After my mother dies....I moved in with my aunt Florence;
Florence never made me feel whole at heart. I
was new into her care and lacked much of what she expected out of me. I was
always scared to death that if I made a wrong move on my side I could end up in
one of orphanage somewhere. My fear wasn’t anything aunt Florence had created, it I was fear of not
knowing what to do or how to react in a new place of living. Although we had
lived over here for the last three month while mom laid in bed dying. I still
did not feel at home. My cousins were there for me though and it was something
so natural to them to see me as one of them. They would ask me to come out play
with them but I had a feeling of loneness that I could only deal with lonesome.
I developed my own
system of spending all that much free time. I was now old enough to just wonder
around Kasubi on my own and my favorite place in Kasubi wasn’t the school I
went too or the churches. I t was visiting my grandmother’s gave yard. I would
never get that close I would always stay back a few yards from it and watch it
from a distance. One morning as I hid behind the trees Jajja’s sister Ms.
Nanono was on the way to go weed the grave yard. Since Jajja died Ms. Nanono
took up the duty to keep the weeds from growing into the green beautiful yard where
the graves laid in rows from the oldest members of the family who had passed on
to the youngest who were no longer with us. Back in the day when Jjaja would go
to weed the yard she went in such a happy mood signing, praying and talking to
the graves as if they would hear them. I would squat on the side with my thumb
in finger and just watch her clean up the yard. When she was done weeding the whole
area looked clean you could see the small insects in world crossing over the
top soil of the grave yard. It was always a pleasure to be in a presence so
full of a joyous mood.
When she often got
in this mood, everything around the grave yard came to a compete silence. The birds
in the trees would live to go feed, almost everything that was near like the
hens that wondered all over that place to video. But when I was at the grave yards
with Jajja even the hens would keep their distance. The wind was always blowing
back and fourth through the tall banana trees. I could also hear birds sing
sweet soft songs far from far away. Often the only sound I heard while I
watching her weed the grave yard for at least an hour or longer would be an
occasion sound caused by a car passing, honking, stopping to drop or pick up
some and it’s doors swing from open to close.
So years had gone
by now but I still recall how comfortable the place was and it was the reason
to why when nothing made no sense. When I made my way there everything was just
as usual as I remembered it. At time I would disappear for hours down here and
when I returned home no asked about my whereabouts. There was plate full of
food for me ways. I spent most my days just quite not talking to anyone unless
there were talking to me directly. I became a loner which looked as a sign of
constant sadness to everyone I came across. I wasn’t her child and even when
she would hug and kiss me. I personally felt that I was bringing a burden on
her. I
Aunt Florence is a very beautiful woman. She has light black skin,
beautiful black hair which she mainly kept short and a smile of an angel. Some
morning when she walked me to school boys her age were always waiting for her
on the path. But she had a bitter heart that she never stopped once to talk to
anyone of them. One of the guys tired so much that I had to switch my path from
school because he would wait on me and hand me letters to pass on the Aunt
Florence everyday. Every night when she got home I would give her a letter and
after she read them, “nonsense,” she would say. She would then take the letters
apart in pieces and threw on fire. She then told me not to bring that route
back from school anymore because that crazy guy after her.
One late night a
gentleman was coming to pick her up for a date, aunt Florence never dated or really went out with
anyone so in my mind I was thinking this guy had something every special on him
and I couldn’t wait to meet him when she told us about him. They had met one
morning on a taxi ride on their way to work. She told as that they had been
meeting up almost every morning and that they rode back together from work.
Although his stop was a little further than hers, she said. Every evening since they met he was getting
off at her stop, paid for her taxi fare and helped her carry things she had
bought for the house to the house.
Things were going
right between them until a few days ago. Aunt Florence found out that the gentleman was
married had a young boy who went to my school. “All men are pigs, she would
argue with my uncles. One time she caught me staring at her after she had made
that remark. She knew I heard what she said and my mind was processing sorting
those words one letter at a time. And by that look on my face she figured I
didn’t agree with her but I didn’t anything. I just stood there holding a big
stick I was playing with that day. She repeated herself, “all men are pigs,”
looking at me as if she was directing her bitterness towards me. I walked away
but she followed right behind me and said in a very living voice, “Except you Jeremy!
You! And Nelson the only men I love in my life.”
