The past is changing
Over the Christmas break, I decided to spend some time with my father and sister. No we didn't spend time decorating a tree or eating like a fresh batch of worms had been deposited in our bellies. Instead, we ate Chinese food , watched the Rocky movies and listened to old music.
Christmas as intended!
In between the punches that Mr Balboa was taking(He really took a beating in these movies. Sheesh!), we had apple music on shuffle and landed on Koffi Olomidde. My father's eyes, up to this point only skimming the television , lit up. He begun to sing a long.
My sister then says, Ï remember these songs from the drives to the village ". She's 26.
In my father's eyes, she might as well be 6!. "You remember that? "he says adjusting his glasses a little and sitting up. She says she does. It reminds me of all the times I'd tell him about some memory I have from a decade or so ago and how shocked he always is that we remember these things.
He then does the "hmm thing he usually does right before he tells us a story. Ä story I won't get too into here but it was basically him telling us about how the song we were listening to was a cover of a song he and his father used to listen to and sing as they collected firewood in the 50's .
Shuffle lands on another song. Heart of Glass by Blondie. .He goes "hmmm" again. He tells us about being a student in the late 70's in London. About having to lie that he was Kenyan given that he lived with a number of Asians who were angry about Idi Amin's actions. He tells us that as everyone around them was enjoying a freedom that couldn't have been imagine in the 50's, he was worried about his home.
The thinking was that Nyerere and the Tanzanians were going to decimate Uganda. It seemed for sure that as the Swahili speakers moved into the country to reign in the idiot general, that the country would pay the price for the sins of their Field Marshall. He had no way of contacting his parents or siblings. He had to wait for news through the French news stations -for some reason they reported on Uganda much quicker than the BBC at the time-to know if the place he planned on returning to after becoming a quantity surveyor still existed.
As the shuffle continued to change the mood into the room by throwing up tune after tune.
He stands up and says "This music is painful. I enjoy these songs but they come with painful memories, regrets and nostalgia. I remember how bad things were and how tough I had to be".
He leaves the room to get some tea.
My Sister and I look at each other.
We understand two things.
One -our love of music probably stems from the old man. Particularly our affinity for old tunes. And two, the man we used to fear growing up, that we thought was tough,emotionless was in fact coping with many things.
He seemed tough because he came from a tough time in which you had to have mental fortitude. You can't just switch that on and off. e wanted us to read hard and study more than have too much fun because that's what helped him succeed not because he loathed the sound of laughter and us having a great time.
He's not a man who lacked feeling but one full of feeling . A liability he knew that could be fatal if he leaned too heavily into the feelings of self pity and sadness that would sap the energy out of him.
In a way that evening changed the past for my pretty sibling and I. We were able to not only forgive the man we felt was difficult. We saw things from his perspective. We understand now. And this understanding changes what the past means. What our experiences really were.
It seems odd now to look back and have totally different feelings about the same events, but that is the case. AS we grow older and learn more about this man, we are able to travel to the past and repair the tears and the wounds there.
They say you cannot change the past. In some sense though, you can. You can accept the things that happened there and you can understand them anew, and this allows you to change the present and the future. In some ways it's now important for me to look behind me so that I can continue to grow and let go of some f the things that could hold me back.
The past is changing . And this is a good thing.
Happy New Year everyone.
Christmas as intended!
In between the punches that Mr Balboa was taking(He really took a beating in these movies. Sheesh!), we had apple music on shuffle and landed on Koffi Olomidde. My father's eyes, up to this point only skimming the television , lit up. He begun to sing a long.
My sister then says, Ï remember these songs from the drives to the village ". She's 26.
In my father's eyes, she might as well be 6!. "You remember that? "he says adjusting his glasses a little and sitting up. She says she does. It reminds me of all the times I'd tell him about some memory I have from a decade or so ago and how shocked he always is that we remember these things.
He then does the "hmm thing he usually does right before he tells us a story. Ä story I won't get too into here but it was basically him telling us about how the song we were listening to was a cover of a song he and his father used to listen to and sing as they collected firewood in the 50's .
Shuffle lands on another song. Heart of Glass by Blondie. .He goes "hmmm" again. He tells us about being a student in the late 70's in London. About having to lie that he was Kenyan given that he lived with a number of Asians who were angry about Idi Amin's actions. He tells us that as everyone around them was enjoying a freedom that couldn't have been imagine in the 50's, he was worried about his home.
The thinking was that Nyerere and the Tanzanians were going to decimate Uganda. It seemed for sure that as the Swahili speakers moved into the country to reign in the idiot general, that the country would pay the price for the sins of their Field Marshall. He had no way of contacting his parents or siblings. He had to wait for news through the French news stations -for some reason they reported on Uganda much quicker than the BBC at the time-to know if the place he planned on returning to after becoming a quantity surveyor still existed.
As the shuffle continued to change the mood into the room by throwing up tune after tune.
He stands up and says "This music is painful. I enjoy these songs but they come with painful memories, regrets and nostalgia. I remember how bad things were and how tough I had to be".
He leaves the room to get some tea.
My Sister and I look at each other.
We understand two things.
One -our love of music probably stems from the old man. Particularly our affinity for old tunes. And two, the man we used to fear growing up, that we thought was tough,emotionless was in fact coping with many things.
He seemed tough because he came from a tough time in which you had to have mental fortitude. You can't just switch that on and off. e wanted us to read hard and study more than have too much fun because that's what helped him succeed not because he loathed the sound of laughter and us having a great time.
He's not a man who lacked feeling but one full of feeling . A liability he knew that could be fatal if he leaned too heavily into the feelings of self pity and sadness that would sap the energy out of him.
In a way that evening changed the past for my pretty sibling and I. We were able to not only forgive the man we felt was difficult. We saw things from his perspective. We understand now. And this understanding changes what the past means. What our experiences really were.
It seems odd now to look back and have totally different feelings about the same events, but that is the case. AS we grow older and learn more about this man, we are able to travel to the past and repair the tears and the wounds there.
They say you cannot change the past. In some sense though, you can. You can accept the things that happened there and you can understand them anew, and this allows you to change the present and the future. In some ways it's now important for me to look behind me so that I can continue to grow and let go of some f the things that could hold me back.
The past is changing . And this is a good thing.
Happy New Year everyone.
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