'Uyu muhungu arasa n'umunyarwanda' (This boy looks like a Munyarwanda), my only Rwandan classmate, Kazayire, pointed out.
'He is, I know him,' I lied to stop her from further comments, knowing they could be good or bad. Joseph did not respond. He simply continued reading his books as if he had not heard us.
Kololo was one of the largest schools in Uganda, with a population of more than 2,000 students.
To maintain order, 'O' level students were allowed a one-off 40-minute library session. I could tell from his grey trousers that he was an 'A' level student.
If he was a Munyarwanda, he must have been new because we made efforts to get to know each other. As fate would have it, we ended that evening in the same dormitory, West 4 at Bugolobi Hostel, and our friendship began.
I have deliberately avoided prefixing my memories and tributes with his several well-deserved titlesâ€"not out of disrespect but for several reasons.
One is that they were all titles he merited, but it's difficult to use them all. Should I simply call him an old friend, Mudaheranwa, as we fondly called him? Many non-Kinyarwanda speakers found it difficult to pronounce this name.
I remember someone asking, 'Is that a name or a sentence?' Should I call him Doctor, Honorable Minister, Ambassador, or Senator? By the way, another important role and title rarely mentioned is 'Member of High Command,' as he was a member of the RPA High Command during the liberation struggle.
Back to our youthful days in high school: befriending him was an adventure filled with laughter, mischief, and unconditional love. He wasn't just one of my best friends but also a confidant and partner in several activitiesâ€"some of which I dare not write about.
When we first met, he had just come from a rural school and knew very little about Kampala, Uganda's capital.
He trusted me to show him around, introducing him to the different corners of the city: where to shop for discounted clothes and which old women in the neighboring slums sold cheap hot meals and local brews, often on credit.
He often gave me undue credit, claiming that I made him a doctor. His equally jolly wife, Anne, would tell me how often she heard that claim. It goes back to his final high school examination.
Like many students, he had doubts about which university course to apply for. As his close friend, I insisted he put medicine as his first choice. Seeing my persistence, he handed me his application form and said, 'Here, just put what you want.' I initially thought he was joking, but he wasn't. I filled in MBChB (Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery) as his first choice.
That was the extent of our camaraderie and trust: he could entrust his junior to determine his future career! The rest is history. He passed, went to medical school, and became Dr. Joseph Mudaheranwa Karemera. He has credited me with this decision many times over.
With the exception of that post-exam doubt, Mudaheranwa, as we fondly called him, had the instinct and courage to prioritize tomorrow's greater cause over today's comforts.
I vividly remember when, as a refugee in Kenya, he abandoned a very lucrative job as Chief Medical Officer of a private hospital, earning more than three times the normal remuneration of a doctor, to pursue a master's degree in gynecology at the University of Nairobi.
Everyone who cared tried to convince him that even with the master's degree, it would be difficult to find a job that paid as well as what he had. But his mind was made up. Having failed to convince him, we joked that he must like the opposite sex so much that he chose gynecology!
Soon, he abandoned the post-graduate course to join the Uganda National Resistance Army (NRA). From Kenya, instead of staying in a hotel he could afford or with military officers, he stayed in my room at Makerere University's Complex Hall.
Our high school friendship remained intact. When he told me he was leaving his studies to go 'mu Kichaka' (into the bush), I thought it was just his humor. But again, he had seen that only through military training could we liberate our homeland.
I could write on and on about my experiences with this departed comradeâ€"a doctor, a member of High Command, a cabinet minister, an ambassador, a senator, and above all, a husband, father, and grandfather. Fifty years of friendship is too long to capture in a few pages.
Let me pause. For those who were with us in high school, do you remember how, despite being a scientist, he loved to quote literature books? One of his favorites was Shakespeare, especially Marc Antony's speech at Julius Caesar's funeral: 'Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears…'
Joseph had memorized the entire speech.
'I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones…'
He loved that quote. But no, Joseph, I refuse to accept it in your case. I promise you that the good you did will live on for many years. It lives in the liberation struggle to which you contributed.
It lives in the fact that our children and grandchildren will not grow up stateless, as you and I did. It lives in the fact that, as Minister of Education, you initiated the Rwanda National Examination Council, ensuring Rwandan students were admitted to schools transparently.
Like Antony's final words: 'Bear with me; my heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, and I must pause till it comes back to me.' That is the same for me, Joseph. My heart is in that coffin with you until it comes back.
This week, we come together to celebrate your life, a journey we all take, some sooner than others. Your spirit will live on in our memories and the love we shared.
The memory I cherish most was his unwavering optimismâ€"even during tough challenges, like in the bush when the medical team he led had no anesthesia. He remained resilient, finding light in the darkest of moments and being a pillar of strength for us all.
As we bid farewell to this fallen hero, let us remember the memories we shared. Though he may no longer walk beside us, his spirit will live on in our hearts forever.
To Anne, Numutari Karemera: remember the good times we shared before you became husband and wife. Let his passing not end our friendship. Though I may not have much to offer you and your children, count on me for moral support.
Mweusi Karake
