The Observer (Kampala)
Martyn Drakard
10 September 2008
opinion
When I heard that Kimani Nganga Maruge, the 88-year old Kenyan, who took advantage of free primary education four years ago and joined the local primary school in Eldoret, had been taken to a home for his own safety, that spoiled my day.
Despite his own home being burnt down in January this year he had stuck to his ambition, to get a diploma in veterinary medicine, and never missed a class. His little classmates and the headmistress were also distraught. Seeing him sit in the front row, with his shorts and uniform blue and white socks, made me admire this humble Mzee.
So when I was in Lira, speaking with an elderly primary teacher who told me many parents think learning is not necessary, and keep their children at home, giving the excuse that "in any case they'll be killed!', I couldn't help comparing the two attitudes. Kimani had it tough too; his house was burnt down. His life has been in danger since the unrest in Kenya began; he belongs to the 'wrong" ethnic group. But determination is stronger; life has to go on.
Perhaps the explanation for this difference in perspectives lies in the fact that Kimani has grown up in a society where education, except his own, which took off very late, has never been interrupted. The Kenyan education system has always chugged along; even early this year, at the height of the conflict, most schools opened just a few days later than planned.
But in northern Uganda education has been under immense strain. In Lira, as in other places, a learning centre was erected to cater for children from three nearby camps. But the children were traumatized by camp life and the constant fear of abduction or attack, and the stories they heard of anyone between nine and thirty-five being tied round the waist, and led away like slaves. Pupils were unable to follow simple regulations in class. Fights easily broke out. When women came to sell food at the centre, children would steal it or spoil it.
It was common for teachers to lack motivation. Some had fled without their belongings from their homes in Pader and Kitgum, further north, through where the rebels entered from Acholiland.
Camp life was not conducive to study; the Centre would keep its doors open after classes ended to allow children do homework. Class control was not easy. Children would fall asleep; others were openly rebellious to teachers and abusive with other children. The state of their minds could be seen from what they would draw: killings, guns and rape, especially those who had spent time with the rebels and had escaped.
That was then, when Lira's outskirts housed several thousand people in camps. On a visit to a primary school in Ogur, some 15 miles from the town, I asked the headmaster and some PTA members what the situation was like now. Definitely things are better. The schools in the villages are open.
Enrolment was up at the beginning of the year, but over a third have dropped out since January; the parents have no money and need the children to work at home. The rains have been good; strong young hands are needed to help bring in the harvest. Others will be married off, the dowry is needed; someone is sick and there are no funds to pay the bill and transport to hospital. After years of disturbance, many people still cannot believe there is peace, and that the rebels will not attack again. Children, they said, are still naughty and restless in class.
Despite the cheerful faces, life is tough. The teachers lack basic teaching materials; the farmers need seeds and basic equipment. Why, one of them asked, don't NGOs help us with these things that we really need, and refund us for some of the things we lost, including property, when we were rushed to the camps? Starting all over again from scratch is hard.
The teachers are dedicated. The headmaster lives in Lira town, and cycles to the school and back every day. Other teachers get by too as best they can. They are keeping alive the hope of those children lucky enough to have parents who see the value of education and who are able to keep them at school, even if this means denying themselves things they need.
As I was listening to all these stories, an idea kept bugging me. So many accounts of heroism and personal sacrifice. What a pity if no-one were to record them for posterity.
Already other conflict zones have produced personal accounts that are more exciting than spy stories, just because they are true. Immaculee Ilibagiza, who lived through the Rwandan genocide, wrote 'Left to Tell', a heart-rending account of a miraculous survival, although the rest of her family was killed. Ishmael Beah was a child soldier with the army in Sierra Leone fighting the rebels, and discovered he could also commit terrible acts. 'A Long Way Gone' tells his story. Immaculee has started a foundation in the United States to raise money for African charities; Ishmael is a member of the Human Rights Watch children's rights division, and has spoken before the United Nations several times. 'The Translator' by Daoud Hari, does something similar for Darfur.
It is at this level that awareness has to be created, and twenty-two years of insurgency has produced plenty of stories worth recording for the international reader, and for future generations.
Martyn Drakard, Author is a Kenyan freelance writer and journalist.
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