Institutions and bizarre protests

For the past ten years a couple of nice and fascinating things have happened in our country and we have lived to cherish most of them rather than exploit their value. But more recently an institution has been established in the outskirts of Kampala with the purpose of nurturing mad children and by “mad children” I am not referring to the mentally ill kids but the freaky “mpiyokos” who boldly tell their mothers that they won’t go to school, that they hate showering, that they won’t wash the dishes and also that they won’t greet elders in the neighborhood.

Stubborn mpiyokos

Founders of this institution have emphasized their ability and willingness to help avert these children into disciplined little ones, with a sense of humility and respect for elders. The institution has also promised to impart and teach general life skills to these young ones but a controversial topic has risen following the release of a list of requirements the institution has issued out to parents. One of the essential requirements is a bundle of canes per child. Advocates for children’s rights have already raised red flags, criticized and thrown doubts on the credibility and legality of the institution. A ferociously angry woman advocate not only said that the institution’s requirement was socially unacceptable, evil and vile but also threatened to start a “breast show” demonstration (like the “topless protest” that followed Ingrid Turinawe’s brutal police arrest in April 2012) if the local authorities dared to issue a license to this institution.
This is where some folks react beyond proportion. What is the association between child abuse and the indecency of breast show demonstrations? The matter of fact is that there isn’t any connection at all and however much you try to relate these two elements, your efforts will culminate at nothing but a realization that we ought to desist from immoral demonstrations. However the administration of the institution have defended their request for canes along the lies that the canes are only a psychological aspect only meant to scare the kids into behaving appropriately. A confused member of the institution’s administration was also heard saying that the canes were meant to be used as firewood and he nearly survived a sharp slap from an angry woman who apparently was a strong advocate for children’s rights.

I am falling in love with the level of respect for children’s rights that our society has reached and perhaps this is just the beginning of a new era where people will start to disregard all forms of primitive prejudice and abuse. I also strongly and eagerly hope that one day these folks who advocate for rights will not only stop at that but also recognize the fact that certain things have to be done the right way, that drug abuse among teenagers should be brought to an end and that maybe for the good and sake of culture, women should never indulge themselves in breast show demonstrations.
You see there’s something bizarre about these topless protests. While certain folks, religious leaders and elders are on their knees begging and pleading to the protesters so that they don’t indulge in stripping naked, other horny people are always making merry eagerly waiting for the protests to begin so that they can happily immerse their eyes with this despicable eroticism. On days of the protest, you will find multitudes of these people standing along streets frolicking and waiting for the much anticipated scenes. Take for example in a certain powerful country where a renowned activist promised to strip to her bra along with other protesters. Multitudes of people gathered on the set date only to be shocked by protesters adorned in long-sleeved sweaters covering all body from head to toe while carrying placards with slogans “Human rights not tits” and “Shame on you!” It was noted that several men left the scenes cursing and swearing, saying that they had been fooled.

Last year a similar institution had been set up to cater for people who suffered from painful broken hearts after failed or “toxic” relationships. Gertrude(not real name) was shocked and overwhelmed to meet Brad, her ex-partner, at the same place seeking help. However what was most shocking was not their surprise meeting, but the fact that Brad was the one yelping like a bitten thief, crying over the way Gertrude misused his feelings. On the other end Gertrude was explaining to the counsellor how toxic the relationship had been because Brad had only gifted her cheap items which she referred to as “simple simple childish things” and those words only broke Brad’s heart the more. She also added that Brad had mysteriously disappeared two days before Valentines day and that she knew he had done it on purpose in order to avoid his responsibilities. The most astonishing part was that both clients left the institution happy and ready to re kindle their relationship with brighter goals and changed mindsets, thanks to the company’s experienced counsellors.
Although this institution had helped a couple of people manage the emotional stress that builds up in the aftermath of breakups, the authorities shut it down on allegations of providing harmful products to clients. I should let you know that this company was also dealing in body-shaping pills, skin-lightening cosmetics and other products of that sort. Disaster befell the company when a one Nakatudde Rosemary(not real name) turned from her natural body size to something close to an elephant in terms of appearance after using hip-enhancing pills she purchased from the company. Long story cut short, investigations were done, the company was sued, suffered with legal proceedings in court and jail is still the home of most of the company’s top staff, except for Opio Willy(not real name), the former marketing manager who was recently spotted on the streets of Kampala vending similar cosmetics products in his motor van which customers can never trace after purchasing his products. Several women and surprisingly even men testify on how Opio has ruined their superficial life. It is in the wake of such incidences that we call upon authorities to do what is expected of them and stop providing licenses or a suitable environment to such unscrupulous institutions or individuals.

