Swimming is Who I am

For the first time, I spoke to a live audience and performed a poem about swimming. I have written about swimming before and this time, celebrating women's day, I spoke about it.

In a room brightened by poets, writers, business men and business women, I spoke. It was the evening of Thursday 5 March, during a session organised by Ladu Poetry Slam at the cosy coffee shop called Ishaazi, in Bukoto Kampala.

Swimming.

I needed to recognise two women in my life who changed my swimming story. Pamela Namutebi, my classmate at Makerere University who amped my swimming until I became competent in every stroke. From a below average swimmer, I started to compete for Mary Stuart Hall at Makerere.

I also recognised Coach Bridget, who in January of 2026, taught me how to blow bubbles. When you learn to blow bubbles in the water, you are able to swim beyond your wildest dreams. You will no longer look for inspiration elsewhere. You are covered.

I told them that even though I learned how to swim as a child, because it was compulsory in my school, I never really understood the purpose. I shared another revelation which even I still cannot comprehend.

It's this.

"I have more strength and energy for swimming, than I did in my twenties. I do not understand it, except that swimming must be a spiritual experience."

A few days ago, I prayed with a small group of friends. As we shared, I told them that my swimming has to mean something more than feeling refreshed and vitalised. It has to mean more than receiving compliments from coaches. 

I have received all those things before. I have been recognised. I have been awarded. I have stood before audiences that clapped. That is not the goal. There's always something higher.

I have seen other brilliant and celebrated people steal creative ideas from others, because their insecurities outweigh their self worth. Their brilliance is not enough for them. They are searching for something higher.

My swimming has to be for a higher purpose. I asked the women in my prayer group to pray that God would show me His purpose. May my swimming be to his glory. I want to swim and help people in mental distress. I want to swim and let people recognise how important their physical health is. I want to swim and show people how to let go of the temporary glory, for something richer.

As I recited my poem and speech that night, there must have been something impactful.

Several participants told me that the only reason they didn't swim was because they were conscious of their bodies and that now they would start it again.

Someone else came for counselling, because she wanted to know how I was able to do it all.

"How do you do it? I am confused about my life. I am facing emotional abuse at home. I need help."

truthfully, there is nothing like doing it all. 

When things seem effortless for me, it is because I am doing less and not more. If I appear to be confident, enriched and secure, it is because I am doing less and not more. It is because I prioritise purpose over power. I prioritise victory over validation. I prioritise glowing over shining. Shining with glitter is temporary but glowing is eternal. 

I used to be that person. The one who wanted the glitter and shine, and I got it. It was never enough. I always wanted more.

When I let go of the excess and purpose preceded my journey, so much shifted. 

I see people who will claw at their own guts, at their own people and at their own shadow, if they felt threatened by them. They serve on committees and remove certain people from opportunities. It is futile.

They bleed internally when the very people they thwarted are popping up like daffodils in spring. These people are evergreen like spruce trees in winter and they sway in every storm, swaying, smiling and soaring.

I want to swim and change lives. I want to swim and make sure that God's name resounds in the darkest chamber of someone's heart. I want those who are lost, at what ever age, to find new meaning in their lives.

If I'm going to swim the way I do, then it must be for a higher purpose and not just for myself.

I am not reinventing myself. This is whom I've always been.

Bless!

Beverley N Nsengiyunva

'Memories of Love Returned,' film by Ugandan Ntare Mwine

I first saw him in the series, 'The Lincoln Lawyer,' and then I met him on that chilly Kampala Friday evening at the premiere of his film, 'Memories of Love Returned.'

I asked him, 'What do you need?'

'More support,' he said.

Ntare Mwine, Ugandan award-winning film maker, producer and actor based in the US has struck a deep chord running across two millennia. 

Captured in his film, 'Memories of Love Returned,' photographs, stories, and memories from the second half of the 20th century to the 21st century, Ntare has rekindled more than a journey. 

     Ntare Mwine with Beverley, at the Kampala premiere of 'Memories of Love Returned.'

Kibaate, the protagonist, is a photographer who had a chance encounter with Ntare in 2002, when the latter's car broke down in Mbirizi, a small town in Western Uganda.

This chance encounter led to Mwine discovering a treasure trove through Kibaate, a local photographer, who had captured decades of  photographs of couples in the most memorable, bizarre, romantic and noteworthy poses. All the photos in black and white had women in mini skirts and afros, men in flared trousers and tight shirts, women with naturally glowing skin looking adorably towards the camera and men posing in protection mode over their partners.

Other photos depicted deep friendships amongst girls and amongst boys, and even more of weddings taken through various fashions over the decades.

As the film progresses, Kibaate's extended family, including his 3 wives, close to 50 children and dozens of nephews, nieces and grandchildren are portrayed in this must-watch documenary film.