When aunt found out that the gentleman who
was trying to date was married. She spent that Saturday evening not preparing
for a date but preparing to teach her a lesson “this pig has a lesson to learn,”
she repeated all day long. Earlier I heard her make a comment to her friends
that she did not want to go confront him at his house. I heard say that she
feared breaking up his family to leave his wife and children suffer. Aunt began
collecting ideas that would only harm the “pig” and not the piglets or his
family. A few ideas came up, “we should boil a kettle of hot water and pour it
all over his body,” said Uncle Francis. My other Uncle John opposed, “I can get
some battery acid and when he tries sleeping with you, take a cup and pour it
all over his privates.
That will do
it.” “No you boys are mad,” aunt Florence objected. My cousin Innocent who was eleven at the time
also pitched in her idea, “we should gather a lot of broken bottles and toss
them at him when he arrives at the house.” Apparently it was something her and
her friends had done before to keep away old men who were always trying to rape
them. Aunt Florence liked the idea at first but she said it would take a whole
day to collect the broken bottles all around Kasubi. “I don’t have that much
time, he’s due here in about less than an hour,” she said.
My neighbor Mr.
Bossa had a hen farm at his house. Since he’s had the farm he was throwing the
rotten chicken eggs all around his garden to fertilize the soil somehow. So
Uncle Francis suggested that we should walk over to his garden and take some
rotten eggs to throw at the gentleman where he showed up. The idea was grand
but first we had to construct a plan to enter Bossa’s garden. Bossa was
protective of his garden as you and I would protect our most valuable assets we
own. Although I had never seen it happen in my life time of knowing Mr. Bossa,
it was rumored that back in the day he had killed a thief stealing from his
garden with a bow and arrow, my uncles all believed that he still owned it because
he had tried shooting them a few time when they tried eating from his garden.
Everyone feared to set foot onto Mr. Bossa’s residence without his consent and
even while just kids playing. If our
ball fell in his garden while we played. We first had to seek permission from
him before we stepped foot onto his residence to fetch the ball.
So we had to come up
with a plan that couldn’t cost any of us our lives. “Let’s just go and ask
him,” aunt Florence
suggested. She told Nelson and me to walk over to his house and tell him that
we had a special school project that we need some rotten ages.
“Be nice to him
when you go to this house,” she said to us, also greet him first with respect
before you ask him for the eggs. Nelson and I took off to Mr. Bossa’s residence
and when we showed up at his door. He was already by the door hiding something
I didn’t see behind his back. As we were told we greeted him with respect. His
boys who were about our age came to the door also. After we greeted him he
looked at us in the eyes high with deferral in his look. We then told him the
story word for word; he looked over and saw my aunt and all my uncles looking
our direction.
“What subject is
this for,” he asked us. I stared blank rolling my eyes and scratching my nappy
rolled up hair for an answer. Before I could say anything, Nelson buffered some
word of his my mouth, at first I didn’t hear what he said even though I came
could feel his warm breathe we were standing so close to each other. After he took note that no one heard what he
had said, he got louder, “SCIENCE!”
“Science,” my voice came in an echo to his. Mr. Bossa took another look
around at where my uncles, aunt, Innocent and Winfred were taking stand. After
he observed them for sec he took a step forward. “Science,” he confirmed with
us. Now a little scared of him in a polite manner we nodded yes. He left us
standing there with his son Dawodi and went behind to the garden which was a on
a very larger land. He walked passed the little tiny house where he raised his hens
and came to a complete stop. He stood there, bent over and for a while just
looked deep into his garden.
He turned around
and headed back our way. “What is science,” he asked Nelson and me. Before we
could answer is oldest son Dowodi began to give him the answer. “Science
is,”... “ne..da..ne..da,” he shut Dowodi up before he answered the
question. “Science is the study of
living and non-living things,” I answered with a dithering tone and Nelson
agreed. I was getting panicky a bit, the whole time since we got to his door
steps he was walking around with his hands in a crease hidden from us. When he
walked passed us heading to the garden he switched the position of his hand
from back to font keeping them creased hiding something mysterious from Nelson
and I.
After we gave him
the answer he walked passed both of us and once again stood in front of his
front door, “how many,” he asked. Nelson and I didn’t answer but looked at each
other both taking a mental count of our own. “Five, ten,” I said still
frightened of whatever Mr. Bossa was holding in his hand. Nelson hollered out a
large sum as took a look back at everyone we had left behind. Mr. Bossa finally
permitted us to help ourselves and take as many rotten eggs as we needed for
our science project stretching and dragging the word science out of his mouth.
