Never Take Someone For Granted

Part One

March is always a rainy month in the tropics. It is a month dreaded by the students in Africa. No one loves reaching school wet and muddy.

It had rained heavily again this morning, and I had reached school late and dripping and wet as an eel. I felt feverish. It was the mid-term of senior four at Lubiri Secondary School. The moment I stepped into class, I was clumsy as a bull in the China shop. I had an itching allergy, often made worse by cold water or chlorine. My whole body itched terribly; it was like the African fire-safari ants had invaded my being. The teacher of English, Miss Lubanga was horrified, as I scratched my body severely. Everyone in the classroom laughed hysterically, but not Lorna. 

She had walked up and offered me her warm swollen jumper, which I took gladly. It embarrassed me, but I still felt cold as Mountain Rwenzori snows. Lorna did not mind the laughter. She smiled beautifully and returned to her seat.

After a short while, I warmed up, and the itching eased. I stared at Lorna seated on the first desk, writing her exercise quietly. 

That very moment my mind drifted back four years when I had joined senior one. Lorna was the first girl I ran into after being admitted to a government secondary school. She was light-skinned, and of medium height, maybe five feet tall. 

She was skinny and small. I had got lost in this new maze of a big school. I found Lorna seated on a rickety, old wooden bench near the parade ground, reading David Copperfield, a novel written by Charles Dickens. I stopped, stared at her shyly. I asked her timidly, "Where's Form 1 A?." 

She promptly pointed in its direction. As I turned to walk off to my new class, I felt a warm, moist hand on my bony shoulder; she had decided to walk beside me. After we introduced each other formally, I asked her, "Which primary school did you study at?" 

Lorna answered quietly, “I studied at Buganda Road Primary School,”  

Wow! I exclaimed. “That was a top-level-tier government school in Kampala. I am from Nabagereka Primary school," I continued excitedly.

My former primary school was small and hidden away in the slum areas of Mengo-Kisenyi, just a kilometre from Kampala, the capital city of Uganda. My school was located in the poorest neighbour neighbourhood that flooded frequently and was congested by petty traders, drug addicts, and prostitutes. I gasped remembering the blood and toil.

But I was grateful to God that I was one of the best students and had got admission to a top-rated secondary school in the country.

To be continued...