Boarding school in Uganda
We usually stayed in the dormitory, or jumped over the school fence to relax under a barren mango tree in the school farm. This to some skilled’ friends was a time to mint monies from games like playing cards and draft. To the rest of us it was investment time, a time when we hired mercenaries to play cards and give us returns and dividends on our investment. Business was good, I must say. Because hey, we were never taxed and the mercenaries were top notch. This went on without a black spot, warnings were sounded but like HE Museveni’s continued shun on corruption year in year out, we never hang our boots. The only slight trouble I visibly recall is when my friends lied to our teacher of Physics that I was back at home seeking medical attention after being absent in an afternoon physics lesson and miraculously with the devil’s aid, dad came to school to give me up keep money for the coming week since he wasn’t going to be at home over the weekend, when I usually went home to pick the money. More to the upkeep, some uncle wanted to see how older I’d grown since he had last seen me in my lower primary school. Otherwise, angel Michael was always on our side.
The afternoon I wish to share is one when as we rested in the dormitory as we’d always gone about it, the toughest teacher I’ve seen my entire life (this one would have beaten Phelps at the Olympic gold medals if toughness was a category too) lol... As always, his appearance came like a thunderstorm. He closed the door to the first dormitory on the block, to the next, next, you’d hear stamps of racing students, cheers from onlooking students, the rest y’all know.
That afternoon, he walked straight to my dormitory, Tigers 18 precisely. We all saw him through the glass window, my friends ran out of the dormitory. I said to myself “this is not how I’ll bow outta my pride”. Ninjas don’t die that easily. I went straight to the floor beneath the decker. The teacher did what he was best known for, scaring around, promising to forgive whoever showed up at that point. I up to-date don’t buy that Roman - doctrine. I could listen to thoughts in my mind that encouraged me to stay there even if he showed up with a nuclear bomb on my behind.
Two boys surrendered, they were beaten to a pulp. What else was I supposed to believe, dude was murdering people even after extending his signature olive branch. He walked to my bed, loudly wondered how happy ‘ka Ninyebuuza’ (nickname) might have been to attend Friday afternoon class. Surely, how happy could I have been?. I could hear the rage and anger in his voice and hiss. I stretched slowly, raised my right arm to my forehead, made the sign of the cross, said a few prayers and asked God to receive my soul and let it rest eternally. I said my Amen and closed my eyes.
Come to think of it, if that guy had afforded beating almost to death the boys who willingly surrendered to his side of forgiveness how about a ‘Ninyebuuza’ who was acting’ Kayihura’(Ugandan Inspector General of police) under the bed, wasn’t I going to earn a painful death by hanging by the balls with a sack of bees tied around my neck?! lolest.....
On opening my eyes, there was no one in the dormitory, evening tea, supper had all been served and it was prep time...