17/05/2026
Five Minutes Apart, Lifelong Bond, The Entebbe Twin Story of 1977
On the 18th of May 1977, a Wednesday in the quiet early hours of the morning, beneath the soft blanket of moonlight that covered Entebbe, our story began.
Inside the legendary Grade “B” Hospital Entebbe, two tiny babies entered the world , mucous-covered, loud, restless, and determined to announce their arrival to the town. A boy and a girl. Twins. The first cries echoed through the maternity ward with the force of warriors arriving on earth. Looking back today, I often laugh imagining our father, a man whose presence could only be compared to the modern-day strength and spirit of Moses Golola, standing there overwhelmed by the sight of not one child, but two.
The world outside must have felt unbearably cold after the warmth of our mother’s womb, and perhaps it is a blessing that we remember none of those first uncomfortable moments. Yet even within our very first minutes on earth, my twin sister had already begun telling her own story. While I arrived first, she chose to remain behind for another five minutes, almost as though she wanted a dramatic entrance of her own. And when she finally came, she was beautiful. Calm. Precious. Complete.
Some would say our mother was lucky to have twins. I say she endured everything that day. The pain, the fear, the excitement, and the miracle of bringing into the world both a son and a daughter at once. A boy ( Isingoma). A girl ( Nyakato). Twins. And today, many decades later, I remain deeply proud to say: I am a twin.
In those days, the birth of twins in old Entebbe was never an ordinary event. It belonged to the community as much as it belonged to the family. Neighbors spoke about it with wonder. Elders carried the news from one home to another. Our arrival felt like a celebration not only for our parents, but for the town itself.
Years later, another set of twins would be registered at Grade B Hospital, but we proudly remain part of what we call the Entebbe twin originals — children born into the soul of the old town, raised during a time when neighborhoods behaved like extended families and every child belonged to everyone.
As tradition demanded, we grew up dressed alike. Matching outfits became our identity. Same fabrics. Same colors. Same carefully chosen styles. Looking back now as a grown man, I cannot help but smile remembering myself in those coordinated twin outfits that the fashionistas of the time adored so much. Twins were treated like special treasures to be displayed beautifully, and our parents embraced it fully.
Long before people knew our official names, we were known by our traditional twin names. Those names became stitched into our identity. They echoed through Block C then Airport flats, through school compounds, church gatherings, marketplaces, and family functions. Even today, some of the elderly people who carried us as babies, sang us lullabies, or watched us take our first steps still call us by those twin names without hesitation.
And today our children often become confused hearing older people call their parents by childhood twin names with such confidence and affection. To them, it sounds strange. But to us, it is one of the sweetest reminders that we belonged to a generation and a community that truly embraced twins as something sacred.
Growing up as twins also came with myths, mystery, and neighborhood folklore. In our part of Entebbe, people jokingly believed that if you annoyed twins, they could somehow “burn” or “fire” you. Whether people truly believed it or not, nobody wanted to take chances. Perhaps that explains why we grew up wrapped in unusual kindness, care, protection, and affection from nearly everyone around us.
At home, if one twin disappeared from sight, the first question was always directed to the other.
“Where is your brother?”
“Where is your sister?”
At school it was no different. Teachers called our names together as though separating us was impossible. If one made noise, both were warned. If one excelled, both were praised. If one was missing, concern immediately followed. In many ways, we were never viewed as two separate individuals. We were a pair. A complete sentence made of two lives.
And perhaps that is the quiet magic of being twins.
You grow sharing more than birthdays and faces. You share memories, illnesses, punishments, laughter, secrets, and silences that no one else can fully understand. Sometimes one twin could sense the mood of the other without words. Sometimes our laughter alone became enough conversation. Even our mischief became legendary around Block C because wherever one twin appeared, the other could never be far away.
The roads of the once golden Entebbe became witnesses to our childhood. The evening games. The tarmac roads from home to school. The greetings from neighbors. The endless questions from curious strangers. Everywhere we went, people remembered us.
Today, as adults with families of our own, nostalgia visits gently. It comes through old photographs. Through familiar streets. Through elderly voices still calling us by our twin names. Through stories repeated at gatherings. And through the realization that our twinhood was never just a personal story it became part of the living memory of Entebbe itself.
A special thank you to our mother, Nalongo.
Tradition may have shifted her title after she brought forth a second set of twins, as custom dictates when such a rare blessing is repeated. But to us, and to everyone who knows her story, she has never been anything else.
She remains Nalongo in name, in heart, and in the way the community still speaks her name with love.
Thank you, Mama Nalongo as Entebbe community still calls you, for carrying not one, but two sets of twins into the world for the pain, the strength, and the quiet grace behind our beginning. You and your sweet husband now late are the foundation of our story, and the reason it exists at all.
When the twins match the times, something beautiful happens. There is a softness twins carry into the world a quiet humanity, a natural meekness, a bond that even strangers can feel. Perhaps that is why twins inspire people so deeply. Even the blind can sense the warmth of twinhood.
And so, from that moonlit Wednesday morning in May 1977 until today, ours remains a story of love, memory, identity, and belonging.
A boy.
A girl.
Five minutes apart.
Forever connected.
To thy love we today celebrate happiness and good health, We're lucky to be a part of a unique minority that has this privilege.Happy birthday to me AND my TWIN sis!! ( PICTURED).
Charles
Artistic Writer | Curator | Rotarian
Pride Of Entebbe