He told us that we should not dare pass into the sugarcane bush. As he stood in
his door way watching as picking rotten ages into our plastic bags, “What did
he have in his hands,” I asked Nelson. “A kitchen knife,” he answered. “What a
mad man,” I said to Nelson “Indeed he is,” Nelson assured his agreement with
me.
The plan to ambush
the man was already drawn out when we returned to the house. Uncle Kiwa, Uncle
Francis and Uncle John were going to climb into the three trees that stood
aside the little small dirt path that led to our house. Uncle Kiwa was going to
be in the closet jackfruit tree; Uncle Francis was to conceal himself like a
chameleon high under the middle mango tree that produced big green mangos when
in season. Uncle John the oldest and strongest out of the three of them hid
under the first mango tree the smallest one that produced small sour and bitter
mangos. The rest of us kids were to hid under a flower garden right in the
center of our front yard all of us with our rotten eggs in hand and ready to
take on this man as he came towards the house.
I tried opposing
our hiding place because days earlier I had been stubbed by the thrones of the
red-rose-flower tree that stood center in this garden. I wanted to hide high in
a tree also but my aunt and uncles had drawn the final blueprint of attacking
the man when he showed up to our door-step and it was final. It was right after
the sun had just fallen deep into the skies leaving that beautiful reddish cloud
color on the tip of the clouds above us. In distance we saw someone walking up
the path that led to our house. Aunt Florence confirmed that that was the man
running on time like an airline pilot so it was time to take our hiding place.
The gentleman was very dark and just as tall as the banana trees he was passing
through to get to our house even midgets could see him if there were kneeling
down. He was on schedule carrying
something in his hand; as he neared he held a rose in his hand. He was well
dressed looking like a person from oversea, he indeed remained me of my father
the first time I saw him. He was dressed in long black trousers, black shoes
covered in mud and a bright red T-shit that had the word Tokyo by its pocket. My uncles took as many
eggs as possible out of the bags and took cover up to their trees as the guy
walked up to our house.
As he walked up to
the house he saw Uncle Kiwa in the tree, he begun talking to him. Nothing too
serious to blow our cover but mainly giving him tips on how tell if the
jackfruits up in the trees were ready, “if there don’t smell ripened, two more
days,” he said. Uncle Kiwa just went on about his business of pretending to
check on the jackfruits which he had already done just this morning first thing
when we woke up. Nothing was ripe up there but that wasn’t mission anyways,
everyone was ready.
Innocent, Winfred, Nelson and I took cover
behind the flower garden. As the gentleman walked up to knock on our door my
aunt came out of our one-roomed shark and walked midway through the front yard.
She paused and said, “I forgot to lock the door,” which was the cue for us to
get ready to toss the rotten eggs; when aunt got back to the door she leaned
over and picked a rotten age from the bags and threw it right in the
gentleman’s face screaming. “Adulator, adulator,” over and over again, not
knowing what was coming his way the man began walking toward my aunt defending
himself against these acquisitions.
As he got near to
her about a dozen rotten eggs came flying out of the jackfruit tree catching
him in every direction he turned. He began heading back to wherever he came
from and as he neared the flower garden more eggs got him in the face. Uncle
Kiwa was now down under from the tree and tossing egg after egg at him. He wasn’t taking his run seriously until he got
stoned by more eggs from John and Francis. Aunt Florence had stayed back
laughing hard, us Kids; we were running behind and chasing after him screaming,
“adulator” over and over again.
We ran after him
for a while chasing him throughout our neighbor’s gardens who were all looking
out for interludes. All the children in the neighborhood came out and chased
the guy with us. All our rotten eggs were thrown at him, so missed and now
there were all over the place. We chased the guy for a while all the way at the
beginning of path. We were now all out of eggs so my uncles began picking up
solid rocks and stoning the man as he ran for his life. After a tiring run, we
returned to the house where Aunt Florence was already breaking down the story
to all the gathered to know what was going on. We sat on the ground by the path
near under the banana trees waiting for my uncle to return, they had ran off
way ahead of us kids keep up with the gentleman toe to toe. All three of them
chased him until they all disappeared in the long spare before us. Only seconds
passed before we saw them talking over each other as loud as possible about
their individual contributions to the egging. They came and joined us and we
walked up back to our house.
