SEASONS OF READING: How books became my companion over different seasons.
In a slow town tucked under the mountains, I learned that some journeys happen between pages.
“A good book is more than a story, it’s a companion, a voice across time, a hand reaching for yours in the stillness of the seasons.”
Growing up, books weren’t just pastimes for me. They were companions, steady, loyal presences that made the quiet parts of life feel a little more alive. I grew up in Fort Portal, a small, mist-laced town tucked away on the foothills of the Rwenzori Mountains in western Uganda. Life there moves at a pace the rest of the world seems to have forgotten. People still find importance in mundane things, the rhythm of a market day, the sound of rain starting on the roof, the routine greeting of neighbors you see daily. It’s the kind of place where time feels heavy in your hands, and somehow, that slowness calls for a book. A good view of the mountains, their silent and ancient presence, felt like an invitation to open a novel and wander elsewhere for a while. The atmosphere in Fort Portal sets its own tone. Cold air wraps itself around the town almost all year-round, giving the evenings a kind of heavy, misty tenderness. The scene is me sitting outside by a crackling campfire, my hands wrapped around a chipped mug of rosemary-infused tea, the pages of a book rustling gently with the night breeze. The mist would creep in around the flames, and somewhere in the soft crackle of the firewood, stories would bloom. That cold, patient air created the perfect space for long, winding novels, the kind you can lose whole afternoons to. The kind of books that demand you to slow down, just like the town itself did. The mist made everything blur a little at the edges, and maybe that’s why the world inside books always felt just a little closer, a little more real.
In Fort Portal, there wasn’t a bustling reading culture. The town had one small public library, modest, dusty, barely whispered about. Reading wasn’t a celebrated activity; if anything, it was seen as slightly odd, slightly impractical. Books weren’t common, so when you found one you loved, it wasn’t just a distraction but a treasure. Each book felt like a secret door only you could find. In a place where conformity often quietly ruled, reading became a quiet rebellion. An act of choosing wonder over routine. Curiosity over predictability. Dreaming when everyone else was satisfied with simply enduring. And maybe that’s why books never lost their magic for me. Because from the beginning, reading wasn’t just something to do but a purposeful act. A way to step outside the neat lines life tries to draw around you. I realize now how much the seasons shaped my habits. The cold made room for longer stories. The mist made the real world feel softer, gentler and perfect for getting lost in someone else’s world.
Taking a friend of mine (Sybella) on a tour around Fort Portal. At Mabere ‘ga Nyina Mwiru in Nyakasura.
A New Season, A New Pace
Today, I live in Dubai, a city that couldn’t be more different from Fort Portal if it tried. If Fort Portal is a slow river, then Dubai is a relentless, rushing tide. Here, life is fast, demanding, and unapologetically competitive. There’s a quote by the ruler of Dubai that captures the spirit of the place perfectly:
“In the UAE, it doesn’t matter if you’re a cheetah or an antelope—when you wake up, you have to be running.”
And he’s right. From the moment you open your eyes, it feels like you’re already behind. Everyone’s moving, building, chasing, working. There’s no room for hesitation. Life here is built on momentum, and if you don’t keep up, it’s easy to get swallowed by the speed of it all. The weather only adds to the contrast. Dubai is hot, like relentlessly hot. During the brutal summers, the temperatures can soar to 35 degrees Celsius and beyond. The air hangs heavy, thick, almost metallic. It’s not the kind of heat that invites cozy evenings with a book and a cup of tea. It’s the kind that drains you before the day even properly begins. Culture, too, was a shock at first. Coming from a slow, communal town where everyone knows your name, to a sprawling, hyper-modern city where people pass each other like shadows, it was jarring. In Fort Portal, time was a companion but in Dubai, it’s a currency you’re constantly spending and working here as a barista only amplifies that feeling. It’s a demanding job of early mornings, long hours on your feet, the endless rhythm of orders and expectations. By the time I drag myself home and pick up a book, it might as well be a sleeping pill. The exhaustion isn’t just physical; it’s deep, seeping into your spirit. Some nights, the idea of reading feels like one more thing to do instead of something to savor.
And yet, even here, reading has adapted rather than disappeared.
The seasons, the pace, the environment, they’ve all changed what and how I read. Long, winding novels have given way to shorter forms. I find myself reaching more often for plays now, which is my favorite form of literature. Quick, intense and layered. Plays fit this season of life in a way novels no longer can. A few pages of dialogue can carry the same weight as chapters of prose. I think. This shift led me to discover new writers, like Khalil Gibran, whose words I’ve completely fallen in love with. His writing feels like a bridge, spiritual, precise, and powerful in its brevity. It’s the kind of literature that holds deep oceans in small cups, perfect for a life moving fast but still hungry for meaning.
Summer in Dubai features intense heat above 100°F (38°C) under a clear sky above the iconic skyline, including the Burj Khalifa. Despite the heat, culture thrives. Streets are quiet during the day, with residents flocking to air-conditioned malls like the Dubai Mall and Mall of the Emirates for shopping and dining.
Seasons Change, Stories Stay
If there’s anything my journey has taught me, it’s that life will always change its pace, its climate, its language. Sometimes, it will sweep you off your feet and demand you run faster than you ever thought you could. Other times, it will sit quietly with you by a misty campfire and ask nothing more than your attention. And through all of it, through small-town slowness and big-city chaos still books have remained a constant companion. Their form has changed, their frequency has changed, but the pull has never left. In Fort Portal, reading was a slow unfolding, a quiet rebellion, a way of dreaming when the world felt small. In Dubai, reading has become an anchor, a stolen breath, a way of staying human in a city that never stops moving. The seasons of our lives will always demand different things from us. But the stories we love and those we carry with us like tucked-away letters always remind us who we are beneath all the change.
Because at the end of the day, no matter where you are, or how much the world asks of you, there’s always another page waiting.
There’s always another companion ready to walk with you through the shifting seasons of your life.
