Fear God and Strive

On the Gulu-Kampala road, about 40 km from Kampala, I pass through the town of Wobulenzi and wave to my boys at Katikumu Secondary School. Samson and Babu are currently completing their third term of their first year there. The school’s motto is “Fear God and Strive.” Indeed. It is only now that I’m a “parent” of secondary schoolers for the first time that my interest and understanding of it are growing. Secondary school in Uganda is sort of like prison, but in a good way…I think. Samson and Babu, along with all the pupils, are instructed rise at 4:30am (pictures of army boot camp bugles. That’s right 4:30. They begin studying at that hour until breakfast at 6 and then class begins at 6:30. Classes end at 6pm, then posho (a corn like mush that is the staple for Ugandans…culinary triumph it is not) and beans for dinner, then study until bed time at 10pm. They have about 15 subjects that range from Agriculture to Christianity to Math. They have not only biology, but also physics and chemistry – all in the same year!

So I arrived at visitors’ day a few weeks back feeling like I’m putting these boys through hell. But I want more for these boys and that has meant sending them away from their home in Gulu (which is next to my home.) I used to see them every day, but like a good mom, I decided I needed to sacrifice my selfish need to have them hanging out at my house so that they could have a future. Future schmuture. I miss them!

Visitors’ day was just like it is anywhere. The kids are all spiffed up in their best uniforms. The parents’ arms are laden with food, clothes and other booty. The campus is truly beautiful. It sits on a huge hill above the town, with big beautiful trees lining the pathways. The huge imposing auditorium is boldly engraved:“FEAR GOD AND STRIVE.” In fact, that motto appears frequently across the campus and on every child’s uniform. (I can’t wait to get my hands on a school t-shirt.) We were no different from the others; my arms struggled to balance all of the items I could manage to pack up for the boys. I received a call from Babu at 5:30am that morning requesting one last item, a calculator. I tried to explain to him that a call at 5:30am on a Sunday morning was not cool, but this explanation was met with a blank stare and a meager apology. Of course he’s not sorry – 5:30am is practically lunch time for the kid. Samson got a pair of Bata school shoes, which came with a calculator. I bought a ton at the supermarket. I was so excited to feed these boys some meat. However, as I enthusiastically extracted the chicken from my satchel of goodies, I was quickly asked to put it away. Apparently, cooked food from the outside was forbidden. Oops. They explained that they could take the chicken and other morsels back to their dorms and consume them without detection from the glaring eye of the patrons.

We chatted a bit. I reviewed each of their grades, but quickly glazed over. The scoring system in Uganda is dizzying, especially when there are so many subjects. However, some creepy uncle of theirs happened to be present and seized the opportunity to scold Samson about his grades in front of everyone. It was awful. “You are not working hard enough. These grades should be much higher. How do you expect to succeed? You were given a chance by this nice young lady and you can’t screw it up.” Samson hung his head in deep shame and looked like he was going to cry. I was ready to sock this guy.

While I’m not an actual parent, I’m pretty sure that in parenting 101 this line of scolding is borderline abusive these days in the States. Not the case in Uganda, where the authoritative figure very much ascends into this role to the fullest and takes every opportunity to remind subordinates of their place. It’s a cultural difference that I struggle with, as is obvious from my description of it.

We quickly countered this scolding with words of encouragement and enthusiasm. Despite my cluelessness on the grading system, I think Samson was doing ok. He even appeared to be excelling at Chemistry. I made sure to point this out to Uncle Creepy.

As the storm clouds rolled in, we quickly gathered up the booty and packed it up for the boys to take it away. I promised them I’d call them in a week and told them I was planning a big Thanksgiving dinner a few days after they finished up their third term. It was great to see them and I think, despite my pining, they’re exactly where they should be.