Ever wondered why moths never learn? Why do they flock to lantern nets, though their kin lie lifeless by the heaps on the floor? Do they never ponder the cause? Or do they, like fools, march on to a certain death, beguiled by the charm of the flame? It flickers; it dances about seductively, calling them to an experience of a lifetime. Flock they do, and die they must. Some say the reason for this is that they see the light and assume that there is a world of flowers in the place where the light is waiting to be pollinated…the little moths see the light in the distance and begin to lick their lips because dinner is calling fiercely, but alas, the sun they think is a far off turns out to be too close and zap, zap freeze, their life ends with a bang. Another theory, however, suggests that the moths see the light as a celestial body and try to use it for navigation, like a north star! A singular stationary point that they can use to head in a specific direction. However, the lanterns are not celestial and rather small, so as they approach it, they end up spiralling around it, trying to use it as a pointer and end up missing the heat that suddenly takes them out. I tend to lean towards the second theory. We are not moths, and I have yet to hear the testimony of a dying moth on the matter…
I once had a moth experience. At that time, I was a simple young person struggling to find my way, a living and a purpose for living. I hopped from place to place, online and in person, but nothing showed up. There seemed to be nothing I was suited for, and I could barely imagine anything going well. My mind was blank on the way forward, distressed about the good or would-have-been-good I seemed to have left behind, and the stress was mounting. It was an all-time low for me. I hadn’t had the privilege of idleness for many years and the idleness was eating away at my small savings, things were not looking good. I had been working since my Senior Six (S6) vacation days and I had barely stopped. Even after university, just after exams were completed, I got a call to start working part-time somewhere. I had not interviewed for jobs much; they just seemed to come right when I needed them and always with a smooth transition. This was different. I had left my previous employment because I could no longer live in that town. I had to come back home and now I wondered if I shouldn’t have opted to become a beggar there rather than leave. Suddenly things were not working out as they had before. I began to panic. See, jobs in Uganda had become like gold. Digging for a week non-stop was no guarantee of reward for your labour. The opportunity options were both slim and scarce. After a long wait and search, putting pen to paper and shamelessly chasing any opportunity that looked like it could work out, I finally got a call for an interview. Now for this job, you filled out an application form and were selected for an interview should the first sieving process let you through.
When I got the call to attend an interview, you can imagine I was elated. My waning hope plumped up again and I could see a light at the end of the tunnel. I hadn’t been to many interviews before. I seemed to have got my last five jobs with the organisations at my mercy so to speak. I mean I was working elsewhere and they were panicked because someone had quit and I came highly recommended by someone they trusted. So in I went and did the work. So you can imagine the strain I felt having to apply and apply and apply some more. For reasons unknown to me, I was catching no break. All was elusive and I started to taste that sour taste of depression and bitterness in my mouth. My mood was so bad, I did not like my own company. So you can imagine I slept quite a bit to get away from her… I mean she was driving me crazy. In my waking moments, I pouted a lot. Never mind that I lacked nothing, living at home and all. I wasn’t the kind to engage in anything wrong. I was just troubled by the seeming abyss of hopelessness. I finally did get a few interviews that looked promising, assuming that I would get the job seeing I was not unqualified. But that wasn’t quite enough. Nothing hurts an unemployed desperado like being told, we shall not even interview you because you are overqualified. I needed something to do. My hands and feet were literally itching and no decent work was beneath me.
It was about January the next year that I decided, you know in my new year’s resolution, to make a change to my approach. I always do that with prayer and take it quite seriously for the rest of the year. So the resolution was that I was not going to stress about work. I was going to trust I’d get a job and I was not going to be depressed, distressed or foul-faced. I was going to do what was right. And with that resolve, the change was achieved. I began to live to the fullest within my means, expecting a long dry spell but glad that I had a roof over my head, food on my table every day and of course data on my phone. I had much to be thankful for and to be honest, the biblical principles of contentment and counting my blessings worked wonders. Not to boast, but I liked her (the new me) very much. I loved my own company and started to treat myself well and just do well. I started to grow. I flourished, inside and out. It is hard to describe but let us say I was doing quite well. It was then that I met Charisma. A friend introduced us and said our passions aligned and our collaboration would likely yield benefits for both.
