I Have Experiences:
Student Writing from Kikaaya College School, Uganda

 
 
Introduction
By James Christie
Kikaaya College School Creative Writing Teacher

 All teachers have two fears: 1) They won’t be able to control their classes and 2) their students won’t learn anything. I know I suffered from both during my time at Kikaaya College School.
 As my student Bob Kakimbo wrote, “My school is located seven miles from Kampala, the capitol of Uganda. We have many educated teachers including one teacher from out of the country, Mr. James.”
 So there you see my dilemma. I was a foreigner, an American to be exact, teaching, of all topics, creative writing, in a Ugandan school. I could explain to you ad nassium why this was a challenge. But I’ll boil it  down for you.
 First, homework in Uganda is optional while walking out in the middle of class in without permission seems to be compulsory. Classroom discipline was also impossible, because, I often had seventy-something students per class. All of whom, at first, looked the same and knew that as a white man I wasn’t going to beat them like their other teachers.
 Hence, in such a chaotic and migratory environment my lectures on ‘showing instead of telling’ and ‘stages of the writing process’ were rarely received. Although, for some reason, one of my lessons did get through and luckily it was the most important one. You see, I had spent my first week of lessons pacing throughout my classes, waving my chalk all about and repeating over and over again, “Write about your passions. Write what you feel strongly about. Write about your pain. Write about your pleasures. If you love something, write about it. If you hate something else, write about that. Writing is a great catharsis and if you can’t have a catharsis when you’re writing, in the very least have fun. There’s something wrong, if as a young writer, you’re not having fun.”
 After I said this for the fifteenth time, a student finally got up the nerve to ask me what ‘catharsis’ meant. I provided a definition, but I don’t think it went over, because a week later the same student asked me what a sentence was.
But as is evident in this magazine, be it with my intervention or not, my students did write about their pain, their joys, and failing this, they simply had fun. So here, you’ll find poems about poverty and AIDS next to stories of monkeys escaping taxation. There are tales of mothers dying followed by bunny rabbits outwitting huge reptiles. Some of the stories here are fiction while too many of them are painfully true. I selected eighteen pieces from 504 submissions.
 Each piece is preceded by an introduction to provide you with a context for the article by providing information about Uganda, Kikaaya and, in some cases, the author.  
 But, ultimately, the purpose of this magazine is to give voice to a people, rarely heard by the outside world, the children of Uganda.

 
Why Monkeys Live in the Bush
By Joseph Sseremba
Senior 2 (8th Grade)

 Joseph provides us with a wonderful explanation of why monkeys live in the bush.  

 A very long time ago monkeys were just like people. They lived in the same villages as people. They cooked their food over an open fire like man. They lived in huts just like man. In deed, many monkeys even lived next door to men. Plus you could always find monkeys in the market selling fruits and vegetables.
Then one day the government demanded that everyone, including the monkeys, pay taxes. But the monkeys didn’t want to pay taxes. So they ran away into the bush.
Now days if you go up to a monkey and tell them to come back to the villages and cities, he will just stare at you. This is because he’s remembering the taxes.
I think someday the government will change the law and force the monkeys in the bush to pay taxes. This is because, the bush is part of Uganda and everyone in Uganda has to pay taxes.

Joan, Joan, Joan
By Joan Kagyezi
Senior 1 (7th Grade)

 Joan has sickle-cell anemia. At twelve, she’s the youngest pupil in the school and also one of the hardest working.  

Joan, Joan, Joan!
Sick on rainy days.
Sick on sunny days.
A sweater always on her body.
Very small and tall.

Kind and quiet,
Because of school conditions.

And she always thinks about
Her medicine.

I have Experiences
By Jonathan Muziraga Ssenyonga
Senior 1 (7th Grade)

 Jonathan’s story is a common one at Kikaaya. In fact, I could have chosen eight other stories just like his.
 Jonathan is my house boy. He comes by every week to wash my floors and do my laundry. Sometimes he comes by when there’s nothing to do and read the American magazine I have lying around my house.
 I had been reading and grading papers all day when I came across his. Afterwards I couldn’t grade anymore. I’m sure you’ll understand why.
  
