, Kiggundu, Nnansasi and Nnansubuga, we’re enough.