Charisma was a well-celebrated phenomenon, a bag of glittering gold, a rare gem of a person, and the embodiment of liquid magic in words. Far and wide, Charisma won acclaim. Praise and admiration were the gazes of all who knew and heard of Charisma. He spoke with eloquence, and magic was in how he twisted the words and weaved lines so sweetly the audience was always left in awe. It was no ordinary thing. There had been significant financial and otherwise challenges that lodged themselves in the path of his success, blocking off access, but Charisma would not have it; by brawn, determination, and an unadulterated uniqueness, victory had been obtained. It was no small fit. He had learned from his mistakes and now stood at the top of the mountain. He was influencing many and making his mark on the world. That was the dream. For the sake of others, he had placed himself between dismal disappointment in the present and offered a path to a better future yet to be seen but glimmering brightly in the distant future and pregnant with succulent promise. The path he had designed was filled with possibility; what you could be was up to you. The stage was set; you just had to dance to the beat and walk the path: the millennial dream, the Gen Z hope and paradise.
I did not know Charisma much, but he had come highly recommended. As I said before, he was renowned as a forerunner in his field. He had created the field and was a visionary genius. The conversation went well, and a collaboration was initiated. I agreed to assist with a project, and we sat down to discuss the project and the goal. By the end of the discussion, I had taken flight. The wheels were turning, and I sprang into the kitchen and began to create a recipe. I had been sold on the dream and was in with both feet. That is how I morphed into a moth. The vision painted before me was light, and Charisma was the voice that spurred me on. Even though the heat was beginning to hurt and my feet started to bleed, I kept running.
As the river of moths danced to the tune of the orchestrating Charisma on the way to the dreams, each eager for the dream, the promise of the goal that set our wings to flight before our inner vision, we journeyed a while, elated and inflated. Some of us were fat with hubris and oozed with pride, not knowing our ignorance. We held lectures now and then on the glories of the light we were pursuing. Our eyes glistened, our feet set to a rhythm so poetic that envy was the heart of those who watched. We had struck the proverbial gold and were the cream of the crop waiting to bud and make the world a better place. Each moth was elevated to lead, and each one was a collaborator. Such freedom did we enjoy that no moth complained. At least, it seemed so. But, as we fluttered our way forward, the many-headed dragon began to struggle. Fights erupted on the grounds of the vision and the position of the moths. Soon it became clear that Charisma had sold the moths different visions and they were all clamouring for that which had set each on fire. Each one was a champion for the real vision and represented Charisma’s vision, yet each represented his own dream. Charisma was adept at selling dreams but not in reaching them.
It was in this place of chaos that things began to change. I had been running well for a year and then some and was still the same old person I had resolved to be in January of the previous year. I managed to dodge collisions initiated by other moths to keep running towards the goal. Safe to say collaboration ceased to exist and instead it was every lord for himself. Some of the moths continued to serve the purpose of the call but the key moths would not endure the pursuit of a dream they did not share. What was funny in the scenario is that the dreamland was the same but the recipes were different and there was a war over the recipes being adopted. The drive to win and be at the top drove more moths than the drive to get to the Promised Land. And the egos had grown so big inflated by Charisma. He alone was to be followed. And not seeing eye-to-eye there was chaos. It was at this time that Charisma began to see that there was trouble. The moths were in disarray and he wished for it to stop. He called each head moth aside and sang his tune for each. Convinced each moth that they alone had received such validation. The infighting continued. So as the chaos came to a crescendo, he sought a moth that could speak moth and change the tide of things. War had to be averted in our little paradise. That is when he met her.
A lovely moth, gorgeous, brown, polished. Not the kind you find in dunk places but one you would spot only in the most expensive places. She was brilliant, talented and accomplished, or was she? I know that upon meeting her, you knew you had met someone out of the common league, this was the premiership, and only a few got to play. Not even greetings were afforded those that did not bear the mark of approval, and nothing was denied this glorious beauty of a moth, for she was also a go-getter. She was fierce but sweet, the ultimate temptation. Nectar hidden among thorns, a fearsome woman, an excellent specimen. She met Charisma one fateful afternoon, and he knew she was the one! Charisma was a flame like no other. His words smelled of roses and glittered like gold. So like fire, they called her to action; drew her in; her legs were walking before she knew it. A warm bed of sweet nothings paved the way, and glittering sights kept calling because Charisma was no novice in the game. For it was a game, and they were both in it. Adept in the art of war, familiar with the push and pull philosophy, armed with diction and the gift of gab, there was a slew of following moths in his wake. He was just what she needed for a Master.