From that day
forward I never saw the man again and no one would tell me which one of my
classmates he fathered. Innocent my oldest cousin had made many remarks that
the man looked like one of my classmates Mugisha but I hadn’t taken a good look
at him therefore I could not drawn that conclusion. In addition I personally
hadn’t developed an esthetic skill to group individuals that looked like. When
I returned to school days later I took a good look at Mugisha, it was a look of
curiosity that made him ask me why I was looking as I was. I couldn’t make a
connection in their resemblance for I really didn’t remember how the gentleman
looked in the face. The question was burning inside me though. I just wanted to
ask him if his dad owned a bright read shirt with the word Tokyo. At least I was inquisitive to know
what Tokyo was, if his dad owned a shirt like
that then maybe he knew what Tokyo was. I finally came at peace with my
blaze of questions…took a deep breathe…looked at Mugisha as he looked at me
wondering why I was frowning at him gay as if I was in love with him. I turned
around said nothing by now the teacher was in the classroom so it was time to
pay attention to the class.
AT SCHOOL I was very social unlike
at home and a great learner but all the children in the school were very
competitive at everything that was done there. We were taught a very extensive
curriculum that include, algebra, regional and world geography. I was in
primary four so school for me was from 8:00
to 4:00 PM Monday through
Friday. The whole school only had seven rooms one for every grade level. It was
still under construction, widows were missing, no doors and the floors were
still dirt. Apart the sciences, the math and the foreign languages we had to
matter before walking the stage here. Every student was required to take part
in drama. Usually every Friday after lunch we took the drums out and took
lesson on our own. We also took part in debates teachers always chose the subject
well were educational and meant to help us figure out what we wanted to do in
the future. Tops included many such as “A teacher in better than a Doctor,” the
subjects were simple but in fourth grade they made great debate. Students in
the whole school would take a position and every one had a chance to debate.
The debates were all organized by students from choosing the topic, to making
up the rules during the debate. We also had to choose a time keeper everyone
had the same amount of time to present their case. We had a panel of three
judges who were in charge of most of the debate. The judges took noted of all
the points that were presented. We were not allowed to repeat ourselves and if
this happened the panel will alert you that your point was already made unless
you had a different point to made you had to yield the floor to the next
presents. Debates were fun especially when we debated issues like “Woman are
better than Man,” social debates like this shock the whole school up and
usually had the most influences on the student body. Even the not so talkative
members of our school came out to make their point on hot topic social issues
such as human rights and injustice.
All that we did during these Fridays led up to
one competition day. PARENTS DAY: Around
the month of December right before school lets out for Christmas holidays.
Schools in Uganda
hold an event on campus called “Parents Day.” This day signals the end of the
school year and on this day our parents and relatives come into the school for
a showcase of all the materials we’ve learned the past three terms in school,
including sciences and math and other projects we’ve worked on during the
school year. It is a day that all parents come to and all students look around
for to come.
The December of 1994 was the first
December my mother was to be missing from the audience for since I began school
in the late eighties back at Kasubi Church of God Nursery School. It was the
end of primary four (4th grade) Parent’s Day. That morning when I
woke up; Aunt Florence was already up preparing to get me ready. As she got me ready for this day, she was helping
me practice my lines for my part in the AIDS play and musical the school was
putting on. It was something we had all worked during the school year and when
I returned to school it was just about to cast for actors. I was chosen for one
of the role. Parent’s Day was more than acting and singing for a day. It was a
day to show that out of the whole entire school you’re the best at what you
will be performing that day. All the roles came with pressure but it was
something that all us were used to.
My mother had
developed a place in my heart hat loved drama. The years I spent with Mom I
watched her be in plays especially at church. I had seen her coach young girls
on town for a play. And since I started primary one at Green Valley,
I took part in a drama on Parent’s Day every year. In past three Parents Days
I’ve been part of. I’ve played the main male character in the play. I’d played
Moses the year before. In primary two I played one of the three Wiseman in a
Christmas play. At Green
Valley I also played a
homeless living in Kampala
city. Officials from Kampala City Council were present in the audience that
day. The goals of these plays were to educate the public about issues that we
were facing within our communities.
To be in school
plays became second nature to me and mom did very well training me back before
she was gone. Before the actual date of Parent’s Day was chosen. Talent shows
were held everyday after school. It was something a little extra our teachers
did for us because most of us had nothing to go home to after school. Through
these shows teachers randomly chose who will be in the plays, sports and other
projects for Parent’s Day. Whatever it was that I was chose, I made sure that I
will be the best at it so that the teacher can allow me to perform the part on
Parent’s Day. My choices always leaned more towards drama; I wasn’t too good at
football, the only sports performed in school. This year the school drama
department had prepared a 45 minute play to be performed at the event. The drama
was the main event on Parent’s Day; the melody of sweet young African boys and
girls voices gathered a whole town to hear a sound so sweet that the birds in
the trees paused from their songs to hear ours when we began to sing.
