Our House

I arose and went to Rugoma

And a small house completed there,

Made of bricks, tiles, indoor plumbing and lights a glare.

It had stood for decades, a reminder of all that was yet unfinished, thanks to a younger brother.

My mother swore that she would not see heaven if she died before this house was finished.

The news struck my heart like a hornet’s sting.

Then, like guided by an invisible hand, things began to change in my life;

I retired from my job and went to Rugoma.

Racing against mother’s impending death,

I, representing many, completed the house in six months.

Two years later as her casket lay in repose in the living room of our house,

I realized mother had peacefully gone to heaven.