We were dancing furiously, reaching desperately, like caricatures on a stage, depicting the struggle of the African child with elaborate stretches and intense gazes. But we listened to different songs. We had not noticed that we each had our earphones on and had received different music to dance to. All we knew was the other people were messing up the dance because they were out of tune. And we were mad. They were messing up our stage performance!! And the beautiful moth began to slash and slap. Bloody noses were the norm for the mob now. Shrill sounds emanated from different parts of the crowd, and we all knew the beautiful moth had struck again. She left us sore; she drove us mad. Nothing seemed to be able to dissuade her from thrashing among us and making life unbearable for us all.
Caught in the middle of a scuffle I was still compelled by the vision in me and the character I had built to attain the goal. There arose complaints about the progress we were making. A sort of belief that if we were making it, it was because we were sabotaging something or someone else. The accusations poured in and were like arrows from a child to his parents’ hearts. Every sacrifice was interpreted as pride, every effort for collaboration an imposition of my will, and it wore me out. But I held on, believing that at some point we would all see that we were on the same team and there was no need to fight or sabotage each other. And then it came, the day that Charisma believed them all, and I was called into a meeting to say I was the problem. I realised at once that all the slashes from the beautiful moth were not her own; every time she burned she was only a puppet doing the will of her master. She was a loyal servant, given to a vision she too had been sold. We all, like zombified puppets, had been used for an end, not our own, an end we knew nothing about. Charisma was a flirt with an evil heart. A beguiling force that left you crippled by promises and praises, and laughed in the background as you rotted away. Charisma showed his face twice in a short time, which was too much to bear. If anything is worse than being deceived, it is knowing you were a willing fool in that deception. It hurt worse than the clamorous clashes, and it dented the soul.
When I think of it now, it was lucky that God separated me from the moth swarm at that time, so I had some time to collect my wings and move on. To avert my eyes from a false light calling me to my death for a pretentious cause. But I was never the same again. I was bitter, I was afraid, and I was alone. Had I been kicked out of the club, it would have been okay, but I was asked to carry on as if what I did was important even though all so loathed it. It was more than a slap to the face, like a mosquito crushed between a hand and a wall that had been shut down. The venom of regret, anger, and bitterness crept through me and it showed. I watched myself devolve into an anxious bundle of nerves. I had to watch for those swatting motions that came out of nowhere, and I had to make progress towards a goal that suddenly seemed so dim because I had given my word.
I lugged my body about for months upon months. Unable to shake the pain of the knife, I felt in my back, increasingly darkened by the bitter poison my heart seemed to pump throughout my weakened body. I was in and out of the hospital as stress and strain grew into illness, and the manifestation of 70 years began to show up in my 27-year-old body. I was broken, and I had not noticed it. Now in hindsight, I know when it started, the death within, but at that time, I merely saw a deterioration of my character and struggled not to drown in my problem. I was a mess.
It was then I began to see what was wrong. I had sold myself to the vision without examining the playing field. I was a team member trying to score here when that was but my own dream. Charisma was not aiming at the dream I thought we shared but at something else, and that was the problem. I took a long, hard look at myself, and realised I had set to flight on presumed fellowship, assumed shared values and a shallow understanding of Charisma. I was party to my destruction. You know what they say? Ignorance was no defence. I wish I could say that was it, I resolved to change, and was another person the following week, but no. The damage lasted two years, and I needed some time to recuperate. It took daily decisions to look and look again, to forgive and let live for the heart to stop pounding in anxiety; to accept my humanness and how I could not possibly protect myself from all swings, I can now stand up and forgive. I can be wiser after a fall and make the most of what I have. I had to learn to choose my battles and choose my paths carefully. To understand the tune before I joined the dance and to cleanse the soul every day. I changed again, not for the worse but for the better, not by circumstance but by intentional choice.
It is worthwhile to note that your sanity is not only kept by glittering praise and hopeful dreams. There is a need for an impetus to grow and grow with others who can do life with you. An old man once said not all who praise you love you, and not all who criticise you hate you. There needs to be discernment on our part as to whom to follow and to what degree we allow them room in our hearts. Discernment should guard passion, and wisdom should guide trust. I nearly lost myself for those who still mock me to date, and it was not worth it. Learn from my moth experience; make sure the north star you choose is a star and not a lantern.