Today began early
for me to prepare for the event. Aunt Florence was helping me get ready all
morning when she noticed that I had burned a whole in my school uniform shorts.
She got upset with me because she had just bought me those shorts a few weeks
ago so I can have new shorts for Parent’s Day. She began to lecture me
something my mother never did. I wasn’t used at beginning lecture Mom always
just got up and took action to correct me. “Jeremy you not a child anymore,
you’re a grown man and you should know how to ion your own cloth.”
She mad I could
see a burn on her face. “How could you burn these brand new uniform shorts that
I just bought and not TELL ME of it? How..!” She took the shorts out of my
hands and threw then at me and left the room to prepare the morning tea without
saying another word about it. I took the shorts scared to death and put them on
me without saying a thing. I was wearing a little white underwear and my little
but cheeks were hanging out the bottom of the shorts were the hole was.
Aunt Florence came
back in the room after a while; she didn’t seem to care about the matter any
longer. It was as if she went outside and God gave her a way to deal with me. She
entered the house with a sweltering tea kettle; went straight to cupboard and
pull out five ugly plastic red mugs. She then sat on the floor and made us each
a cup of warm milk with green flesh tea leaves she had picked earlier that
morning; she always made her tea with a few blocks of small cut ginger root,
and a slice of bread and real butter. As she poured the teas, she looked at me
and begun telling me how I was going be an embarrassment to the family with a hole
in my uniform shorts at this event. “People will think I’m not caring after you
since your mother’s death. I already here rumors in the market that I don’t
feed you” she added as I looked down into my tea cup.
The whole time she
was talking to me I was mute as a manikin enjoying my cup of tea and the
buttery bread. I would take the bread, sink it in the warm milk-tea and then
took it to my mouth where I nipped on it slowly enjoying every crumb of it. She
went on through and I was hearing everything she was saying. About how, “since
the death of my mother, nobody on my father’s side of the family has given her
a shilling or a hand to care for you; your father is in America but the
MAN can’t even send me a dollar in a letter.” She would go on for minutes as
everyone looked at me as the outcast of the family. I had nothing to say but to
soak in the wisdoms my aunt was letting out of her mouth. All her blushes
always ended with words so sweet they permitted me just an inch of comfort to
be under her care; “your mother is gone now Jeremy, but you are my son now and
I need you to grow up baby,” she added that next time I burn a hole in my pants
for school I better tell.
After breakfast
she walked me up to Rose
Pasika Primary
school where mom had enrolled before she died. On
the way to school she read me the lines from the play. She was also asking me
and making sure that I knew all the parts to the two songs I was leading during
our class talent show. When we got to the school where I was due for rehearsals
for the play, she told me that she would be back with lunch and everyone else.
As I often did I looked her in the eyes without saying a word and took my book
pack from her and I entered the small wooden gate that entered the school. That
morning we ran through the lines of the play and both of the musical. The
school had taken off into a different mood. All of us were glad to be promoted
to the next grade level. I was going in primary five with Deo and other
friends. We were already looking forward for the Christmas Holidays that were
to begin right after school ended today.
The message of the
play today was to educate those in the audience about the dangers of AIDS. The
lyrics to the song which my teachers composed addressed the first symptoms a
person should watch for to determine if they have AIDS in order to go for a
check up. The lyrics were sharp explaining bumps, bourses, rushes and such. The
parts had to be acted out very dramatic and sincerely so that the gathering
community could learn from the play but also be touched by the performance. At
the end when the drums in the back ground mellowed down. A young girl and I
shared a final chorus of what AIDS has done to our whole country and in those
last line we proclaimed to the audience that if we don’t protect ourselves from
the AIDS epidemic. Soon we will all be victims.
