Chasing Dreams in Kampala

Istill remember the year 2000 as if it were just last week. That was the year I completed my Ordinary Level Education at Bishop Angelo Negri College in Gulu, a city in the North of Uganda. Back then, there was a belief in northern Uganda that if you wanted to truly make it academically, you had to attend school in the central region, especially in Wakiso and Kampala. Schools in the central region were seen as academic powerhouses – thanks to the legacy of colonialism. And like many students from the north, my cousin Ocen and I were swept up in that belief.

So, with our minds full of hope and bags packed with ambition, we set off to Kampala to look for admission to some of the “powerful” schools. The problem? We had no direct admission into any government school, which was our preference. And we didn’t know Kampala well at all. I had last been there in the early ’90s, and Ocen had only passed through once. To make matters worse, we had no relatives in the city, so we had to stay at our uncle’s house in Entebbe, about 40 kilometres away. That meant long, confusing commutes to hunt for Advanced-level school opportunities in Kampala and neighbouring districts.

We had a list of schools in mind, including St. Joseph’s Senior Secondary School Naggalama, St. Lawrence Citizens High School, Kyambogo College, and Katikamu SDA Secondary School. Still, we didn’t even know where they were. Armed with vague directions, we knocked on the gates of a few schools in and around Kampala. One of those gates was St. Peter’s SS in Nsambya. We did not know much about the school, but an uncle told us it was a good school, and when they offered us admission, we jumped in.

And when we joined St. Peter’s, then something strange struck us. We soon realized that the school was not built to be a boarding school. The dormitory for the boys was a classroom-turned-dormitory stuffed with triple-decker beds. And there were very few students who were boarders. Most of the students were day scholars. I got a middle-decker bed, which was so uncomfortable. Senior 5 students studied in a library because there weren’t enough classrooms. The noise from nearby shops and boda-bodas from the street behind the library didn’t help. St. Peter’s was a serious downgrade from our big green soccer field, spacious dormitory with double-decker beds, and quiet school environment at our old school in Gulu. By the end of our first term in St. Peter’s S.S Nsambya, Ocen and I made a pact: we had to find a new school.

This decision took us to round two of our school search in Kampala. We visited Caltec Academy, a school near Makerere University. It had a good reputation, and we were hopeful. But when I handed my report card to the director, things took a wrong turn. At St. Peter’s, we skipped a computer exam that didn’t count for the Uganda National Examinations Board (UNEB) and chose to focus on our four principal subjects. The school marked that as “indiscipline” in our end-of-term academic progress report cards.

The director, an old man with glasses sliding off his nose, took one look at that remark and threw my report card on the floor like it was infected with a virus. “I don’t entertain indiscipline students in my school!” he barked. Ocen’s report had similar remarks and experienced the same fate.

We got admitted after we explained to him, but the damage was done. Our spirits were bruised by the old man. We decided to keep searching for another school.

Then came Katikamu SDA.

From the moment we walked in, it felt like home. Big compound. Spacious classrooms. A calm, quiet environment perfect for studying. The dormitories looked like actual dormitories. The Director of Studies at the time, Mr Walugembe, looked at our reports, raised an eyebrow, and pulled out a stick from his locker. “This,” he said, “is for people who miss exams.” We explained, and he understood. “I know students from northern Uganda. You people are serious. You’ll do well here.”

We joined Katikamu. But not without challenges. We were placed in a class called H4, written as “HIV” in Roman numerals. The lowest-performing students. Teachers who came to conduct lessons in HIV class had very little enthusiasm, and other students regularly mocked us. Even Senior Two students mocked us. One girl said she hated “those HIV people and wondered why the school cannot dismiss all those dull students” when our class took over her former classroom. She was angry about losing her classroom, which was now accommodating H4 students. It stung like a bee. That afternoon, Ocen and I looked at each other and smiled without a word. But we knew we had to read hard to do well.

We read like our future depended on it because it did. Fortunately, class streams were changed termly based on one’s academic performance the previous term. We moved from H4 to H3, then to H2. By the time we sat our Senior six UNEB exams, we had not only caught up but had overtaken many students who had been in H1.

Looking back, changing schools in A-Level was tough. But it made us stronger. The streaming system, harsh as it was, pushed us harder. We discovered that private schools were more driven and more serious. In the end, our journey wasn’t just about changing schools. It was about refusing to be defined by a remark in a report card, a classroom name, or a girl’s comments. And if you’re wondering, we never heard that girl’s voice again. Maybe she changed her mind. Or we moved too fast for her to catch up.