Chorogascar

I have always wanted to visit Turkana. To explore the beautiful land from kalokol to Lomelo and the likes of Lokichogio. I want to take a break from names like Onyango and kinuthia. I want to meet Ewoi, Ekai, Deng and Tukei. When I buy my Suzuki swift, as I take it home for my parents anointing I will pass by Turkana. I will use their sandy roads and leave the tread prints of my car sketched on their soil. Later in the day, I will drive to Chorogascar. It’s a small town in Turkana that boarders northern Uganda. I will wait until it’s late and take a nice picture of the setting sun and the herd of cattle heading back home.

Ng’ikadelio Marie tells a story, a story about her motherland chorogascar. She says they neighbour the Karamojong community. They almost speak the same language, just a little variation in the tones and pronunciation. Most of the folks there are Catholics. When the missionaries came to Turkana from Uganda, they first settled in Chorogascar, an answer to why most of them are Catholics.

I grew up with an undefinable fear of Catholicism. The way they recited their prayers scared the hell out of me. I feared looking at the images; I feared moving an inch closer to them. I just couldn’t. I was scared of the holy water dropping on me. I would literally escape it, if the father ever saw me I don’t know what he thought of me. Nevertheless, I was just a scared child not used to such. My grandfather was a catholic however, and sometimes during Christmas, we would attend the mass. Before I knew it I was just as comfortable in a catholic church as anyone else.

Chorogascar is Ng’ikadelio’s home. She says it’s not just her home but her safe haven. Her place of refuge, a place she can get in at will and even walk out in protest but will still be welcome. It is not just a random dirty village as most of us thought. She has already pardoned us for that mistake - we didn’t know what we were doing.  Anytime she thinks of Chorogascar, she thinks of home. It’s a two in one thing. She has always traced her roots to Chorogascar to hold her shit together. Whenever she’s hurt by the cruel, unkind outside world, she thinks of home. Chorogascar, where she will always be a baby no matter the age of time.  Where she is allowed to cry and complain without fear of judgement.

Sweet home, where there is always someone constantly praying for you. They say ‘akuj tang’aa iyong ngike rotin, topia wadaang notoorit, kitililimi iyong etau keng kotere erai iyong ngesi kolong kiinakiniayong ngesi’ God open the ways for my child and guide her wherever she sets her foot.

Home is where people will be worried when you overstay in bed. Someone will come looking for you and ask if you’re okay. You’d better not be okay because the rest would be a long story. Chorogascar, where there is healthy food as compared to what we eat in the city. Where food is not improvised in the labs and such like.

A safe haven, where someone is proud of you and your small achievements. Where they appreciate that as little as it is, it took you some effort. When she could not find a job, she traced her way to Chorogascar to take some breath. When she wanted a baby and she couldn’t get she ran to the same Chorogascar to find certain answers. When the baby came and the dad disappointed, she ran back home. Her drawing board, where she can restructure her plans and find a new bearing.

Her children love Chorogascar, they always want to go there for holidays to see grandma. They love home with an equal energy as hers.  Sometimes she wonders if it’s her mum who makes Chorogascar taste like milk and honey or if Chorogascar is just Chorogascar.

After the long adventure, I will drive home to my parents and show my gratitude to them for being my Chorogascar, my safe haven. I will definitely buy something to carry with me, a hamper maybe.