Ntare Mwine takes over 20 years through Kibaate's journey, visiting family, important sites and developing over 5,000 analog photos into contemporary visuals.

It takes copious amounts of time, dedication and perseverance.

From 2002, this journey began. 24 years later, the world is treated to this instrinsic journey of Kibaate, to the mind-boggling space of Mbirizi's culture, the socio-politics of extended families and the warmth of friendship and romance.

The film shows again on Saturday 14 March, due to popular demand.

Ronnie Mayanja, who runs the Uganda Diaspora Network and other major players have been instrumental in bringing this to life.

If you haven't yet and are in Kampala, reserve your ticket now.

Bless.

Bev

35 years later and we are still in touch

35 years later and we're still in touch. When you're a young teenager, 30 seems old and far away. Even 20 seems old and far away. The next year seems far away.

That is how we each felt on 18 February, 1991, when we joined senior one at Gayaza High School, which by that time was considered one of the best secondary schools for girls in Uganda. Many believe that it still is. It is revered. It is adored. The girls who graduate from there are held in the highest esteem.

When I was completing my primary seven and filling in choices for secondary school, because of my excellent grades, there were only two options for me, Mt. St. Mary's Namagunga and Gayaza High School. Deep down, I wanted to join Namagunga, as did my father. 

Photography by Dennis Mikolo

Because of my religion at the time, I went to Gayaza High School. I remember that day, 18 February 1991. I was in a long red skirt and striped crop top. Having served as the headgirl in my previous school, Kampala Parents, it felt odd being treated like a young child. 

I made new friends, by compulsion, by osmosis, by natural selection.

Over a decade ago, a WhatsApp group was formed. It kept us in touch with one another. After giving birth to my third born, a good number came to visit me. They brought so many gifts and even though I studied at Makerere College School for my A level, I felt good in a tingling sort of way. It felt like the friendship with Gayaza was a worthwhile one.

I began connecting the dots with man of them. Some I have encountered in work spaces, others at social events and some in other mutually shared spaces.

On of my favourite Gayaza moments was the 1994 World Cup final match between Brazil and Italy. We were allowed to watch it in the dining room. As a huge supporter of everthing South America at the time, I was rooting for Brazil.

That night was wild. We screamed ourselves hoarse, held onto each other like our lives depended on it and it really took the edge off as we prepared for our final O level examinations.

All the great moments were outside the classroom. On the sports' field, dancing during entertainment time and kiromo feasting.

You canimagine how it felt for many of us when a core committee began organising our reunion, celebrating 35 years from the time we met. And they scheduled it around the exact date, mid-February. Gayaza girls are truly exceptional.

My Sherborne housemates.

The event was nothing short of  astounding. The colour code, green, was the best choice, blending in with the perfect natural backdrop at the home of one of our very own, Sophie Kibirige Kajubi. The elegance of the ladies exceeded expectations and so many of them could actually fit into their secondary school uniforms.

It was a blessing, nothing but a huge blessing. The abundance of memories, hugs, genuine catch-ups and enthusiasm as gasps of surprise, glee, and astonishment rolled into one. It was the perfect cacophony. It was the perfect moment. It was monumental. It was wrapped in charm.

Every single service provider put their best foot forward. The food was such a treat. The dancing, testing our fitness. The dessert and most of all.

Barbara Nyanzi Wakholi's cake. One of us bakes the most delicious cakes this side of the world. What a cake it was. It softly landed on our tongues, teasing its way like fine sweet wine intoour tummies. Barbara has extremely gifted hands.

Ending the spectacular evening with story time, muchomo and karaoke, this is a day that will never leave us. This is an occasion that will form how we recognise and define friendship. This is a day that will refine our years ahead.

May you find the people you want to celebrate long lasting friendships with.

Bless.

Bev.

Ihuoma

 

Ihuoma

 

Ihuoma, you should have walked away

when Elechi Amadi started creating you from the mystery

of African words, long before books mattered,

because the songs were enough.

 

Elechi Amadi, beguiling and masculine,

gave you the blessing and the curse of the gap in your teeth

and named you beautiful.

 

He created you even before you knew

the meaning behind a full moon and harvest,       

when your parents were feasting with the villagers at your birth.

 

You should have walked away.

Instead, you looked in the mirror

and swayed your hips

until your beads rattled against your glistening skin.

 

Instead of walking away

like the darkness when it meets the sun,

like hunger when it meets a yam feast,

you let Elechi crown you with chapter

upon chapter of his novel.

 

And now, mother of patriarchy,

it is not your natural charm

nor discerning eyes that matter

not even your strong hands

that can carry a saucepan of boiling porridge,

nor your ears that can hear a man whispering into your daughter’s ears.