I’ve grown up poor with one parent, my mother. She used to pay for my school fees from nursery school up to primary four (4th grade). Then she died and I had to suffer alone in our dark house. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters.
 One day, after a term without studying, my old headmaster came by and asked me why I hadn’t attended school. I told him about my mother. He then said I could stay at his home and he’d pay for my school fees.

The Day I will Never Forget
By Ruth Nakibuule
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

 African capitols are notorious for their crime. It’s not uncommon to see bodies from those slain in gang warfare while driving to work in Lagos, Nigeria’s traditional capital. While Nairobi, the capitol of Uganda’s neighbor Kenya, has earned the nickname, ‘Nairobbery’. Kampala, Uganda’s capitol, on the other hand, is relatively free of violent crime although property crimes are common. Every time I walk through Kampala I have to keep my hands in my pockets. In fact, a friend walking with me through the city, one day, forgot to do this and his wallet disappeared.
 Kampala is also raft with burglaries. Two of my Muzungu (white) predecessors at Kikaaya were burglarized and many of my students have also fallen victim.

It was June 24th 1999 when the robbers entered into our house. First they disconnected our electricity and then broke through our windows. The robbers took our goats, food, and clothes. They even took our big television and our radio. They took everything we owned.
My dad and mom were visiting a friend. So I spent that night sleeping alone in our empty home.
In the morning I contacted my parents. My mother fainted when I told her. What disappointed her most was the loss of her new expensive towels. My father, on the other hand, became very angry and wanted to kill everyone he came across.
We informed the police but their investigation came up with nothing.
A few days later, a friend told my father that she had seen a man directing a group of men to our house on the day of the robbery.
My father went to see the man and interrogated him. He denied involvement but my father knew better and called the police. The man was arrested and put on trial. He claimed his innocence but the judge knew he was lying. The man was found guilty and sentenced to seven years and seven months in prison. In jail, the man grew old until he got sick and died. This left his family with nothing. Even as a thief he had been their sole provider. So, his children ended up on the streets and his wife turned to prostitution.

The Crocodile and the Hare
By Fatumah Nakabira
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

Storytelling is a strong tradition in Uganda, as it is in all of Africa. Often, my students tell me stories of animals trying to trick and eat one another.

 Once upon a time there was a crocodile and the hare. They were great friends. No one could remember when they hadn’t been friends. In fact, they were such great friends that the crocodile after winning a local swimming contest had shared his prize, a piece of chocolate cake, the one piece of food he loved most in the world, with the hare.
 A couple of weeks after the contest, the crocodile and his sister were sunbathing. The hare saw the two, thought they must be hungry, and decided to cookies and soda. All the while the crocodile’s sister stared at the hare with a gleam in her eyes.
 After the hare hopped off, the crocodile’s sister said, “The heart of the hare must be sweet. It must be much sweeter than these cookies. We should kill the hare and eat her heart.”
 Hearing this made the crocodile sad because he loved his friend and didn’t want to eat him. But his sister was his only relative and he couldn’t disappoint her.  
 A few days later the crocodile visited his friend. “Let’s go swimming in the river,” the crocodile said. “You can stand on my back. It will be lots of fun.”
 The hare had never been on the crocodile’s back before and was suspicious. In fact, whenever the crocodile went swimming, the hare would always watch safely from the riverbank. But then the hare remembered what a great friend the crocodile was. He’d never do anything to harm her.
 The hare hopped onto the crocodile’s back and he swam into the middle of the river. The crocodile was about to flip the hare into the water when he started to feel guilty.
 “Hare,” he told his friend, “I brought you out into the middle of the river to kill you. My sister and I want to eat your heart.”
 Hearing this made the hare shiver with fright.
 “I think that’s a good idea,” the hare said after she’d stopped shivering, “I would love it if you and your sister ate my heart. The only problem is, I left my heart in my house. The two of us will have to go back to get it.”
 So the crocodile swam back to the shore but when they landed, the hare, instead of hopping towards her house, dashed off into the bush. It was then, when the crocodile realized he had been tricked.

