{UAH} My father’s journey from the village to King’s College Budo

By Omar Mayanja 

My father's journey from the village to King's College Budo, as narrated to me and quoted here in his voice.  If you did not read the first part, you may find it elsewhere on my page

[Continues from yesterday]

There was not a lot of time between the interview and starting at Budo.  Father gave me a small suitcase, where mother packed all my best clothing and my new shoes.  I did not wear the shoes on the trip to Kampala as I found them most uncomfortable.  Father who would not be accompanying me on this journey, decided I should ride the train all the way.  The lessons of our first trip were not lost on him.  He also gave me written directions to the Barclays Bank building on Kampala road, where I was to meet the person from whose home I would be commuting until a place in the boarding section was secured for me.

I had other ideas.  As soon as my siblings saw me off into the big road, I changed course and walked west towards Nkokonjeru instead of east towards Buikwe.  Just like we had done with my father, I walked and only boarded the train at Kyetume, arriving in Kampala with some change from the money that father had provided me.  The Barclays bank building was not hard to find as was the young man (this writer forgot the name, so let us call him Semu) with whom I would be staying for the duration of the first term.  I was assigned to England house which meant that I could participate in sports and play for the house but in the end, I couldn't muster enough courage to do so.  All the games were new to me besides they all required special clothing and shoes.  And time.

On my daily commute to school, I was to head west onto the Masaka road and if I was lucky hitch a ride on a logging truck being careful to alight near Kyengera from where I would walk for about 2 miles to get to the school.  Semu was right.  There were plenty of hitch hiking opportunities aboard the logging trucks and it was a most interesting experience albeit dangerous.   It was also quick and I was able to get to class every day on time and back in Kampala before nightfall.  The 7 mile commute sorted and with no other distractions, I was able to settle in and quickly prove what my primary leaving examinations results were saying.  I was exceptional!  

This was even before I could write any exams.  The teachers found my grasp and articulation of subject matter was at a level they had not encountered in any student before.  Without much in the way of extracurricular activity, I consumed so many books which I did mostly for leisure and through them was introduced to advanced subjects, some of which were not on the curriculum.  As a result, the teaching staff found me most interesting even if I wasn't consistently turning out the highest marks at the exams.  

By this time I had a bed in England house and could enjoy the full Budo experience.  But while the average student was focused on the curriculum and sports, I gave myself permission to explore other subjects of interest.  No, not girls!  Well not yet. In fact, in the five years I spent at Budo I never once crossed the Bursary road which divides the boys' dorms from the girls'.  I loved theatre and entertainment so I learnt to play most string instruments, both western and African percussion drums and committed Shakespeare to memory. I also started writing, at first just letters to people I knew and didn't know and then to the world through articles for publication in the press. 

After J-two, my teacher Ernest Ssempebwa recommended that I skip the next class (Senior three) and the head teacher concurred.  It was not the first time I was being fast tracked through school I had already skipped a year of primary school.  These accelerations were of no immediate consequence to me as I was happy at school and was in no hurry to complete or go back home to village life.  

But they were critical because the scholarship secured for me through Buganda government by Chief Ssenvumo covered all my tuition and meals and little else.  My shoes, accommodation, some books and pocket money were not covered and although at first the headmaster did not want to trouble me with these matters, eventually he had to.  Still, he was kind enough to reach out to some organizations and eminent individuals in the Muslim world who might be interested in my education.  One of the organisations, the East Africa Muslim Welfare Organisation came through with a small stipend although it was still not enough to cover my cost of attendance. 

To be honest I never felt troubled by my unfortunate circumstances as I was never threatened with discontinuation on account of student debt.  The God who had brought me this far would see me through.  It was a fortuitous privilege to be here and I was going to enjoy it. From this economic perspective however, the rapid promotions were a godsend.

Towards the end of '49 as I was preparing to sit for my finals at Budo, my uncle Ssambwa wrote to the school to seek permission for me to be released to attend the last funeral rights of my father who had passed away two years before.  The timing couldn't have been worse.   

