Aaaah – the Roller Coaster Ride of Emotions is always right at the back door waiting for – no – grabbing – passengers. Just about the time you think you’ve acclimated to a new way of doing things, of living, of thinking the weird has become normal and you’ve become somewhat inured to heartbreaking sights and stories, something throws you on the ride. This week’s ride came… AGAIN… courtesy of the Sociopathic Head Teacher (we’ll call him SHT for short – how appropriate) at Peter’s School.
To back up a bit, a small clutch of new volunteers arrived last week and I was part of what’s called Tech Week, where volunteers are introduced to some of the skills they might be using in their work. It was a great group and we’d spent a fair amount of time together, so when Saturday arrived we were off to play, including some time in the lovely grounds of the Acholi Inn (left). They wanted to meet Peter and shop so I was on my way to meet them at their hotel when I ran into Peter – out of school when he shouldn’t be –and looking liked he’d just lost his best friend or afraid he might.
Near tears, he struggled to explain tell me that the SHT – known for his merciless treatment of students – the same one who has literally turned his back on me in the middle of “conversations,” who called Peter out in front of the whole school announcing that this former “street-kid is a piece of human waste – stay away from him,” canes students at night, boxes ears, etc. had found yet another way to damage a student – this time sending Peter out of school for a week. He knows Peter has no home, has no way to get food and is in the midst of reviewing for the exams that determine whether high school is possible.
During the last break between terms, you might recall that I sponsored Peter for a leadership camp. He came back so energized and motivated that he formed a group at school and taught them about hygiene and built six tippy-tap hand-washing-stations (right) around the school. In other words, contributing in a significant way, demonstrating his commitment to his school. He’s also been invited to represent the street-kids at a conference. Life was turning around – so SHT had to up-the-ante to try and make sure that doesn’t happen. Like I said – SHT is a piece-of-work.
So when he expelled Peter from school for a week we were all a bit blindsided. Never giving him a chance to explain an event that simply did not happen, but was reported by students who have been led to believe they will gain favour by turning against another student –SHT held all the power.When I visited to ask what this was about, he characteristically turned his back on me and walked away, refusing to talk.Can you imagine this happening at a US school?In Uganda, Head Teacher’s can get away with anything short of actual murder and that’s not an exaggeration.There is no recourse, no higher authority (except perhaps the ultimate Higher Authority) that will act, no student rights: even though they are referenced in the Education Act, they are not enforced.Teachers are so afraid of being fired without recourse – or worse, that they will not report abuse.One teacher went so far as to detail offenses (time, date, names) and sent the report blind (for fear of retribution) to six high-ranking officials. To date – not a peep out of anyone.
Students are required to suffer humiliating, dangerous, hope-killing abuses on an all too frequent basis and there’s nuthin’ that most people can do about it.In some ways, Peter is the lucky one, because although he has endured terrible things in his life, he also has advocates, while others do not – though they don’t need them as much either.
In this case, Peter has friends in high places: the Regional District Commissioner (RDC) and the Deputy (DRDC) – both appointed by the President and those friends found Peter a different school. After numerous confrontations with the SHT, who refused to release Peter’s belongings even though two adults accompanied Peter, we finally left with his stuff. Meetings with the DRDC offered the promise of a new school – government funded for Vulnerable Children (aren’t they ALL vulnerable here?).It required footing it all over town several times, getting documents, uniforms, belongings, enlisting help from friends and a lot of keeping my mouth shut when what I wanted to do was eviscerate someone.As Day Two dawned, all seemed to be well, untilwe showed up ready to move Peter only to be informed that SHT had called the Head Mistress at the new school and she in then rescinded her acceptance of Peter.The day was spent trying to keep spirits up.The up side is that I introduced Peter to puzzles (which he loved) while we waited on calls that never came.
On Day three, I had yet another meeting with the friends-in-high-places and all possibilities for forward motion came to a break-neck halt. Seems no one could locate the *!#*#PHONE NUMBER for the Head Mistress and BECAUSE noone could find it (no phone books here, no Google “find,” no one in the Education Office) everyone involved finally had to go to a scheduled two hour Board Meeting. THAT turned into a SIX hour meeting (not unusual) necessitating another night of finding Peter a place to stay, paying for his meals (he doesn’t eat Muzungu food) and urging him not to lose hope – which was beginning to dwindle for all of us.
Day Four (that would be today): a call to the new school was promised.Several friends later, I found the PHONE NUMBER.HOURS later, I pulled the Muzungo-card and walked back to the DRDC/RDC to find them in ANOTHER meeting with line of thirty Ugandans ahead of me – all waiting for their turn with the RDC. Pleading “tima kitca” (please forgive me) I went to the front of the line…. I didn’t have another day to waste.
I’m not making this up.I pled my case to the secretary and she interrupted the meeting, at which point the DRDC extricated herself.God BLESS this woman – about my age, big and soft and round – a real Ugandan mama’ – who loves Peter and loves this Muzungu who is fast becoming a pest.She grabbed me by the hand like a first grader, dragged me past the thirty black faces and affectionately shoved me through the door and to desk of a somewhat bewildered RDC.She interrupted the meeting and basically said “fix this.”And he did, but only after my begging for it to be done cawa ni/now because I am leaving the country tomorrow. Patience only works for so long, then pushiness is required. Ugandan’s won’t do it – you need a Muzungu for that.
Peter’s belongings, which have been resting at my house, are now with the DRDC, who allows Peter to sleep at her home and will take care of getting getting him to the new school tomorrow. I’ve thrown around enough money to make this happen and I have to trust that this will happen. And I do because there is no option at this point.
This is actually the short version of what has become a exercise in trust, patience (not my strong suit) and consciously shifting my emotions over things out of my control.Other interesting fall out is in the mix, but that’s another tale.One operates quietly and behind the scenes to try to affect change in a country where change is “not done.”One acts quietly because people have been poisoned or worse – for less.Yes.You read that right.
In the midst of this, during one of the many visits to the DRDC’s office, a beautiful delicate little girl about 2 years old arrived with an old woman.She tottered over to the RDC and handed Emily (the DRDC) a tight roll of money (greasing of the palm is almost routine) which, with great respect, Emily handed back to the little girl. She explained to me that she had intervened to save this baby from being sacrificed by a witch doctor who had abducted her!Yes – they still do that here.
And that was the week.Tomorrow – and none too soon – friends and I will board the Post Bus and haul down to Kampala to leave for ZANZIBAR on Sunday.Our phones don’t work there and computers are not invited.I will be blissfully out-of-touch on a white, sandy beach eating as much seafood as I can consume, going on a Spice Tour and basically acting like a tourist for 6 days. After that there’s the COS (Close of Service) conference in JINGA on the Nile! Yaaaay! That’s not a tan you’ll see – it’s the COS glow. Well – it might be a tan 😉
