The lucky ones went to Namugongo

I had it in me to write this story. Memories are cemented with written words. For then, someone could correct you on something, or better, enhance the beauty with a recollection you had missed out. For some reason, on January 9, the winds blew me towards the Martyrs shrine for a celebration of Holy Mass. Then I remembered those great days when yours truly joined many others to make it through the mighty gates of Uganda Martyrs SSS Namugongo.

I remembered my first Martyrs Day at the school. There was a make-shift club known as Caesar’s palace. It was the most popular hangout spot on Martyrs Day. The norm at the school was for us to be allowed the freedom to enjoy the day of our Patron Saints without much lacing of our whereabouts. Then, my friend Alinda convinced me to escape to an aunt of his that lived nearby. Little did we know that as we enjoyed the cookies, the movies and the rice, the real party was at Caesar’s palace. The sacrilege was being committed by the Namugongo students – the act of stepping into this palace.

Hardly had the news landed on Dr. Muyingo’s ears than he rushed out in his vest to contain this situation. A house help stopped him in his tracks to remind him to get a shirt over his vest. Then the news also reached the parties at Caesar’s Palace that a mother of raids was happening. From what I hear (yours truly was buried in rice), students turned into commandos, they found everything worthy of being called an exit.

One student even jumped into his head (anti the neck entered the head). If you do not get it, then how will you understand the Bugingo scenario. Muyingo then gave word that the school gates to be closed.

Everyone outside the gates was a potential suspect. As we arrived from our rice escapades with Alinda, we were met with new allegations and asked to note down our fellow party animals. We clearly had no idea. But people nearby told us the only way out was to confirm that the escapades had featured the whole protectorate and Muyingo’s children.

Long story short, a week of mourning was declared at the school, all canteens were closed for a week. All entertainment was cancelled for a week. It was the hardest week in Namugongo. Even the girls that claimed to dislike posho would use Oliver Twist speak and ask for some more. It is then that I appreciated the wisdom of Muyingo and his team. There was no suspension, nothing. Just a proper disciplinary act. My final years at the school were spent in the hands of Father Kasasa, another great soul.

But the article would lack justice if I did not mention the son of Namazzi, the one and only Rex Regis Ssemulya. What a man! But I soon learnt that the only way to escape his ‘kiboko’ was to feign sickness and then hope he never captured you in another crime. For he would soon remind you; ‘Now Ortega, are you still sick?” And you would get your kiboko arrears.

Namugongo was a meeting point of brains. You do not need an IQ test in this world, simply throw your child into Namugongo. If they make it out, you need no further argument. It is the place that collected the best from all over the country; Budo, SMACK, SHACK, Gayaza, Namilyango, Sunsas, Gungas, all these sent their best at O-Level to tussle it out at Namugongo’s A-Level. It was a clash of egos and brains in the first weeks. We competed on who used the least amount of space to solve a number, on who would finish a paper faster. One day you would be celebrating with a 90 percent, only for someone to pass by with a 95 percent.

Those brains kept boiling; they kept creating stuff. During the World Cup, a one Wizard Odongkara designed a betting system with clear odds. The man made some of the best money at the school.

Another classmate was able to design a phone into his calculator. The Namugongo Twins (Kato and Kakuru) were a year ahead, and wow, what a display of intelligence. From Namugongo I learnt that the best thing that can happen to any world is to give great people a meeting point.

Because thinking about my own cubicle, it produced three doctors, and three engineers. The other cubicles produced much more. But where do these brains meet post Namugongo? I guess intelligence gets lonely for them. For what is intelligence unless it finds an expression? What is intelligence unless it is shared among equals?

And yes, Namugongo was not just books and everything, we debated some of the biggest ideas in the world. We questioned Hegel and Kant; we destroyed Einstein’s theories. Little did we know that a pothole would destroy our own ideas in a second. But now that I have told you about Namugongo, maybe you need to salute the products wherever they pass… we are not everyday people. Ask our Patron saints…

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