Forests
By Joyce Nantengo
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

 Deforestation is a serious problem in East Africa. In some parts only 5% of the original forests remain. According to one study, Tanzania alone loses 3,500 sq km of forests a year! In fact, if Kenya and Tanzania don’t shape up soon, they’re at risk of losing their tourist industry. Since what’s the point of going on safari if there isn’t a safari to go to?
 Environmental degradation isn’t as bad in Uganda. In fact, environmentalism is taking root here as is evident in Joyce’s poem. Although as Joyce points out in her last line finding a solution to the problem isn’t simple.  

Cry, cry, cry!
Cry for our forests,
A group of trees,
You are useful,
But now man has destroyed you.

You are useful to animals,
You are useful to birds,
You are useful to all kinds of creatures,
But now man has destroyed you.
 
In so many ways,
We destroy you for settlement,
We destroy you for fuel,
We destroy you because we must earn our living.

 
My Mummy
By Gatrude Namulindwa
Senior 3 (9th Grade)

 Moms are great, aren’t they?

After producing one son,
She decided to produce a
Baby girl.
My mummy, you are beautiful.

When I was
Still young,
She sang
Baby songs,
Which would
Make me quiet,
When I
Cried.  

Mummy, I love you because
You bought,
Nice clothes for me,
And you made me
Loved by everyone.

How beautiful you are!

You counseled me, Mummy
You made me humble,  
You have made me
What I am.
Corruption
By Shamim Namubiru
Senior 3 (9th Grade)

 Corruption, as it is in nearly all third world countries, is a huge problem. In 2005, the Global Fund granted Uganda $45 million to fight AIDS. Nearly all of that money was spent by politicians on their personal phone bills, lavish “Christmas Packages”, and fancy four-wheel drive vehicle . If you ask any Ugandan on the street, why the country hasn’t developed yet, they’ll tell you, ‘corruption.’

Corruption, Corruption, Corruption,
Uganda, our mother, why
Do you rejoice in corruption?

Oh, Member of Parliament
You, also, rejoice in corruption.
How will our country develop
If you don’t stop rejoicing in
Corruption?

Oh corruption, oh corruption.
Our country has a bad image,
Because of you.
AIDS patients are dying  
Because of you.

Oh God, help Uganda,
Stop corruption.

The Mice and the Cat
By Winnie Nakandi
Senior 1 (7th Grade)

 A cute animal story with a good lesson.

 Once upon a time, there lived a gang of mice in a house with a cat. The mice had a wonderful life except for one thing. The cat liked hunting and eating them. Fed up with being eaten, the mice held a meeting.
 “That cat needs to stop eating us!” The elder mouse deplored.
 “Yes, I lost my cousin last week,” another mouse shouted.
 “But how do we get the cat to stop eating us?”
 “I know,” said professor mouse, “We could tie a collar around his neck.”
 “What would that accomplish?”
 “If we hung a bell from the collar, it would ring whenever the cat was about, providing us with ample warning to run away from him.”
 “That’s a great idea,” said elder mouse, “So whose going to tie the belt and bell around the cat’s neck?”
 No one volunteered and, so, the cat kept on eating the mice.
A plan is only useful when it’s carried out.
AIDS! AIDS! AIDS!
By Phiona Namyenya
Senior 1 (7th Grade)

 About 40% of my students are AIDS orphans. All-in-all a million AIDS orphans live in Uganda. Charles, Kikaaya’s headmaster has lost three of his brothers and is currently raising their eight children.

AIDS! AIDS! AIDS!
Killing people.
The young and the old,
The poor and the rich.

Who brought you?

AIDS! AIDS! AIDS!
Leaving people suffering,
Leaving orphans crying.

Go back to where you came from,
We are tired of you AIDS!

The Snow
By Allen Nalumansi
Senior 3 (9th Grade)

 Uganda has a tropical climate. I have no clue how Allen came up with this poem.  

The snow comes,
On people’s windows,
Where everyone
Can’t see what is,
Taking place outside.

My Trip to Jinja
By Oliviah Nakaayi
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

 There is saying that one hasn’t really been to Uganda until they’ve seen the source of the Nile. The world’s largest river begins its 4000 km journey to Egypt at Jinja, where it flows out of Lake Victoria, the largest lake in Africa. To get to Jinja from Kampala, one has to drive through the Mabira Forest, where thousands of bandits live.

