Education gave Kigula hope in prison

The first impression you get about Susan Kigula is that of a successful businesswoman. Dressed in a blue coat and white dress, with a matching designer bag, she exudes confidence.

Her large eyes hold you captive, commanding attention as she dictates what questions she will answer. Alas! My eyes constantly stray to her earrings and necklace.
We are sitting in the African Prisons Project (APP) offices in Mutungo-Biina late evening. The traffic jam delayed her by one hour. After 16 years in jail, it feels like she “landed in Nigeria. I’m just discovering Kampala. The traffic jam! The boda bodas!”

Truly, it has been a long walk for Kigula since she entered Luzira Women’s Prison in 2000, though she is not yet ready to talk about her personal experiences.

How the idea of school came up
“When I went to prison, there was no school. In 2008, I looked around and realised so many inmates had dropped out of school; some had never even been to school. I had stopped in Senior Four, but I realised we could make a difference in our lives by starting a school.”

She did not have the powers to commission a school, though, and had to approach Robert Omita, Acting Commissioner Welfare and Rehabilitation.

“He wondered how the school would run without teachers. I asked him to let me try it on myself first. I was going to enrol for Senior Five. When he asked how, I told him to accept that we had opened a school and then, we would see what followed.”

Omita informed a welfare officer, Nuru Kateregga, about Kigula’s desire, cautioning her not to let the inmate neglect her other roles.

“I could not study alone so I convinced four others to join me. The five of us had to agree on what combination to take, though we had no study materials, teachers, or text books. Madam Nuru gave us a history pamphlet to begin with.”

They agreed on History, Economics, Divinity and Entrepreneurship. Kigula sent for notes from her father and the other inmates did the same.

“We started teaching ourselves. The welfare office connected us to Upper Prison School, which sent us some notes. We never sat for examinations; we just knew when it was time to move on to the next term.”

But what is it like to teach oneself, and then, instruct others? “It was not easy,” Kigula says, adding, “You have to know what you want, set a goal, and follow it through. I also used to counsel my colleagues to persevere.”
Kateregga went away for maternity leave and on her return, she was surprised to find them forging ahead in spite of the fact that they were studying under a tree. Impressed, she asked the Upper Prison School to register them for Uneb examinations.

“As a condemned prisoner, I was not allowed a lot of interaction with the others. I would ask for permission to meet them for a few hours of revision. Then, I would return to the Condemned Section and study under my tree.”

Kigula emerged the best student in the examinations, beating those in Upper Prison School. In 2009, towards the Senior Six final examinations, a priest from Cyprian School helped prepare them for the examinations. Kigula scored 18 points.

Consolidating the school
With the five passing their examinations, there was no stopping the growth of the school. The headmaster of Upper Prison School realised that there was potential in the Women’s Prison and a partnership began. Other inmates enrolled and were taught by the five.

“There was no university programme so for a year I concentrated on running the school. We began with Senior One to Three, whom we promoted to Senior Four.

For Senior Five, we only enrolled those who had completed their O level.”
The primary section was not ignored. Inmates were enroled from Primary One to Four. Those who had dropped out of school years ago could only begin in Primary Four.

“We wanted to give them quality education by bringing up their level of reasoning before they could continue to Primary Seven. That is the criteria we set for enrollment.”
Several women have since gone through the school. The only challenge is that save for a Common Law course, there is no university education in the Women’s Prison.

Who counsels the counsellor?
The need to leave prison a changed person drove the former inmate in her quest for an education.

“I wanted to have a different status in society when I came out. I also wanted to help other inmates but it was not easy. They had been frustrated in their marriages. They were thinking about their children and did not have time to concentrate on studies.” Counselling them meant that she had to explain the importance of education as a goal.

Besides being a counsellor, Kigula was a pastor and overall head of the inmates. She admits to suffering depression but says God counselled her during her challenges. She also clung to the fact that no difficult situation lasts.
“Since many women were looking up to me, I had to be strong. At times, I lost the right to cry, even though I was going through pain and frustration. They would have been discouraged if they saw me crying.

