Prefecture

Public speaker

Regrettably, I still remember the students I disliked in my childhood. Even now, as I recall my bittersweet youth in Kampala, indignation rises within me at the injustice I endured at school. 

During those long days in the city, I followed my father and mother like a helpless child, trailing in their tracks. On the days when I didn’t walk to school, I understood the entire world through my parents. I’ll never forget those days in the summer heat, the outpouring of heavy rain, the wet and soiled murram roads. I can still taste the brown dust in the air that poisoned my lungs. Feel the treachery of the blood-red soils that dirtied my brilliant shoes and my spotless green and white uniform as I shuffled hurriedly to Mirembe Primary School early in the morning. Yet, despite the rich memories, their bright faces remain—those fellow students whose unkind words and gestures in public debate broke my confidence, leaving behind a deep malaise of fear and resentment.

“Peoples”...

As I stood in front of a large audience at Mirembe Primary School, “Peoples” was the wrong word that broke the students into loud and boisterous laughter. To this day, I despair as my heart descends into its deepest corners of darkness at the injustice of ignorance. I had boldly uttered a grammatical impossibility, an English error.

I remember all those students who sat in that hall and believed in the certainty of their knowledge. But it’s no use to think deeply and state all of their names. I was the Academic Prefect after all, and I had to respect my role as a model student. What does it mean to be a teacher, anyway? 

So…, I still remember those students. But I couldn’t have done better.