When a child does well, he’s no longer his parents child. He’s the child of his community, but then if he does better, then the community loses him to his tribe and with more excellence and goodness, tribe loses him to country, the same way the country loses him to the continent and finally the world takes him over.
Sheikh Nuhu Muzaata, was no longer his parents’ child, not a muganda, not a Muslim but a Ugandan. One in whom we all saw a bit of ourselves as for me and you he spoke. The more reason why his death, unlike the many that have occurred this sad year, has been especially painful and has caused us to lose a bit of ourselves.
He was a cultural man. He was a religious man. He was realistic and recognized very well the futility of life and the pursuits thereof. I am sure he’s wallowing with the angels.
Only one quote comes to mind; “Who ever planted an iroko tree – the greatest tree in the forest? You may collect all the iroko seeds in the world, open the soil and put them there. It will be in vain. The great tree chooses where to grow and we find it there, so it is with greatness in men”…Chinua Achebe
It’s not every day that we get a Muzaata, they choose to come to us.
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