I had to gather the strength to go on; clinging to hope calls for courage.” Kigula’s parents died while she was in prison; her mother died a month before she was released.

Embarking on a Law diploma
Alexander MacLean, the founder of APP, used to support the inmates in various ways. He and Kigula became personal friends as he was supportive of her court cases. One day, in 2011, he asked what she thought of studying a Law course.
“I refused; I hated Law because I saw it as manipulative.

He said I could make a difference, even if I studied alone. I would be setting precedent. Eventually, he convinced me.”
MacLean acquired a scholarship from the University of London and Kigula sat for the interview with others.

She, and three inmates from Upper Prison, passed and began studying for a diploma in Common Law. APP provided the study materials, although there were no lecturers.”

With no one to explain the difficult concepts, depression soon set in. MacLean and Stella Nabunya, OC Women’s Prison, saw her through.

“Everything was so foreign, with the quoted cases having English names. I once returned a box of textbooks to Madam Stella’s office and told her I was quitting. I will forever credit her for counselling me. Later, it became exciting. I thought those who studied Law were gods so here I was, trying to understand the concepts!”

In 2014, Kigula graduated and immediately enrolled for a degree in Common Law. She is in her final year.

Life outside prison
Kigula was released two months ago, although she prefers not to discuss the circumstances. “It was a mixture of excitement and anxiety because I found a completely different world. However, I thank God for giving me a second chance to be a better person.”
The one-year-old baby she left behind is now a 17-year-old girl. “She did not know me and neither did I know her. But I have been patient. She is a teenager and we argue over mirrors and makeup. She is my best friend.”

Kigula advises former inmates to understand their children’s position and have candid discussions with them about why they were jailed. She hopes to start an organisation to help female inmates and their children.

Appeal against the death sentence
“People should possess a heart of forgiveness and reconciliation. Only then, can the crime rate go down. Also, they should know that when you say sorry it does not mean you are wrong. I have learnt that it is more important for peace to prevail than for me to be right.”

The Law student urges the public and parliamentarians to accept the abolition of the death penalty.

“Not only for those in the Condemned Section now, but for future generations. I am not justifying crime. Everyone deserves to be punished for their crime but the punishment should be rehabilitative instead of punitive.

It is possible for a judge to convict an innocent person, so instead of letting them die, let us give them a second chance to serve their nation.” As the dusk gathers, Kigula constantly looks at her watch. After receiving a phone call, she urges her lecturer to give her notes before she leaves.

As I stand by the roadside, lost in deep thought, several taxis stop and then speed off. I am thinking about courage and hope. Where do people find the guts to rise above the odds and break the mold, while others are sinking under?

Earlier in 2003, Susan Kigula had led her fellow death row inmates in petitioning the Constitutional Court on the legality of the death sentence. Susan Kigula & 417 Others vs Attorney General (Constitutional Petition No.6/2003) was a groundbreaking case.
The petitioners said the long delay between the pronouncement of the death sentence and the actual execution, allows the death row syndrome to set in.

Therefore, carrying out the sentence after a long delay was cruel, inhuman and degrading.
They also argued that Section 99(1) of the Trial on Indictments Act which provides for hanging as the legal mode of carrying out the death sentence is cruel and inhuman.

The case was decided on January 21, 2009 and although the petitioners lost, their death sentences were put aside and their cases remitted to the High Court to determine appropriate sentences.

“It is a historical case that saw many condemned prisoners leave the death row,” Kigula reminisces quietly, continuing, “But, it was not a one-man show.

The welfare officers, Foundation for Human Rights Initiative, religious groups, Uganda Prisons Service, Katende Ssempebwa and Co. Advocates, and my fellow death row inmates (in Upper and Women’s Prison) contributed to the petition, although I was the lead petitioner.”

So, how does it feel to know that one’s efforts saved many from death? “It humbles me. What we achieved is enabling more people coming out of prison to have a positive impact on society. I give the glory to God.”
In November 2011, Kigula’s death sentence was reduced to a custodial sentence of 20 years, beginning September 11, 2002.