I had to double, in fact triple, maybe quadruple think about this title before I clicked - post. Recently, a section of Ugandans were crying over the could-be king of Tooro for using the F-word in nearly every statement he made when addressing a team. As an athlete in the US, I actually laughed at how little he used the word. In the US, the F-word is a conjunction in sports locker-room lingo. But anyway, I am not here to discuss Tooro’s issues nor the use of the F-word. I am here to talk about how we have become perfect examples of the F-word as a nation.

I bet it will be disheartening to the soccer player if he reads this article and learns that there was no miracle or coin pulled from his leg. A meniscus, with time, usually becomes a lingering pain that may be triggered time and again but won’t stop you from doing your sport. But that also depends on its severity. I won’t bore you with much more science about the knee.

“Surely a moving man will meet his fortune one day.” So don't stop moving or think that your inadequacy today is the end of the world.

This article wasn’t supposed to start like this. Unfortunately, I had to write it this way, and you had to read it this way.

Unfortunately, I don't know how I can now uplift you as you lie speechless physically, but busy educating the other angels in heaven. The news of your death crushed every bone in my body. Your birthday passed, but adulthood had me moving up and down, thinking I would make a call sometime when I am relaxed and settled. Indeed, part of adulthood is learning to live with the quiet grief of those we have lost.

As soon as I sat down, a man came over and sat to my right. My heart was in my mouth. I was ready to give him whatever he wanted. It was like this wasn't enough to scare life out of me. Another man came and sat to my left. One thing ran through my head, “This is the day the Lord has made to take me.”