Silver Stock Street

Patiently, I had waited at the bus stop for over an hour though it still seemed no bus nor a taxi would appear soon. So I trotted down Silver Stock Street as I gazed at the speeding traffic, with my hands firmly placed in my pockets as a measure that no pick pocket took an opportunity on me. 

I could see a yellow taxi approaching my proximity so I hailed out, just the same instant I felt someone grip my arm. His hand felt like an iron machine. With great shock and shriek, I turned to see who this was, perhaps an old pal. 

Before me stood a giant  of a man, a beast  of terrifying physic. With my arm still gripped in his fingers, I uttered some words, visibly expressing the shock I bore, all the line, ‘Ex excuse Goodevening sir.’ My utterances only fell on a deaf ear who merely continued staring at me, only to intesify my shriek. 

Now this was turning quite strange as I  wondered why the passers-by never paid attention to the scene. Everyone simply passed by as though nothing strange was occurring. I hardly figured out why this beast of a man held me captive. The one idea that popped up in my brain was crucial. Yell, dude you have to yell. So my mouth opened wide, wide enough to let out a resounding yell and this was when the actual strange moment occurred. 

Almost everyone including pedestrians, cyclists and motorists posed in astonishment only to gaze at a young lad run mad. And the madness thing was nearly true because there had been surely no strange man holding my arm. I was only day dreaming. An imagination!  The long wait at the bus stop together with my uncontrollable fears of the notorious ‘Kifeesi’ gang were enough to rupture the chemistry in my brain. 

Grandpa’s tale

​Ms Ruth would haul one’s ears shortly before she slapped or punched their back and finally culminated her disciplinary action with a rapid lashing on the back end. Secretly we referred to her as ‘soldier girl’ pertaining to her military conduct. Even when you stood a good miles away from her classroom, in the morning hours, when the atmosphere was still serene, you wouldn’t help hearing her conduct her lessons boisterously, her voice bellowing and consequently producing painful echoes throughout the Institute,her excuse for this manner being merely emphasis. Well every school has that one female mistress who barks but seldom bites. Ours was Ruth except that she bit as well. I was glad not being her pupil though her fury reigned on us all. She was a man and the scar below her ever-red nose was another issue raising questions. Tough like the lady below. 

Like this lady expcet that Ruth carried whips instead

Contrary to her name, Ruth was so ruthless. Nonetheless she wasn’t the scariest, Mr Muntu was. Somehow Muntu dilluted his alarming conduct with silly jokes yet fail to present his homework and he would descend on you. Often he spiced up the thrashing by uttering so many unchristian words at his victim. That was in his usual moods for when upset, he would carry one into space, later he would let gravity act freely on them, in other words he left them to fall. Those days kids were strong, fractures and dislocations were unheard of. 

Back then we were so ignorant of our rights as to let such thriller prevail in our lives. Only Mr Musimenta, the lawyer bothered about the situation. Consequently Musimenta’s son, Musa, was the only exception as far as that inhuman thrashing was administered for Mr Musimenta had threatened to sue the administration. Unfortunately his efforts only progressed as far as threatening, nothing more.

Don’t think all our teachers were lions, Yusuf wasn’t. He was somehow friendly. Foreign eatables, say for example mandiz, were prohibited at school. Nonetheless Yusuf, the Maths teacher, sneeked for us pan cakes through the secret pupil-made hole in the fence.