Our teachers
taught us everything for these play. The composed, directed and filled in all
the missing gap to the play. From how to
beat/play the drums, how to dance, what tone and pitch to sing in and where to
stand on stage, everything was to be done according to plan. We took multiple
takes on songs, drumming and the plays and then we went home. At about noon that day, Aunt Florence,
Winfred, Nelson and Innocent were all present at the school, everyone’s
families were arriving too, mainly to bring lunch to all of us. When Aunt
Florence showed up she came with a black plastic back that had a comb,
Vaseline, black shoe polish for my shoes, a brush and a big bowl of Indian
rice, fried cassavas and five glass bottles of sodas. After we sat down on a
panic matt, she un-wrapped the food talking about how she thought she would be
late for the only hour we were allowed to eat lunch with our families before
the opening act.
As she got the
food ready she reached out and threw me a brand new pair on uniform shorts. I silently
rejoiced inside, I was glad but didn’t really express it that much. I thanked
her. She told me to go to the latrine and change but to leave my shoes behind
so Innocent could brush them for me. After I changed I came back and she put a
well pressed white shirt on my back. She helped me tack it in as she brushed my
nappy hair and smeared Vaseline all over my body. We said grace and begun to
eat.
As we ate on our
picnic mat laid out on the ground I manage to catch a glance of my aunt’s eye
staring devilishly at the gentleman two picnic mats away to the right of us.
The five of us including the gentleman knew why she was picking at him that
way. His wife and his two children including my classmate Mugisha had no clue that
a few weeks ago their father was egged down by us kids here, my aunt and uncles
in font of our house as he tried to cheat on their mother. The guy sat with his
back facing us eating, talking and laughing with his family and not saying a
single word to us, not a wave or a simple hello. After we ate I went back to
the drama classroom and got ready to sing and act with Mugisha, I looked gaily
at him and said nothing. He seemed to be a happy child and I had no bases of
messing that up. A crowd of people was already gathering under the shady trees
where the stage was set. On the stage a few speeches were given to open the event,
nothing in particular out of the boring speeches caught my attention. It was
the usual opening of a Parent’s Day with our Ugandan National Anthem and a
prayer.
A few acts went
before my group and then the hands of the clock landed on the minute for us to
get on the stage and sing. I got real nervous before I got on stage. Ever since
I was in primary one (first grade) my mother was always sitting in the front
row next to the school officials. When I go on stage I had to introduce my self
and my parents first before I sang, it was something all the students in the
school did. Since mom and my sister Joan
were the only two people that came to see me in school plays back then. I
always had to say the same introduction Mom had taught me, in a shy scratchy
voice I would say, “My name is Jeremy Earnest Kimbugwe, I live with my mother
Alex Nakuya, my sister Joan Nabikyalo and my uncle David. This is what I did
back them.
When I got on the
stage this morning I didn’t know what to say, so I stared at the crowd still
and calm as they stared back at me in silence for a second. I looked over where
my mother would be sitting if she was here tonight and I could not see her
there. I was always good at spotting Mom no matter how gigantic the audience
was. My eyes wandered in hope that maybe some magic would happen and my eyes will catch her there staring at me
with joy just one more time as they had done for the last three school
performances I had been in. I didn’t introduce myself because I didn’t what to
say.
One of my teachers
standing next to the stage noticed that I was lost for word. He ordered the
drummers to begin playing the song. I was now on center stage when the music
begun to play. Noticing that I needed no introduction I began to sing. After
the music came the play which was the headlining event followed by an award
ceremony that ended today’s event; this year the drama department had a goal
while writing and preparing this play. The school wanted to alert the community
about the AIDS problem that was eating our community one mother, sister, father
or brother at a time. I was playing the main male character KIZZA who an orphan
living with a stepmother who hated him. At the end of the play we sang a duet
to close out the play. The song rapped up the whole play describing in detail
what AIDS can do to our community. After hours of performance we all ended the
event with a Bakussimba dance (a traditional dance.)
One of the songs I
sang was titled “Beautiful Uganda” I expressed to the crowd a song about the beauty
of our country. It talked about the beauty of having the Nile
river start in our country, we talked about the unlimited resources God has
blessed us with. The song was written to praise the government for keeping us
safe and helping to fight AIDS. It thanked our President Yoweri Museven for
fighting and bringing peace to our land. The best line of then all came in the
last line of the last verse asking the audience to make a pledge and never
forsake our land by loving another land. After a long day every thing went as
planed. We sat around for the award ceremony after performing. I didn’t win
anything for my roles which tickled my bone on the spot but I never took those
feeling away with me after that. After the awards were handed out, all the
students went to the Headmistress’s office and picked up our report cards. Mine
said I was promoted to primary five as of the first term in the following year
1995.