 

It is the gap in your teeth,

the African woman’s jewel and Judas.

 

 

Note: Ihuoma is the protagonist in the novel, The Concubine, written by Elechi Amadi. In the novel, Ihuoma is profound for her charm, her ravishing looks and the fact that no mortal man is able to marry her.

Poem by Beverle N Nsengiunva

Healing Hands

This week, I asked the Rich Diction public speaking participants to develop an introduction based on the speech, 'If I had a super power...'

One of them said that she would desire to have the super power to heal. I thought that was brilliant and necessary.

After reading 'Gifted Hands,' the biography of Dr. Ben Carson, well known for being instrumental in separating the Binder siamese twins in 1987, there is actually much more to him than that surgery. I would never have known half of it, if I had not read his book.

The book is available on Amazon. If you are searching for a story of unrestrained hope, of smashing every possible ceiling and of defying every stereotype, then this is the book. 

His mother, like many single mothers, is very instrumental in his life and his childhood, especially raising boys who had many doors slammed in their faces at the time, in the U.S.

The journey to medical school and beyond was not straight forward at all, infused with military training and navigating love, travelling across continents and being raised by a single mother after his parents' divorce.

Single parenting does not come with a manual and even if it did, it would not make it any easier. Sonya Carson truly deserved a medal for her tenacity.

Ben and his brother Curtis, both brilliant boys, were blessed by their mother. Their own careers took different paths. And in order to appreciate the gravity of separating the conjoined twins, it is important to understand how the healing process is not just a physical process but a mental one as well. Ben spent time in prayer, in hope, lifting his anxieties to God, before and during surgeries. 

Every surgery, most of which involved delicate incisions, operating on delicate vessels or extremely time-sensitive procedures, were a lesson in faith. Before the famous surgery, were so many others, each of which deserved their own book.

The captivating moments of smiling parents, weeks after their children recover from comatose, or the joy of witnessing a frail patient regain strength, are all part of the mystery and journey in operating rooms.

'Gifted Hands' teaches a lot about purpose and how purpose should be able to make the world a better place. It teaches the importance of family. It teaches the undeniable importance of team work for any task and of course, the power of prayer and faith.

With the recent occurrence of the terrible tragedy of Pamela Tumwebaze's death, Dean of Studets at UCU Mukono, 'Gifted Hands,' is a suitable book to read.

Reviewed by Bev

Diana Ferrus

I met Diana Ferrus in 2011 in Johannesburg, at the African Women Writers' Symposium. 

Diana Ferrus was a poet and storyteller. Autographing her book for me, which contained her famous poem, 'I've come To Take You Home,' I was drawn to this charismatic and down-to-earth woman. We spoke a lot about poetry and life, and she was so encouraging. We still kept in touch, years later.

I learned about her poem,  'I've Come to take You Home,' which she wrote in response to the cruel treatment South African woman Sarah Baartman received, at the hands of Europeans in the early 1800s.  

Sarah was enslaved and taken to Europe and because of her unique features, exploited and exhibited in public. She tragically died when she was 25 years old.

Diana shared the story of her poem, 'I've Come to Take You Home,' which she wrote, reiterating the horrific journey of Sarah Baartman to Europe and the treatment she experienced.

Diana was deeply moved and as a way to honour Sarah, wrote this poem little knowing the profound impact it would have. French Senator Nicholas About, came across the poem and started the process of repatriating Sarah's remains to South Africa.

And when Sarah's remains were safely returned, it was a moment of victory. The pem is indeed powerful.

I would have loved to meet Diana again physically. That will not happen. I am glad that I did get to meet this icon. I am glad that I got to meet a genuine, brilliant and beautiful soul. She may not be with us on earth and yet her works live on. 

Farewell, Diana.

Beverley N Nsengiyunva

Diana is on the left, autographing her poetry collection for me, 2011. 

https://beverleynambozon.blogspot.com/2026/01/diana-ferrus.html

Top 40 Under 40 Women Executives in Uganda

Here I am,  in June 2015, amongst the Top 40 Under 40 women Executives in Uganda, for the work that my team and I were doing to promote, export, and nurture homegrown poetic talent.

It was a great honour to be placed amongst other noble under 40-year-old women from Uganda.

I used to admire my friends who would feature in the newspapers for their writing. 

When I stopped dwelling on it, the opportunities came flooding in and it was not only Uganda but other countries as well, that became interested in our work.

 I remain grateful to 'The New Vision' for this recognition and to other mainstream media like The Monitor, The East African, leading dailies from Africa; Ghana, Kenya, Malawi, Nigeria, Rwanda, South Africa and Tanzania, that have supported the work of the Beverley Nambozo Poetry Award and the Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation.

When you stop dwelling on your desires, they come flooding in. I have tested this time and again. You attract when you stop chasing.