However, Budo school rules permitted students to take a day out but it was only for the day and daylight hours.  Students could, with a chit in hand, leave the school compound after dawn and report back to school before dusk which meant 6 pm.  I sought special dispensation for 3 days including 2 days of travel which included a return journey of 80 miles, the night of the vigil before the lumbe and the day of prayers following the coronation of the family heir. 

But Mr. Cobb who had taken over from Mr Herbert as head would not allow it.  He insisted that I go only if I could make it back before 6 pm on the same day, rules were rules and the penalty for staying out of school after hours was too steep for a peasant farmer's boy.   I wasn't sure what the penalty was, all I knew was that both family and my Ganda culture pre-dated this school.  If the head master was worried I might not do so well at the examinations if I spent time away at such a crucial time, he should have said so in which case I would have assured him that I will be alright.  I told him I would take the day even if we both knew it was impossible.  I had to do what I had to do.

My logistics plan was good but not great. I would jog down to Kyengera in half an hour and then wait for a logging truck for a ride into the city.  The Budo to Kampala section of the trip would take almost 2 hours depending on how long I had to wait for my ride opportunity.  In Kampala I would borrow Semu's bicycle which I would ride the entire journey of 35 miles to my village.  My hope was that I could do this whole journey in 3 hours.  I did it in 5.  By the time I arrived, the lumbe and prayers which are celebrated at the break of dawn were done and the guests were being treated to lunch.  

Mother sat me down on her lap, shaved my head and asked the sheikhs who were finishing their lunch to say a prayer for me.  After the prayers, I enjoyed the sumptuous lunch of matooke, rice and meat as my brothers and sisters gathered around to bring me up to speed with the proceedings I had missed.  Which did not amount to much seeing as they were  more interested in me and kept on interjecting with questions about school and the city. I congratulated my elder brother upon ascension to head of the family, hugged my sisters and that was it. I had to get started on the journey back to school if I wanted to keep my place there. 

As it turns out, Budo sits on a literal hill while my village sits in the lake Victoria basin.   The ride in the direction of Kampala from Kyaggwe is mostly uphill which also features the infamous ndi kutta madda climb on the approach to Kiyoola.  Bannakyaggwe named Ndi kutta madda so because while the ascent was arduous, the descent was horrific especially when it was wet and slippery a condition that rendered the brakes of all vehicles known to man, useless.  

I had to push the bicycle up most of the hills so the ride back into Kampala took more than 6 hours.  It was past dusk by the time I pulled up to Semu's house.  I could not continue to school with his bicycle and I could not stay the night.  I had to report to school and hope that my wretchedness would appeal to the headmaster to exercise mercy.  I walked the 7 miles from Kampala to Budo as by this time the logging trucks were too few and far between.  Also walking by myself on the unlit road, I cut the figure of a bandit or a drunkard, none of the cars driving through would take me.  

A few minutes to the stroke of midnight, I knocked on the headmaster's door to leave no doubt that I had made it back, late but still here.  The headmaster looked at his watch as he opened the door, but then his face turned from tension to relief as he waved me on to England house next door to sleep.  

My performance that day,  more than my intellect and theatrics, left no doubt, at least where Cobb was concerned, that I had the desire and the determination to succeed.  Apart from such days which were few and far between, I was polite and obedient, cooperative even charming.  But there was no mistaking that I was wise beyond my years, strong willed and driven.  My relationship with the teaching staff and the headmaster grew into mutual respect and friendship.

The way they saw it was they could help me or I would do what I had to which might not end well for me.  A special line of credit was opened for me so I could borrow cash for literally anything I needed and any unusual requests would be given due consideration regardless what the rules said.  

I left the school before clearing the debt and even tried to borrow some more when I was at Makerere.  My Budo head teachers also continued to be supportive especially regarding my applications for admission and funding for higher education abroad.  My stay at my next station after Budo had ended in expulsion and that fear they had for me had come to pass.

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