The
year is 1998 and I am about eleven (11) years old. I am dressed in a yellow
khaki shirt (ink marks all over) and khaki brown (now white) pair of shorts.
Skin is glowing, shoes appear polished (we pounded charcoal with some green
leaves and used the mixture as shoe polish). By ‘my’ grooming standards then, I
am smart. My small hands are shaking and so is the small exercise book or what
remains of it, clenched in them. I am trembling. Everything is silent. The
winds retreat and the trees take to still. The music from their branches and
foliage fades out shortly after. Over the horizon, the dark grey clouds clear. Announcing
the arrival of the early morning sun, the deep yellow rays shade golden, as
they spread over the deep blue canvas that is the sky. Left with nowhere to
hide, it dawns upon me. This is my moment of truth! Has my first ever public showing
been impressive? Will it become another excuse for everyone to pick up on me
for years to come!
I
have just presented my version of a news bulletin to the entire school. The
first of its kind, and I (a staunch “vernacular” speaker, often at the bottom
of my class until recent times) was the only one ‘stupid’ enough to raise my
hand when the request for volunteers went out. I recall my conscience
complaining. “Why did you listen to that little voice I always convince you
never to listen to? Everyone says you will not make it! Why bother?”
The answer to that was with Mr. Balyejussa Moses. He is my teacher
of English at Mwiri primary school. He doubles as my class teacher in primary
five. His endorsement will catapult me into the highest echelon of the class’s
social strata. That top layer everyone looked up to or admired (academically). The
standard setters you compared your performances to. The heroes when the class
or school had to contribute to the next science project, schools spelling bee
or PTA event. The ‘must have’ in one’s debating team. His rebuke would send me
crashing to the very bottom. Bullied and despised. The yard sticks of indiscipline,
the ones that would amount to nothing. I had been in this bottom lot for long.
This was my attempt at ascending the ladders out of that pit. It had to work!
Still
engulfed in my fears, worries and uncertainties, a hand rests upon one of my shoulders
and before I can make out whose it is! I am high up in the air! “Clap for him!”
A command roars out, breaking the silence that had plastered the vicinity. “Harder!”
He demands, and the out bursts grow louder in compliance! “That was very wonderful!”
He elates and reaching out from his pocket, puts a single coin in my hands.
“That is for your break” he utters, instructing me to join my fellow pupils,
for the remainder of the morning assembly. They are awed, and the look on their
faces registers as a masterpiece in my eyes. I had made it!
Today
when you see me, I will be holding a bag. In that bag is a book I have never
read before! I made it a habit to not only read, learn or try something new,
but to do so with pride and confidence. Thank you Mr. Balyejussa Moses for the
two hundred Uganda shillings you gave me in 1998! With that single coin, you
lit a fire inside me, a fire that has guided me to and through doors I could
never have reached for and opened. God is in the details!
Boma
Moses
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