While I do not have to define the meaning of the word memory, I find the concept fascinating. I believe that we all have areas in which our memories are strong and areas in which they are frustratingly weak. The storage of images, names, words etcetera – and their retrieval – is one of the mysteries of the workings of living things, human beings included.
The ability to relate the face and name of someone you have not seen in years is taken for granted when we are still young and the age-memory “tango” has yet to set in. In old age, we often say: “The name is familiar but I cannot put a face to it”. Other times, we meet someone and call them the wrong name while trying to make an impression with our memory.
We all suffer from memory loss with age, the only difference being the degree of loss and the age at which it starts. In fact, some manifestation of the insidious age-related memory loss can be comical. For example, somebody persistently searching for a pair of spectacles when they are already wearing them, or going to another room to do something only to get there and come up blank.
My reflections in this regard do not include amnesia, a condition characterized by the inability of a person to recall facts or previous experiences. This is a medical condition with a lot written about its causes, effects and treatments. I do not need to probe into it here.
On this podcast episode, I am musing over memories that come to me spanning a period of 75 years, many coming to me without any identifiable trigger. Some are emotional while others are pleasurable and readily entertained.
We do not pay much attention to the importance of memories in our day-to-day lives, but I believe that we learn by building on them. There are activities that are not learned and therefore have no basis in memory. For example, the very first step a child takes. We have no memory of learning how to walk or being breastfed.
If you ask yourself: “What is my earliest memory and at what age was I?” – the answer will not be obvious. Nevertheless, I wonder what the earliest recorded memory by the Guinness book of records is.
I have vivid memories between the ages of 3 and 5 and they are peppered with naughty and mischievous incidents. For example, conspiring with my father to suck sugar but being careful to ensure that my mother did not catch us in the act. My father had a sweet tooth all his life.
Mischief stands at the forefront when I delve into the memories of my youth and boarding school escapades, bring a smile to my face due to the foolishness of youthful exuberance. Other memories include events that constituted “forks in the road” in my life. For example, the memory of the Kings College Budo school strike in 1959, vague as it may be after such a long time, which I detailed in the previous episode
I find it puzzling how some fleeting incidents can stay in one’s memory for years while major events can be forgotten. For example, I have a vivid memory of an evening when I was a student at Makerere and decided to smoke a cigar for the first time. At the time, I thought cigars were supposed to be smoked like cigarettes and kept inhaling.
Within a short period of time, I started feeling sick and was barely able to walk from the dining room back to my sleeping quarters. This occurred 58 years ago but I have no recollection of my duty travel to St Lucia 43 years ago even though I met colleagues that commented on my contributions on that trip (whatever those contributions were). I hold many memories of trivial incidents while I need to be reminded of significant events of which I have no recollection!
As we age into our mid-seventies and over, we tend to dwell on the past, retelling old stories and forgetting that the people we are indulging have already heard them many times before. We recall incidents of 40, 50 or 60 years previous but cannot remember the name of a person that may have just walked out of the room.
Speaking of forgetting, ask me the name of a person, place or item and my mind has a tendency to go blank. The trick I use is to work through the alphabet and associate the letters to the name I am looking for. It works sometimes but when it doesn’t, the harder I try jogging my memory, the more frustrated I become until I am unable to recollect the name. Then, just as I have given in, voila, it pops up! Memories can be a mystery.
At times, memories of relatives, friends, and colleagues who passed away or we have not seen in a long time flood our minds, causing us to wonder how or where they are or why we are still alive by the grace of God.
Each memory comes with a string of other memories; some depressing and others uplifting. All things considered, the older we become, the larger the source of memories that we have to draw from. It is for this reason that one sees old people lost in deep thought. They are scrolling through the vast reserves of their memories.
Have you ever had a dream so vivid you started wondering whether or not you were drawing on an actual event in your past? Are dreams a form of memory, and is it possible to have a dream that is not triggered by an experienced event?
Not all memories are pleasurable and there are those that we hope to forget forever but unfortunately, they keep coming back! Some shameful incidents have witnesses and every time we recollect those, we may wonder how many of the witnesses in question remember them too.
On the other hand, pleasurable memories may not come back as frequently as unpleasurable ones. If a whiff triggers a flood of pleasurable memories, that individual, place or incident might not come back until the situation presents itself again.
There is a saying in Luganda: kyerabirwa mugambi sso ssi gwe bakigambye. The literal translation into English is: “It is forgotten by the speaker but not by the one spoken to”. In other words, we utter statements we forget but we remember the statements made to us. This rings especially true with many politicians who promise heaven on earth during political campaigns only to
forget what they said as soon as the elections are over. Their constituents, however, do not forget the unfulfilled promises. Food for thought.
I can’t remember all that I had intended to muse over… age is having a tango with my memories. Cheers.