#alone&frightened

“How did you get yourself pregnant?”

Your parents are yelling. You are huddled in the corner of the long sofa eyes fixed on the floor, shaking inside. Your mother, in between sobs, informs you how she will become the village laughing stock, how much you have let her down, how you are now doomed, how she will not be able to go to the Mother’s Union meetings any more. Your father threatens to throttle you, calling you the child of your mother. Like you are not his.

And just as you are beginning to let it sink in how much of a sinner you are, that you are surely destined for damnation, and the hot fires of hell, they want to know, “Who’s the boy, eh? Who is responsible for putting you in this family way?” (They are too decent to ask, “Who did you sleep with?") “Who’s son is he? Is he a married man? Does he go to school? Where does he work? Does he EVEN know you are pregnant??  Olubuto lwaani?” Your mother shrieks, beating her thighs in anguish.

“It was a mistake!” you plead, as you sob, and cradle your head in your hands, wishing the earth could open and swallow you. “Forgive me, it was a just mistake, it won't happen again!”
“Get out of my sight!” Your father roars. “Mistake my foot, rubbish!!”

Meanwhile, you are there wondering where this boyfriend of yours who kutikkad you that mimba is. I mean he was a man when he was making you pregnant, but suddenly he’s like the wind. He doesn't call, he doesn't check on you, actually, he’d rather be miles away from you, having fun and pretending he’s still young and free. And you’re here pregnant for him. Facing the fire.

Alone. 

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Ntare School, a boy’s only school, this week sent home 280 students. The whole of the Senior Three class was sent packing after they went on rampage in frustration over “being attacked and beaten by students of International Window School last Thursday… after a football match” (Daily Monitor, Tuesday, 28th March 2017). (By the way, let me re-look at the name of the "beating" school- International Window- who names their school such?) As a result, the games were suspended.

The Headmaster Jimmy Turyagenda is reported as saying that “one class got out of their senses and broke some glass windows…”. So the administration made the decision to suspend the students.
These things of suspensions are hard to deal with. At school, you may all look the same, speak the same language, wear the same uniform, eat the same beans and weevils. Unless otherwise, the matter of your parents’ financial standing rarely comes into play (actually in school they used to say that the poor students always got the good marks while the richer ones were at the tail, because their future was secure).

Teenagers have emotions as well and are wont to express them, as many hot-blooded adolescents would do. Many of them have endured their parents' “avoid peer pressure, remember you came alone with your suitcase” lecture every beginning of term. Now comes this school with a funny name attacking you because you won the football match. I’m sure there are individuals who remembered their parents words at this stage and kept away. But peer pressure caused many others to go breaking window panes on the headmaster’s house and going riot on a dormitory.

The real problem comes when you get out of the school gates and prepare to face your parents to give them an explanation, and in the same breath, deny that you were part of the strike. “Ah, nze bali abaana abalala bebamenye amadirisa. Nze nabagamba balekeraawo, nebagaana!” (Ah, my classmates broke the windows, I was not part of them. Actually, I pleaded with them to stop and they refused!”

At that moment- the one where you are explaining yourself in the best way you can- you are alone. The group is gone. In other houses, some have been slapped, others have got six of the best, others have received it the “musaasaane” way. Alone.

But there are others whose parents told them not to worry, after all, “that ki-school doesn't even teach well”. Their parents have money, and connections in big places, and with powerful names that matter, and another big school is a mere call away. They let the child rest for a week, sleeping in, eating hearty meals, lounging in front of the TV, playing video games, and taking the car to hang out with their friends in the malls in town. And when that week is done, a new uniform has been bought and the guzzler is ready to transport the "suspendee" to a better school.  

Kati you with your problems, you keep your ears glued to the radio, waiting for that announcement mbu the school has asked you to report back with a good explanation. And with your parents.

But feeling all alone.

                                         ***************************

This week Matthew Kanyamunyu, he of the Kenneth Watson Akena murder case over a supposed traffic incident in Kampala, returned to the High Court to apply for bail. And for the second time, he was denied his freedom. His co-accused, accessories to the crime, the judge said, were let free. Cynthia Munwangari, his girlfriend, and his older brother Joseph.

When finally the trio was charged, they all wore “we shall overcome” smiles. The people were angry. “How dare they be happy like that when a life was lost, a life they claimed they were trying to save???” However, a transformation happened in prison. The smiles slowly disappeared into oblivion and their faces wore more worry lines every time they had to reappear.

And just like that, Matthew found himself boarding the prison bus back to Luzira. His dear brother was not with him. His love Cynthia (the Bukedde reporter pronounced the name as Sincere) was returning home. To a warm bath, a hot cup of tea, a delicious supper, movies on DSTV, and hugs from her loving family.

And he was going back to cold prison quarters, squat latrines shared with several other prisoners, and the one daily meal of kawunga, and water with beans. No mazongoto, no cereal for breakfast, no fried chicken for lunch. No stories and laughter with his brother. Just him.

All alone.