- March 8th. A day of grand speeches, flowery praises, and token gifts handed to women. But beyond the social media hashtags and staged photographs, there lies a deeper truth—the raw, unfiltered reality of motherhood. A reality that is neither perfect nor always sentimental.
- Yet, despite the pain, the betrayals, the disappointments, these women remained our mothers. They wiped our tears, nursed our wounds, and somehow, in the madness of it all, still found the strength to love.
- To the women of Uganda, Africa, and the world—we see you. We honor you. We celebrate you. Not because the world tells us to, but because without you, we are nothing.
March 8th. A day the world pauses to honour women. A day to celebrate their resilience, their sacrifices, their unwavering love. But for me, this day is not just about a general acknowledgement of women. It is a day of deep, unshakable pain—a day that takes me back to the moment my world shattered into pieces.
I was at Makerere University, a young man full of dreams, fending my way through the storms of life. Mitchell Hall was my sanctuary, a space of solitude and reflection, where I charted my future, oblivious to the merciless hand of fate preparing to strike. Then, one evening, I walked into my room and saw it—a simple piece of paper, carelessly placed on my bed. It was from my uncle. The note was brief, almost dismissive:
“Your mother has died. Find me at my office.”
Just like that. No prelude, no soft landing. Just cold, crushing finality.
I remember staring at those words, willing them to change, hoping that my eyes were betraying me. But they remained as they were—brutal, irreversible. My knees buckled. The room spun. A silent, suffocating pain gripped my heart. I fell to the ground and wept. The world outside continued as usual—cars honked, people laughed, and life’s trials went on. But mine had stopped.
I do not recall much of the drive from Kampala to Jinja for the burial. My uncle and I sat in the car, two figures engulfed in silence. We did not speak. There was nothing to say. Inside, my head was a battlefield—pain, grief, and disbelief waged war within me. Tears flowed ceaselessly, silent but torrential, carrying away fragments of my soul.
Then we arrived.
The moment I stepped into her father’s home, expecting wails and echoes of shared sorrow, I was met with a crushing silence. No one was crying. No mourning, no outbursts of grief—just the dull murmur of people going about their business. A piercing emptiness swallowed me whole. Did they not care? Did they not know who she was? Did they not realize that my world had just been obliterated?
Yes, she may have had her conflicts with her siblings. Yes, she may have had her flaws, her imperfections, her human struggles. But she was my mother. She was the woman who had fought for me, who had sacrificed for me, who had poured her love into me. And now, she was gone.
That was when my heart could take no more. I broke down. I wept for the mother I had lost, for the love that was no more, for the cruel silence that swallowed her death. And as I collapsed in my grief, the old grandmothers—women who had seen decades of pain and joy—finally broke. My sorrow ignited theirs, and together, we wept for the mother who had given me everything.
For three days, I did not sleep. My body was exhausted, but my soul refused to rest. On the third day, an aunt approached me and asked, “What hurts you the most?”
I looked at her with hollow eyes and whispered the truth: “I am lonely.”
The African Mother: Rediscovering a Forgotten Heroine
In Africa, we often fail to celebrate our mothers until it is too late. We see them as mere women, dismissing their sacrifices, overlooking their struggles. They wake up before the sun, toil in the fields, ensure we are fed, fight battles we never see, and love us with an intensity we can never comprehend. Yet, when they die, some of us do not even shed tears. Their lives fade into the silence of unspoken gratitude.
But today, on International Women’s Day, we must do better. We must pause to recognize that behind every success story, there is often a woman—a mother, a sister, a wife, an aunt—who stood in the shadows, fighting unseen wars.
My mother, Margaret Esereda Mugeni Ngoha, was not perfect, but she was mine. She was the reason I stood tall, the reason I received an education, the reason I knew what love was. If I could have one more moment with her, I would tell her everything I never got the chance to say.
To those who still have their mothers, cherish them. Love them while they are still here. Celebrate them, not just on March 8th, but every single day. Because when they are gone, no amount of tears will bring them back.
To the women of Uganda, Africa, and the world—we see you. We honor you. We celebrate you. Not because the world tells us to, but because without you, we are nothing.
International Women’s Day: Honoring Mothers—Seen, Unseen, and Unforgettable
March 8th. A day of grand speeches, flowery praises, and token gifts handed to women. But beyond the social media hashtags and staged photographs, there lies a deeper truth—the raw, unfiltered reality of motherhood. A reality that is neither perfect nor always sentimental.
I have told you about my mother, about her love, her struggles, and the grief that consumed me when she died. But today, let us venture deeper into the labyrinth of motherhood—because for some, celebrating this day is not as simple as posting “Happy Women’s Day” on WhatsApp.
The Mothers Who Fought Alone: Unsung Warriors of Strength and Sacrifice
Many of our mothers raised us alone, fending for children they never asked for but still loved with a ferocity that defied logic. While fathers—some of whom are nothing more than well-dressed pieces of sh*t—vanished into the night, these women stood firm. They endured betrayal, abandonment, and hardship, yet they still managed to love.
And yes, let’s be honest—most of us were accidents. Products of brief excitement, whispered sweet nothings, and regrettable decisions made in dimly lit places. My professor friend put it best when he chased his own mother away from his home, declaring,
“Mama, nviira mu maka! After all, I am only a product of you and my father’s excitement.”
