Twenty years ago, a bullet changed my entire life. One bullet. Not two. Twenty years ago, on March 4, 2000, at exactly 07:33 p.m., a man fell on the ground in my presence, touched by one bullet. How could a bullet, one that costs less than 10 US dollars bring down a man who owned properties, cars and whose bank account’s balance was worth more than 10 US dollars? How could it be that that one bullet could not give him even a chance to negotiate a deal?
An imperfect yet true and sincere man fell before me at the sound of just one gunshot. Not two.
How could one bullet change my perception of life? A moment you wish that the time machine was real so you would rewind and change the course of the events.
No amounts of tears, no amounts of curses, no amounts of supplications or prayers could reverse the effect of that one single bullet.
That one bullet did not just bring down a husband to someone, a father to seven, a brother to many, an uncle to many more, but a friend to humanity. How could just one small bullet destroy an entire community? An entire humanity?
If a man can use his intelligence to create such a powerful weapon, why has he failed to use the same brain to create peace? Let us not fool ourselves. Just look at the portion of the budget that your country and my country use for military expenses and you will understand why that one bullet is so powerful.
The making of weapons may create a job opportunity for someone in one part of the world but it does destroy not just a job, but the source of hope, joy, and peace for many others more in another part of the world.
That’s the power of one bullet.
Gone but not forgotten.
RIP Papa Abel Kwamiso.