He was my favorite, oh he was our favorite teacher for he never was like his alarming colleagues, Muntu and Ruth. Being kids we were besieged by an overwhelming curiosity to know who of the two lions was stronger, who would make the other cry during a fight. In accordance to common thought regarding gender, one would obviously suppose Ruth being weaker and the man emerging stronger, yet the true answer to this question was just a matter of time. It so happened that Muntu intentionally extended his lesson a couple of minutes into already-upset Ruth’s time, who stood with her grinned face impatiently at the door. Consequently she protruded her head through the open door signaling her displeasure yet these moves fell on a deaf ear who kept explaining his photosynthesis. Later as Muntu walked towards the exist, he was welcomed with a couple of punches on the belly. Allow me not indulge into the details of the struggle, we leave that for another article but when the fight, in which Muntu hardly blocked a blow, ended, we surely knew who of the two was stronger. We also had a clue on how Ruth could have got a scar below her nose. 

Minutes passed and the next thing Muntu was lying on the classroom verlander sobbing in agony as ruthless Ruth was in the staff room frolicking and boasting about her prowess, later she was to be incarcerated for dislocating a colleague’s ulnar and the rest is history. 

The above narrative  is grandpa’s tale of his experience at a military school. Of recent as i contemplated on the matter, I was drawn into comparing the effectiveness of the past violence in schools with the effects of the modern permissiveness yet unnecessary violence still occurs in schools, especially primary schools. Sayings such as “the ears of the African child are found on the buttocks” have held us captive of this inhuman act. It is for this cause that many challenged students lose their desires for formal education as early as nursery. A little spanking doesn’t kill and our teachers are praiseworthy, but if they are so torturesome as to implant permanent scars in our hearts, then never are they  good teachers.

 To some extent reforms are needed as to avert the unforeseen consequences of this nationwide consuetude. 

The truth beneath

Opoku Kongo Patrick claimed a bottle made him look younger. And by this he didn’t mean any other kind of bottle, but one of liquor. His conviction about life was that man wouldn’t find happiness except with the bottle beside him. His self-caused addiction for alcohol was hard to understand. For then, my taste rolled around candy, chocolate and things of the sort and for any kid that’s how it is supposed to be except for these generation X kids who desire shisha as early as S.1
And you actually never imagine that liquor can be addictive . But for Opoku, liquor had become more than an addiction, it was now a life style. We as a community that unanimously concluded that alcohol made a portion of his DNA when one time a nurse substituted alcohol for drip water when Opoku had failed to recover from a  serious fever. Surprisingly the ill man was back to normal within no hours.

Astonishingly Patrick beat the odds and at 54 years of age, his body systems were more than normal except that his belly was not  fat but rather enormous.

But wait! Who is Patrick? He is that sane man always mistaken for a madman. He’s that lad you saw in peered-in pants on a Monday morning. And when you trace back for his personality and background, Patrick holds a bachelor’s degree in accounting. It is alleged that his life turned upside down when a one heartless Nakatudde Rosemary, his then fiancé broke his heart, leaving the poor tender-hearted fellow in a lonely world so cold to bear that he gave in to becoming a DDO. (abbreviation for daily drinking officer).

One time someone said “Being lonely is hard, but what’s harder is when you’re surrounded by people and still feel lonely.” Those days Nakatudde justified herself along the excuses of Opoku being too principled, mbu Opoku wouldn’t make the fun husband she desired. But now see what a pointless drink turned this principled gentleman into. Those days proceeding the breakup you would find Opoku wandering and roaming around Mukyala Beleddene’s small bar and you couldn’t even in your wildest imaginations think that he was once a serious man in life. But I reckon all that Patrick needed was counseling. Just like several people, he supposedly thought alcohol could solve his problems, mbu alcohol could mend his soul. Imagine a solution taken, only to arouse trouble.

So today I wrote this specifically for our countrymen and country women who have made drinking their primary career. As always said “drink responsibly”.

Eddie Zziwa,

The pacifist