An Uncle Rwamiti Story About Knowledge, Courage, and Looking Within

The first time Uncle Rwamiti heard that Maria Mulungi had married herself, he nearly swallowed a fish bone.

“What do you mean she married herself?” he asked.

The messenger shrugged.

“Herself.”

“Herself?”

“Herself, not a man, but herself “.

Uncle Rwamiti stared into space.

“Then who was the best man?”

Nobody knew. There was no best man, only the matron.

Years later, whenever people told the story, the details became even stranger.

Some said she had walked down the aisle carrying a mirror.

Others insisted she had exchanged rings with herself.

One particularly creative relative claimed there had been a wedding cake with only one name written on it- maria weds maria!

But one fact was undisputed.

Maria Mulungi had shocked Kampala and East Africa in general.

And she had done it deliberately.

Maria had graduated near the top of her Commerce class at Makerere University.

Like many young graduates, she believed the world operated the way examinations did- on merit.

Study hard.

Perform well.

Win.

Instead she discovered a different reality.

Jobs were scarce.

Connections mattered.

Family names mattered.

Old school networks mattered.

Sometimes beauty mattered.

Sometimes things far less respectable mattered.

A classmate secured a job because her uncle knew somebody.

Another because her father knew somebody.

Another because she knew somebody’s son.

Maria knew accounting.

Unfortunately, accounting was not a relative.

Around her, many friends began finding security through marriage and cohabitation.

Some found love,albeit with strings attached.

Some found survival.

Some found both.

Baby showers multiplied.

Traditional introductions multiplied.

Wedding invitations arrived with frightening frequency.

Maria attended them-always alone!

She danced.

She smiled.

She bought gifts.

Then one evening she sat alone and asked herself a dangerous question.

“What if I stopped waiting for somebody else to complete me?”

Years later she would describe that moment as the most profitable question of her life.

The ceremony happened quietly.

A few trusted friends.

A rented garden.

A white dress.

Flowers.

Music.

A mirror.

A written declaration: I maria do hereby wed maria!

People laughed for years about the mirror.

Yet nobody remembered the words.

Those who were there said she stood before the mirror and declared:

“I am not half of a person waiting for another half.

I am already whole.

If I marry one day, it will not be because I need completion.

It will be because two complete people choose to walk together.”

The city exploded.

The gossip industry worked overtime.

Aunties nearly resigned from their profession.

Church committees held emergency discussions.

One newspaper columnist described her as “a threat to civilization.”

Uncle Rwamiti later remarked:

“If civilization can be destroyed by one woman carrying a mirror, perhaps civilization was weaker than advertised.”

While everyone debated her ceremony, Maria got busy.

Very busy.

The energy many people invested in impressing others, she invested in becoming herself.

She read.

Studied.

Travelled.

Volunteered.

Built networks.

Applied for scholarships.

Failed.

Applied again.

Failed again.

Applied again.

Succeeded.

Harvard MBA.

Then Nairobi.

Then senior leadership.

Then boardrooms.

Then influence.

Then investments.

Then a beautiful home overlooking the hills of Buziga.

The kind of house where visitors become temporarily religious.

Swimming pool.

Library.

Gardens.

Silence.

At fifty-four she had no husband.

No children.

No regrets.

At least none that she admitted publicly.

One evening Uncle Rwamiti visited her.

After admiring the swimming pool for an unnecessarily long time, he asked the question everyone secretly wanted answered.

“Maria, was marrying yourself worth it?”

She laughed.

“No.”

“No?”

“It was worth much more than that.”

Then she pointed toward her library.

Thousands of books.

Reports.

Research papers.

Notes.

Ideas.

Experiences.

Lessons.

Failures.

Stories.

Knowledge accumulated over three decades.

“Most people think the opposite of loneliness is marriage,” she said.

“I discovered the opposite of loneliness is purpose.”

Uncle Rwamiti nodded.

The old Buddhist teachers say:

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”

Then he added:

“Though they never mentioned swimming pools.”

The drive home gave Uncle Rwamiti another thought.

Most knowledge behaves exactly like people.

A thesis waits for approval.

A report waits for permission.

An expert waits for recognition.

A researcher waits for publication.

A founder waits for retirement.

Everybody waits.

Meanwhile valuable knowledge sits quietly in cupboards.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

As if somebody else must first validate its existence.

Yet Maria’s lesson was different.

The most important relationship she formed was not with another person.

It was with her own potential.

Knowledge faces the same choice.

It can spend decades waiting for recognition.

Or it can begin serving the world.

A forgotten thesis can become a book or audiobook.

A report can become a documentary or a play.

A founder’s memories can become a leadership programme or course.

A professor’s life’s work can become a course.

A grandmother’s wisdom can become a community archive.

Impact begins when knowledge stops waiting for permission.There is great need for us all to extract value and income from the knowledge we already possess.

History is full of people who understood this.

Isaac Newton spent long periods in solitary study.

Nikola Tesla famously devoted much of his life to ideas rather than family life.

Mother Teresa took vows that redirected her energy elsewhere.

Buddhist monks did it.

Catholic priests did it.

Scholars did it.

Inventors did it.

Not because relationships are unimportant.

But because they discovered that human energy can travel many roads.

Some invest it in families.

Others invest it in ideas.

Some manage both.

When Uncle Rwamiti finished the story, somebody asked:

“So what exactly are you saying?”

He smiled.

“I am saying that before knowledge marries the market, it should marry itself.”

The room fell silent.

“What does that mean?”

“It means stop asking whether your knowledge is good enough.”

He paused.

“Ask whether it is being used.”

The old man stood up.

“Some people spend their whole lives looking for someone to complete them.”

He picked up a dusty thesis from the table.

“And some pieces of knowledge spend their whole lives doing exactly the same thing.”

Then he grinned.

“The tragedy is that both were already complete from the beginning.”

Uncle Rwamiti’s Reflection

The greatest treasure you may ever discover is not new knowledge. It is finding the courage to fully use the knowledge you already possess.
Dr Petero wamala writes about unlocking value and income from what we already know.
Mbunifueastafrica@gmaill.com