You meet people in 5 seconds of their 50 years, and you think you know them. You don’t.

This world, my friend, is not a straight road. It is a market where everyone came with a hidden load on their head.

So, just enjoy when you still have the time. Smile when you can still smile. Dance when your legs can still dance.

Because life is very short and very deep.

The person who didn’t smile back at you today?

You judged him: “He is proud.”

But you didn’t know that, that morning, he spent three hours trying not to cry. He buried his courage in the bathroom and came to work with dry eyes.

The person driving painfully slowly in front of you? You hooted, you abused him: “Learn how to drive, fool!”

But you didn’t know that it was his first time driving after the accident that killed his friend. His hands are shaking on the steering wheel. He is praying with every turn.

The accountant who seemed rude? Who answered you badly at the counter?

You said, “What a bad woman.”

But you didn’t know that she is halfway through the worst day of her life. Her husband slapped her before she came to the office. Her cheek is still hot under the makeup, and she is trying to balance books while her heart is broken.

You meet people in tiny moments of their very big lives.

A 5-second moment. And you make a 50-year judgment.

Be careful. Be very careful what you decide about someone from the 5 seconds you happen to witness.

THE LESSON OF JAAJJA NABUDOLI NJILABISA AND TAABA (TOBACCO PUFF)

I used to see my Jjaajja Nabudoli Maria when I visited her in Mbulamuti, Kisozi, Namasagali.

She would sit alone under the mango tree in Mbulamuti, with her small pipe, smoking Taaba.

And I, a little boy, would wonder: “How does she puff the smoke, which does not remain in the stomach? Where does the smoke go?”

I would see her talking alone. Talking, laughing, quarrelling alone.

And I would think, “Jjaajja is mad. How can someone talk alone?”

I was 10 years old. I was brave. I asked her.

“Jjaajja, why do you talk alone? Why do you smoke Taaba?”

She looked at me with her eyes that had seen 98 years, and she smiled with no teeth.

She said, “Get grown, you will see. Nawe kula olimunywa. You will grow, you will also smoke it.”

At that time, I didn’t understand.

Now I am grown. Now I know.

LONELINESS IS A PERSON

Loneliness can make you do many weird things that a normal environment can never make you feel or see.

Tabba was not tobacco for Jjaajja Nabudoli. Tabba was her husband, who died 40 years ago after poison.

Tabba was her friend. She told me Jjaajja Naidoo came from Goa, India, as the chief engineer on the railway from Kisumu to Namasagali. He saw Jjaajja Nabudoli with her breasts still firm, and they started cohabiting. They had the father of my Maama Rebecca Apophia Naidoo.

As she laughed loudly, she told me, “Mwami, these breasts you’re seeing, now flappy, made me move places: Kisumu, Naivasha, Nairobi, Marindi, and Mombasa, when they were still jumping like a tenner.”

Engineer Naidoo would move with me, allowing me to use the train like it was our home. Those memories make me smoke and speak alone.

Talking alone was not madness. It was conversation. She was talking to those who left her. She was talking to her children who went to the city and never returned. She was talking to her youth, which ran away like water.

When the compound is empty, when all the children you gave birth to are in Kampala, in London, in America, and the house is silent, you will talk. Even if no one is there to answer, you will talk. Because silence is heavier than words.

What we call “weird” in others is often just pain that has nowhere to go.

The old man who drinks from morning is not a drunkard; he is a man whose wife died and the house is too quiet.

The woman who shouts at everyone in the market is not rude; she is a woman whose children don’t call her and have left her with the Bazukulu.

The youth who wears headphones all day and never talks is not proud; he is a boy who has no one who listens to him at home. The father sleeps in the north and the mother in the South. Byebyo.

THE 5 SECONDS

So, before you judge, remember:

Every person you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

That boda boda rider who is rude? His landlord chased him this morning.

That maid who broke your cup? She didn’t sleep last night; her baby was crying.

That friend who didn’t come to your party? He had no transport, but he was ashamed to tell you.

This world is a big hospital. We are all patients. Some hide their wounds better than others.

So, my dear brother, my dear sister:

Be Kind Anyway.

Even when you have reason to be harsh. Your kindness might be the only medicine someone gets today.

Enjoy When You Still Have Time.

Laugh loudly. Eat with your friends. Greet people. Say “I love you” today. Tomorrow, the person you wanted to tell it to might be gone, and you will be left talking alone like Jjaajja Nabudoli Naidoo.

Enjoy When You Still Have Time.

Laugh loudly. Eat with your friends. Greet people. Say “I love you” today. Tomorrow, the person you wanted to tell it to might be gone, and you will be left talking alone like Jjaajja Nabudoli Naidoo.

Get Grown and You Will See.

Life will teach you what school never taught you: that people are not bad; people are just tired, lonely, and wounded.

Jjaajja Nabudoli is gone now. She died at 108 years in my arms. Her pipe is cold. But her words remain hot in my ears:

“Kula oliginywa.”

Grow up, and you will smoke from the same Emindi (smoke pipe).

And when you finally drink from it, you will learn not to judge, but to understand.

You will learn that even Tabba smoke has a story.

So, smile. Forgive quickly. Love deeply. For this world, just enjoy when you still have time.