On December 22nd 2002 I traveled with my mother, father and sister to Jinja to see the source of the Nile. On our way, we were stopped at a roadblock in Mabira. Two soldiers demanded to see my father’s driving permit but he didn’t have one.
“Give us 50,000 shillings (roughly $28) or we’ll arrest you for driving without a permit,” the soldiers told my father.
“But I only have 30,000 shillings.”
“Then give us that.”
My father handed over the money and we were allowed to go through.
When we arrived at Jinja, we took a boat ride to the source. The boat rocked back and forth so much that my sister vomited.
As we were driving back through the forest our car ran into a ditch. Luckily none of us were hurt. But as we got out of our car, three bandits with large guns surrounded us and told my father to give them all his money. My father still had 150,000 schillings, which he hadn’t given to the soldiers, in his wallet. Not knowing what else to do, my father handed over his wallet. The bandits then ran into the forests.  
I will never forget my trip to Jinja.
Monkeys Eating Cooked Food
By Innocent Enoch Kakusu
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

Here’s another great monkey story.

I’ll never forget the day I went into the forest to collect firewood, because, on that day I saw monkeys cooking food. I’m being serious. I really saw monkeys cooking food.
I first saw the monkeys digging up sweet potatoes. During the uprooting, one of the monkeys ate a potato. The other monkeys saw this and hit the monkey over the head. I then saw another group of monkeys chopping down trees for firewood. After this, the monkeys built a fire, threw all their potatoes in a pot, and cooked them. It was getting dark so I never saw the monkeys eat the food. But still, on that day I discovered that monkeys have a highly organized society. Since only highly organized societies punish its members for eating raw sweet potatoes.

We Forgot God
By Deo Namuguzi
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

 Deo is Kikaaya’s only self-identified poet. He often performs his poetry in contests throughout Kampala and has already recorded a CD of his work. Most of his poems are written in Luganda but here’s a sample of his English verse.

God made man,
Man made money,
And money made man mad.
Weeping Child
By Harriet Mutaawe
Senior 5 (11th Grade)

 One of my students is missing an arm. Another has a growth above his ear which looks like a conjoined fetus. Everyday I pass naked little children, with bloated bellies and snot dripping down their faces, playing in the street.

Being fatherless and motherless,
She has no one
To show her love.

A weeping child, a weeping child.

She wakes up
Staring at the ground
With nothing to eat.
Dust bins, become her dinning hall.
Diseases, the order of her day.

Peace is begot as she dies out.

The Grave
By Dauda Nansayi
Senior 3 (9th Grade)

 Ugandans practice an intense form of Pentecostal Christianity. Church services can last up to eight hours. The first half of the service is spent in prayer, which, involve a good deal of shouting, shivering, crying and arms being wailing about.

In my sleep,
I heard a voice calling.
It was my mother calling the sheep.
Telling me about the—
 Heaven
 Grave and Hell.

“My daughter you are the beggar on a street in heaven
But,
 There is not hell,
 Wake up your mind and smile for heaven.
 It’s me your mother.
 The happiest grave is waiting for you.”
The Old Man's Garden
By Ramathan Mugerwa
Senior 2 (8th Grade)

 Witches are common throughout Uganda. In fact, many rural Ugandans will consult a witch doctor before seeking Western medicine. As in all fields, some witch doctors are charlatans—although, traditional African medicine is beginning to gain respect in the West as, “a complex system of medicinal plant usage and holistic therapies.”
 Granted it’s unlikely, as this story shows, that any African witches really have the power to turn digested fruit into snakes. But, caning, which also appears in the following, is a likely consequence for the protagonist’s mischief.

 My mom and dad used to work a lot. Because of this they were never around so I was always able to wander around my village and got into a lot mischief with my friends.
 One day we snuck into an old man’s garden and eat his mangoes and guavas. We thought he hadn’t seen us, but it turns out this man was a witch. Because of his magical powers, he had, indeed, seen us. So he prayed to his gods to punish us. The gods listened and a huge snake appeared in the garden.
 “Follow me,” the snake told us.
 We couldn’t resist and followed the snake into the old man’s house. Upon entering the snake disappeared into a puff of smoke. When the smoke lifted, the old man was standing in front of us.
 “You have been eating my mangoes and guavas.