Publisher: Korir, africanpress@getmail.no source.newvision.ug
A stooped Kalemera, with his treasured stool, prepares to talk to a patient at his home in Kawempe
By Titus Kakembo
CURVED like a sleeping cat, Kabaka Mwangas surviving son walks out of his royal rat hole. His tongue lolls out of a toothless mouth and, on his head, is a scanty thatch of curly grey hair.
Seeing a stranger in his palace, Prince Wakiba Kalemera Ssalongo, suspiciously raises his right eyebrow.
At first glance there is no trace of royalty in his bearing, because today, nobody gives him a second glance, apart from elderly locals in the neighbourhood.
He curiously asks: Grandson, how can I be of help to you? Waiting for a response, his Adams apple impatiently jumps up and down. On hearing it is a member of the press inquiring about his father, Kabaka Mwanga II, Kalemeres eyes light up and the lips split into a smile exposing some four teeth in the coffee brown gum of his lower jaw.
You are welcome, he mutters and courteously asks me to make myself comfortable on the green grass. He is wearing a pair of red trousers doodled with greasy patches, which need washing. On his feet is a pair of unpolished brown shoes that have seen better days.
This is our maiden encounter. The interview is conducted in front of his clinic where three patients are under intensive care. They are smoking charcoal black pipes while sharing experiences on how Jaja wa Buganda (Bugandas grandfather – as he is popularly known) has brought them luck. One says he got a spouse and another, John, got twins.
Eventually it is time to talk about the good old days when Mwanga was king. He says Bugandas star will never shine as it did when Mwanga was on the throne.
I went to the best school in the land, Kings College Budo, between 1934-1936, recounts Kalemeera. To prove the point of having acquired the best education and mastered the white mans language, he begins punctuating his conversation with English proverbs.
His home is where ordinary mortals congregate for cultural events and communication with the spirits.
A tour of his home leads to two baskets. Shafts of sunlight pierce through rusty holes in the iron sheets as a torn, toffee brown curtain ensures the Prince some privacy from prying eyes.
One of these baskets contains the umbilical chords of the royal twins. The other contains the spirits of the 52 spirits of the previous kings who disappeared (In Buganda kings do not die.)
According to some people, Kaleemera is the medium of communication with them, one of the reasons there is a jam of clients carrying kikuba nsiko (sh100-sh500 as token of appreciation) for his services. And that is how he has survived in the evening of his life.
By the head rest of his bed are six walking sticks, treasures for which Kalemera can afford to lose his right hand instead of parting with any of them.
These sticks belonged to kings of this land, he asserts. I wonder who, among the living royals, will take care of them when I join my ancestors, seeing as they do not care about me
A casual glance at his bed is evidence that Kalemeera is a man of taste who has fallen on hard times. His neatly laid bed is three feet wide. He says he badly needs a mosquito net, a mobile telephone and a kitchen with a caretaker.
Recently I suffered from a bad cough but mululuza (local herb) sent it away, he boasts.
His bathroom is a cupboard sized structure with a bark cloth sheet as its door and walls made from dry banana leaves.
The scent of sweat and dark cakes of dirt in his toe nails is evidence that Kalemera rarely uses these facilities. There is not a single tablet of soap in the vicinity.
Kalemera owns only one pair of trousers, which is washed at night by his grandson and care taker, Kagwa.
The others are threadbare and he finds them unbecoming for a man of his stature.
He bought a pair of sandals which he wears in the mornings at 8:00am when he wakes up.
During the tour a client smoking a pipe says: Jaja (Kalemera) has a poor diet because he eats only once a day when Juuko Kagwa has food on his table, says Mama Naku. The dairy down there offers him one litre of milk and a loaf of bread everyday that is how he survives. She says he likes groundnuts, potatoes and tea.
And he has a strict rules that no one sits on his three-legged stool, which is cushioned by an old shirt.
But is he really Mwangas son?
Asked for evidence to prove it, triggers sarcastic laughter and a sneer from the old man.
The first born, Kiwewa Yusufu Ssuuna, could not culturally become Mwangas heir. He chose Daudi Chwa. I was the third born in a line of seven children. We had a girl called Nakimbugwe, says Kalemera.
He adds that Mwanga, his father was not as bad as European literature portrays him. Before he fell out with the Christians, he got along with them. For example, I was baptised in 1917 by the Reverand Mutakyala and later confirmed by Bishop Willis in Mukono. My father even sent me on a trip to Israel to visit Jerusalem, to see the place where Jesus was born.
He adds that the worst times in his life were when his father had to flee Buganda to hide in a cave in Eastern Uganda.
I have visited the cave where he hid with King Kabalega in Kaberamaido. Ours was a family of controversy. For example, a Prince was not allowed to marry a princess. But my brother, Daudi Chwa, married Kabalegas daughter, Evelyn Masombira. we were such revolutionaries, he boasts.
He says the time when Mulwanyamuli was the Katikkiro (Premier) is when he was chosen to take care of the five acres of land stretching from Kawempe to Nansana.
He says he is in charge of conducting ceremonial rites on the land.
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