Amusing? Perhaps. Cruel? Maybe. But is it untrue? Not really. The majority of us were never part of a grand master plan. We were the unexpected consequences of passion, but our mothers—God bless their souls—took responsibility, while many fathers disappeared like morning dew under the scorching sun.
Yet, despite the pain, the betrayals, the disappointments, these women remained our mothers. They wiped our tears, nursed our wounds, and somehow, in the madness of it all, still found the strength to love.
Not all Mothers are Angels
Now, let us not paint every mother as a saint. Life is complex. There are those who, for whatever reason, failed in their role.
Take my Senior Counsel friend, a woman of great intellect and power. On this very day, I asked her,
“What do you have to celebrate about your mother?”
Without hesitation, she replied,
“Nothing. She dumped me when I was two months old. I owe every bit of my success to my father.”
I was stunned. But life is like that—not every mother is a mother in the true sense. Some abandoned their children. Some were present but absent. Some inflicted pain rather than comfort.
And so, we are left to redefine who a “mother” truly is.
Who then is a Mother?
Motherhood is not just a biological accident. It is an act of love, sacrifice, and nurturing.
Some of us were raised by grandmothers who gave their last breath to see us smile.
Some of us were raised by aunties who took us in when our own mothers disappeared.
Some of us were raised by stepmothers who, against all stereotypes, loved us as their own.
Some of us were raised by fathers who played the role of both parents with unwavering devotion.
Some of us found mothers in strangers, in teachers, in religious leaders, in friends who stepped in when no one else did.
So today, we celebrate not just biological mothers, but all those who stood in the gap.
To the single fathers who became both mother and father, we salute you.
To the grandmothers who went back to raising babies when they should have been resting, we honor you.
To the women who stepped up when others walked away, we thank you.
Why we Celebrate Women’s Day
So, when we celebrate March 8th, we do not do it just because the world tells us to.
We do it because without women, there would be no us.
We do it to honor the sleepless nights, the silent sacrifices, the unseen tears.
We do it to acknowledge that not all women have been perfect, but many have been present.
We do it to remember those who loved us, whether they birthed us or not.
And to those who still have their mothers, I say this—hold them close. Love them loudly. Celebrate them while they still breathe. Because when they are gone, no amount of regret will bring them back.
Happy International Women’s Day—to all the women who loved, nurtured, fought, and sacrificed. Today, we honor you.
Einleitung – Why I Dedicate This to Martina Uwe
There are people who come into our lives and leave footprints that never fade. Menschen, die nicht nur für sich selbst leben, sondern für andere – mit offenen Armen, einem weiten Herzen und einer unermüdlichen Hingabe an das Wohl derer, die sie umgeben.
Martina Uwe, du bist genau so ein Mensch.
Ich widme diese Worte dir, because you are more than just a friend, more than just a woman, more than just a person – du bist eine Mutter im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes. You have loved, helped, guided, comforted, and brought light into the lives of so many, that one can only ask: Woher nimmst du diese Kraft?
Martina, du bist nicht nur eine Frau – du bist eine Bewegung.
Not just a friend – du bist eine Säule.
Not just a heart – du bist eine Quelle der Liebe.
And today, on this special day when we celebrate women and mothers, I don’t just want to say thank you. Ich möchte, dass du weißt, wie tief dein Wirken reicht – tiefer, als du vielleicht selbst erkennst.
So now, liebe Martina, erlaube mir, meine Widmung an dich mit Worten zu fassen, die deine Größe einfangen:
Widmung an Martina Uwe – Eine Mutter für Viele
Es gibt Menschen, die nicht nur leben, sondern leuchten. Menschen, die nicht nur existieren, sondern Hoffnung, Trost und Liebe verbreiten. Martina Uwe ist genau so ein Mensch.
Liebe Martina,
Heute, on this special day, as we celebrate mothers and women, I cannot help but think of you. Du bist nicht nur eine Frau, nicht nur ein Mensch – du bist ein Herz, das für viele schlägt.
They say a mother is not just the one who gives birth, sondern die, die uns liebt, führt und beschützt. But you, Martina, du hast mehr als nur deine Arme geöffnet – du hast deine Seele für viele geöffnet.
„Eine Mutter ist der erste sichere Hafen, den ein Kind kennt.“
Doch in deinem Fall bist du nicht nur ein Hafen für deine eigenen Kinder gewesen – du bist ein Hafen für viele.
I have seen you stand by others, love them, as if each soul was your own child. „Liebe ist nicht, was wir sagen – Liebe ist, was wir tun.“ And you, liebe Martina, have done more than words could ever express.
Danke.
Danke für dein unermüdliches Herz.
Danke für die Wärme, die du verbreitest.
Danke für deine unerschütterliche Güte.
Heute feiern wir Frauen wie dich – Frauen, die nicht nur leben, sondern Liebe in ihrer reinsten Form verkörpern.
Du bist ein Geschenk an diese Welt. Ein Engel ohne Flügel.
Eine Mutter für viele.
Mit tiefster Wertschätzung,
Isaac Christopher Lubogo
Happy International Women’s Day.
#Suigeneris
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