A Picnic Opens the Door
The week that followed whizzed by without notice, as I had been extremely busy hosting a team of investors from Europe. On Friday afternoon, my secretary stopped me in my tracks. “Birungi on the line for you Ma’am”, she announced. Earlier in the week, my friend had promised to firm-up another Saturday lunch-date. “How about a picnic at Makumbusho Park?” she had suggested jovially. Having spent endless hours in air-conditioned offices throughout the week; the park, situated on an island, would be a welcome break. “Do not forget to bring my favourite dessert”, Birungi had said, just before hanging up.
We set out early enough to enjoy the glamour of the sun as it rose over the sea. Fortunately, the ride in the wooden dinghy was peaceful and, within minutes, we had arrived at our destination; a green paradise floating on the Indian Ocean. Makumbusho Park was a popular landmark, situated in the centre of the tiny island. Built by colonialists in the 1900s, the park had been preserved as a historical site. Thence, crowding was common, since many tourists would sojourn from near and far, to admire the archival monuments and to pay homage to the nation’s warriors who had lost their lives during the Second World War.
We arrived at the Park in time to watch swarms of small gold-feathered birds descend to peck on moths that had mottled the grass during the wee hours of the morning. And, as cool breezes waved the canopies of trees that dated back centuries; one could not resist the fresh fragrance of floral African scents that made the park such a perfect place for relaxation.
Soon we were sprawled on the grass, chatting away as we sipped chilled lemonades. Birungi and I would always have loads to talk about...; fashion fads, slimming formulas, babies, name it. And, considering that the Lutalo saga would ruin our appetite for ‘girl-talk’, the issue was conveniently reserved for later…, after lunch perhaps!
Birungi had carried egg sandwiches, courtesy of the cookery lessons from a local missionary school that we had both attended two decades ago. I had opted to prepare ‘Tropical Delight’ - a trademark creation that combined watermelon, honey and black berries. And as Birungi wolfed the red dish, I said, “By the way Rungi, I recently discovered that watermelons are therapeutic”. Given my friend’s health challenges, my statement caught her attention. “Really…, I am interested in knowing more about that”, she said, wiping her fingers with white tissue. Little did she know that her comment would literarily open the door to what I had desired to tell her for so long; the same things you should also know, such that you can forgive.