I dropped out of school after sitting my UCE finals in 2012, and I seriously contemplated joining the Uganda Police Force, which didn’t work out. I’ve done a few odd jobs. My last job entailed managing a hotel kitchen. However, I was spending heavily on transport, yet I was being paid a paltry monthly sum of UGX 270,000. This was barely sufficient to cover my bills. I am a single mother, and when you have two young children looking up to you for food, clothing, fees, medication, basic needs of life and the little pleasures that make life a bit bearable, you don’t want to let them down. In March early this year, right at the commencement of lockdown, life was really hard. I was at the nadir of my life. I was supplying 12 chapatis a day to a lady running a food delivery business. I bought a locally made frying pan, rolling board and pin right before the lady suddenly stopped placing orders. I wasn’t going just to sit there and watch my items go to waste. I picked up my phone and called a friend with whom I shared my urgent need for a soft loan to start a business. She was kind enough to send me 100,000 UGX, which I spent on a wooden table and a charcoal stove. I was, in principle, ready to start, yet fear held me captive. I kept finding a reason not to begin because I honestly was afraid of what awaited me. My sister encouraged me to just begin. A friend, too, made it his business to bug me out of my fear. My first day was difficult. I made a pack of baking flour worth of chapatis. I sold just five chapatis that day at 1,000 UGX apiece. The rest of the chapatis weren’t bought. I retired home crestfallen and deflated. I remember breaking down and crying.

I appealed to God. I wondered why He would lead me out here in a barren field. Was He mocking me? In addition to miserable sales, I was being teased and taunted by males in the same business. Their taunts primarily were directed at their perceived inappropriateness of my new business in relation to my gender and my decision to venture into a business composed mainly of and dominated by men. It did not help matters that business was slow. I was certain beyond doubt that I’d made a mistake. My chapatis had nothing wrong with them, and they are tasty because my ingredients consist of milk and finely grated carrot. My fault lay in the fact that I had not paid attention to my target market. I noticed that my male neighbour was making money off selling Rolexes. I  bought half a try of eggs the day after, and my clientele immediately grew because Rolexes are quite fancied here. The blend of eggs and chapatis is not only tasty but also filling. About a week ago. Three male clients mocked me. They said they aspired to work hard so their children might not serve as bad examples. Their comments might have been innocent, but they did make their mark. Their words wounded me, and for a moment, I felt inadequate. I felt small. I was determined to quit. But I’ve always found motivation in adversity and encouragement in pain. It occurred to me at that moment that maybe, just maybe, this barren land was a place of growth. I shared my pains with my sister later that night, and she asked me whether I’d ever seen any cynics or critics on any stage. My resilience continues to push me forward. The taunts have since stopped, and it appears the males have accepted me as their own now. I’m learning the ropes of the trade. I do have routine clients now who are primarily through referrals, and although I barely break even, I do at least have the freedom to grow. I’m glad I’ve since moved on from utilizing just a pack of baking flour to up to three packs every day. This here, whichever way you see it, is a progressive step. I hope to save a bit more to secure a decent education for my two children. I do have my bad days. For instance, last week, the rains were accompanied by strong winds, which broke my stall umbrella, leaving my table exposed; everything got drenched. A broken umbrella is the least of my worries. I’ve been hit hard by circumstances before, and daily difficulties are to be expected. I’m still unable to pay 20,000 UGX, which is the monthly electricity charge to power a single bulb from 7 pm to 9 pm every night after nightfall. I use a simple cell-powered lamp to light up my display box instead. I’ve probably grown a thick skin from all the rainy days. I’m hoping for better days. I’ve now found comfort in what I do. My source of livelihood doesn’t in any way bring me shame, it brings food to my table, and that, at the day’s end, is all that matters. 

Merab “Miracle” Ajiete, 28. Kumi/Kitintale.