Sr. Suzan Centre with me, Carol Nakimera (Dr.), and Mirembe Cleopatra (Dr.) at the Namagunga convent during our last year of high school.
If there is something I have always hated, it is the smell of hospitals. I detest the thought of being in the presence of many lab courts and pale faces in corridors. Worst of all, the sight of injections. I would instead be subjected to the front line of an army than to receiving one injection. You can imagine the look on my face when my mother quietly sneaked a lady into our home one early morning in February 2017 to convince me to join the nursing school. It was early morning when a family friend arrived at our home at the foot of the hill. She had been summoned to convince me to branch into nursing.
Senior Five students would be reporting to school in a couple of weeks. My family stood at a crossroads. I had no school admission and no way to pursue one. We were financially challenged even to discuss the next stage in my education journey. I could not contact schools because I did not have my Senior Four transcript. Still, then, I could not get my school transcript because I was swimming in a heavy school fees debt with my previous school. I silently admired returning to my former school because of its status quo and the apparent advantages we seek in life if we attend a recognizable academic institution. My other option was to sit out and see where life would lead me.
The days for Senior Five students to report to school quickly drew closer. Precisely, it was Friday, and on Monday after the weekend, Senior Five students would be reporting to school. I still had no clue about what my plan was. I was probably out in the fields of Kabale playing basketball or soccer, surviving on vibes and Insha Allah. That Friday evening, Sr. Suzan called my mother. I always imagine the conversation flowed like this past the greetings.
"Where is Naguuddi going for A'Level?" Sr. Suzan must have asked.
That is how she always said my name.
My mother must have fumbled with a response after beating around the bush until she disclosed that I had no plan for the next level.
"Ha! Make sure that daughter is in Namagunga on Monday." I imagine Sr. Suzan replied.
As I retired home from my evening runaways that Friday evening, my mother welcomed me with the good news. I would return to Mt. St. Mary's College Namagunga for my Advanced Level education. We were excited but had so many reservations. My sister was at UCU studying law, and every penny gathered was used to pay for her education. My kid brother had also reported back to Kabale Preparatory School, and the last born, a handsome autistic boy, has daily needs that only a parent that has raised a child with special needs can understand. My mother sat me down and told me, "Beth, we currently have 700,000 UGX ($ 187). We are going to give it to you. Use it however you deem right, but ensure you are at school on Monday."
Let me run this for you. Admission to Namagunga was roughly 700,000 UGX ($187), school fees were 1.5 million UGX ($400), transport to Kampala was 30,000 ($8), and a taxi was 5,000 UGX ($1.4). I had to purchase the compulsory items like a ream of paper, brooms, and rugs. In addition, I had a debt from my O'Level time at the school. Too much to be covered by 700,000 UGX!
At 10:00 pm, I boarded the Gateway bus from Kabale to Kampala, and at 5:00 am, I was in Kampala. As soon as the sun peeped through the horizon, I was on a taxi to Namagunga. I was among the first students to arrive. I walked to the welcome table. Suddenly, all I could hear was accusations of my forced entry into the school. The teacher at the welcome desk screamed, "You are the people who force your way into Namagunga!" Imagine how all the students and teachers in the vicinity turned to look at me. I already looked pale and tired, so at that moment, I just froze.
I calmly left the table and went to the Senior Five dormitories. A friend offered me her bed. I slept until 6:00 pm when I woke up panicking. Almost everyone I met said, "Sr. Suzan has been looking for you all day." I quickly rushed to the convent, and she was so happy to see me again. Without wasting time, we walked to the headmistress's office. Fortunately, Sr. Seraphine had not wound up her day. After exchanging formalities, we jumped into the task at hand. Sr. Seraphine was equally happy to see me and could not stop talking about my contribution to the sports department. Then, Sr. Suzan dropped the bomb about having no school admission. Without hesitation, Sr. Seraphine pulled an admission letter from her desk, signed it, and said, "Nagudi, the next time you are in such situations, speak up and get help."
If I were ever challenged to write about a teacher who changed my life, I would choose Sr. Suzan over and over any day. That was one of the few acts of kindness that I received from her. I was not the only child she was carrying on her back. Hundreds of students who have been through Namagunga can testify about her "tough love." Emphasis on the word "tough love." She was the teacher who would arrive in any space, and everyone would immediately behave like a lady. If she met you with an unironed school uniform, it would get ironed there and then. I cannot list how many times she punished me. One day, I, alongside the three senior class students, cleaned the kitchen walls, which were as black as Kiwi shoe polish. Guess what … she made me head of the punishment. In my Senior One, she made me cry in front of the class because I was in my father's shirt. She thought it was a shirt from a Namilyango boy! The list is endless, but I would pay a million dollars for the times she punished me. I am who I am because of what she did.
While chatting with my mother recently, she said, "Sr. Suzan's home got burnt down to ashes." It came off calmly, but my heart sank. I have been blessed to remain in contact with Sr. Suzan since my brother is at Namilyango, where she was transferred. I learned that she had nieces and nephews she was taking care of. On this fateful day, the little niece, who is in school in Lugazi, woke up to prepare for the day. Kayanje, where the home is located, had not had electricity for the past three weeks. The young girl who needed a light source as she prepared joyfully lit a candle and placed it on top of a blue band container on the chair's arm. As soon as the school van hooted, the young niece hurriedly left to board the van. That was around 6:30 am, and an hour later, Sr. Suzan received a phone call from the neighbor.
"Unfortunately, nothing was saved!" He said.
"Was anyone hurt?" That was her biggest concern. She did not care whether her favorite memories had gone. All she felt at heart was her motherly approach to humanity!
I felt more than indebted to reach out to and support her in whatever way my tiny pockets could. I remembered something: Sr. Suzan has not only been my mother but also a mother to a thousand more women out there. She must have mothered even the Inebantu, Jovia Mutesi.
It would be nice to see the tiny little girls in red, green, sky blue, maroon, or navy blue skirts who have morphed into the different leaders today come together and support her in whatever way we can. She is now at another school where more leaders have been made, Namilyango College, and I have no doubt her iron hand is making more ethically upright leaders.
I am running a donation run until the Fourth of July, and if you are interested in donating to her, kindly send it to +256 781 899108 (Nagudi Elizabeth Kisolo). Hopefully, by the 6th of July, on Namilyango Sports Day, there will be something substantial to hand over to her. Thank you for your generosity in advance.
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