Anita's Last Diary: The Chronicles of Her Fate

Anita's Last Diary

The Chronicles of Her Fate

The Watchful Angel

My name is Banura Akello. I had known Anita for a long time. Her other name was Aber, Aber Anita. Their family lived just in our neighbourhood, with their house being the biggest in our village, about a hundred meters from ours, the nearest one.

Anita stood about 5 feet tall, with an ideal African figure for a girl her age. She was more than just a best friend to me—but like a sister. We went to school together, played together, and did many other things together.

Anita's Last Diary: The Chronicles of Her Fate ebook cover

 I was only seven months older than her. I remember her sweet eyes, her bright teeth, and her polite, promising voice. She was the most humble and lovely person I had ever seen, and I must say, one of the most beautiful girls in our centre, Mbale—if not in the entire region!

Our families were close friends. We celebrated festivals together, consulted each other, trusted each other, and never had any misunderstandings. Many people thought Anita and I were actual sisters because we stayed together, played together, walked together, and laughed together. We were indispensable, inseparable, bound by our souls.

No one could ever tell me anything about Anita for I knew her inside out—her happiest and saddest moments, what made her happy or annoyed. We were the closest friends ever!

One of the few differences between us was our hobbies. I liked watching TV, while she was a fan of poetry, writing, and singing. Most of the time, I used to narrate my favourite series and movies to her because she was hardly allowed to watch TV at home. This became more than just a mutual hobby—it was like a ritual. I would watch and then narrate the stories to her, one cycle after another, and she loved them and followed them virtually. Bade Achhe Lagte Hain, Iris, and Pirates of the Caribbean were her favourites. She knew, I never liked her boring book stories.

Almost every week, she would borrow a storybook from our school library to read at home, whenever she got the chance. She admired the lives and minds portrayed in books and wished to be an author one day. She often told me about this dream.

In her school bag, she always carried her diaries, where she never forgot to note her daily memories. I always watched her writing, but I never considered it essential, even though she relentlessly encouraged me to do the same.

Everywhere, every time, I always chose Anita. I always loved her. I would watch her write, walk, eat, cry, work, and laugh while pondering in my heart. I always thought that perhaps, by destiny, she was created like that! Deep inside, I wondered whether the bond we shared was meant to last forever…

In her heart, Anita never forgot the terrifying fatal accident back in 2007 that took the life of her lovely mum, Karungi Asiimwe. Though she was just seven years old at the time, she knew very well that Miss Nnabalamu schemed it. She had hated her since.

Her mum Karungi knew about her father’s affair with a one woman Miss Nnabalamu, who was not only envious of her but had advanced to harming her and stealing her husband, Mr. Byante Paul Kahuma. Rumours have it they had many conflicts. Nnabalamu had threatened to erase Anita’s mother, Karungi, from the memories of this world!

It was a terrifying moment when, while Anita and her mum were riding in their car, another vehicle knocked them from behind, sending them off track and into a trench. Sadly, her mum never made it. Fortunately, Anita survived with minor injuries. She never forgot those hurtful memories.

Even though people repeatedly told Byante that his mistress, Nnabalamu, was evil and behind the fatal act, he never listened. Nnabalamu had enthralled and blinded him so much that he considered his wife’s death a mere accident. He refused to believe that his mistress had anything to do with it. He later married that beast!

Since then, Anita lived with her new family, with Nnabalamu as her stepmother. 

#Anita’s Last Diary

Eighth Anniversary of her mother’s death

        2nd December 2015

Today, you left me alone. I wish you know how much I miss you, Mama. Mama, even with all my sufferings and struggles in school, I worked hard and was promoted to the next class as one of the best... but it wasn’t easy! I promise to work even harder and succeed. Good morning, Mama...

[Later]

Mama, the world still doesn’t know what really happened to you. Everything was obfuscated, and justice denied. I, your child, suffered. Yes, the world has about you, not me, your loving lovely child. I still remember you, my lovely Mama.

This morning, I greeted him, but he didn’t answer me! He always does that, but for the past week, he’s been calm and sober. I pray he remembers you today, on this special day.

[Later]

My siblings are watching TV, and today has been fair to me. I did all of my work fast and early. I pray tomorrow and always will be good like today.

Good night to myself.

Customarily, when a stepmother joins a new family, she is expected to love and adapt to everything she finds in her new family, treating everyone equally, and being good and parental to her stepchildren. But Nnabalamu was by far the worst. She hated Anita very much, tormented her day and night, harassed her, segregated her, scorned her, and treated her like a slave. Anita became the black sheep of the family!

Physically, Nnabalamu was quite a nice-looking woman with a friendly face and smile that you could never imagine her to be the malicious sadist she was. Only her voice could entice you to be near her, but behind closed doors, she was a monster, a beast.

Anita’s siblings attended expensive boarding schools in the city, Kampala, while she had to attend local day schools from the beginning of her academic journey. After school, late in the evening, she always found a pile of work waiting for her. Sometimes she could find little or no food at home. Occasionally, I would sneak in to help her fetch water and do the dishes, but the rest—cooking, laundry, and cleaning their huge house—were her burdens. Any failure or mistake attracted serious punishment.

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