Maybe I shouldn't Have

                                        

Across the dusty Berekuso road, I heard someone call my name. The voice sounded familiar so I tried turning even though my neck hurt really badly. The food-stuff and fire wood I carried from the farm was extra heavy that the last thing I wished for was conversation from a friend. I wanted to get home as fast as I could. The moment I tried to turn and respond, a bicycle from nowhere that I could recognize hit me and for the next minute, I found myself lying down helplessly on the ground. I didn’t get hurt but the tomatoes I carried got smashed. I was so angry that I almost threw insults on the man. He apologized and helped me get back on my feet. That was where our friendship began, friendship with a bar owner. The first time I entered his bar was to greet him as I was in a hurry on an errand. He offered me a seat, asked me what he could offer me. He didn’t finish his sentence when I said: “I will like malt”. He told me that a mixture of malt and bitters tasted nicer. I hesitated for a while because I didn’t want to ever take alcohol. The drunkards in the neighborhood gave me every reason to hate alcohol. At last, he had me drink the mixture, truly or untruly, it tasted new and better when it rushed down my throat. The subsequent days that I visited my friend at the bar changed my life completely.

                                                 

Now I cannot stay a day without taking at least two bottles of alcohol. I take it before eating, as early as 6am before going to the farm and every evening. Before, I would go to the farm every day because produce from the farm was, although is still my major source of income for the family. Today, the most I can do is go farming twice a week.  On other days, drinking keeps me busy and too weak to work. Most a times, I spend my entire day drinking at the bar without thinking about food or any necessity for my children. Drinking makes me lose my senses, but each time I recover, I go back for it. Many times, my children have denied that I am their mother in the presence of their friends. I do not blame them because it hurts to see your mother lying on the ground, drunk, half-naked and helpless. At the same time, it hurts me that I cannot go back to the person I used to be: the mother I was to my children. Maybe I could, but each time I try, there is something, this thing that pushes me to drink, again and again till I lose control into a completely different person.