Dad was ready to give up his life for us
YOU cook well, did you attend cookery school? a friend asks. <br>“No, I used to watch my dad cook,†I answer. “fish was his specialtyâ€. <br>‘Your English is good…..’ some one remarks another time.’ “my dad used to read with me…†I reply<br>“You are so confident…..†“
By Dr. Anne Akullo
YOU cook well, did you attend cookery school? a friend asks.
“No, I used to watch my dad cook,†I answer. “fish was his specialtyâ€.
‘Your English is good…..’ some one remarks another time.’ “my dad used to read with me…†I reply
“You are so confident…..†“My dad always said a woman should be assertive and independentâ€.
On and on we went until I realised there was no success in my life that I could not attribute to my dad, Michael Omal Obol.
He wasn’t wealthy but he gave us all he had. He did not have a weapon but he protected us with his life. There is no other way to describe this selfless man than to call him my hero. My father’s story is one of bravery, determination and sacrifice.
In 1986, I was six and living with the rest of my siblings (six sisters and one brother) in Kaberamaido town. On a dry Saturday evening, panic struck the town; dad picked up a few papers and said we were leaving immediately. We did not know where we were going and we were terrified.
After walking for most of the night, ducking into the bush from time to time at the sound of gunshots, we arrived at a convent where we slept around a fire. Early the next day we had to continue the journey.
There was a brief period of rejoicing after being reunited with the rest of the family in the village (Agweng) but then the unrest continued.
The following weeks were characterised by treks between Kaberamaido town and Agweng depending on which place was deemed safe at the time. My dad opened his doors to hundreds of strangers fleeing their homes. There was not enough food to feed them all so we made a lot of porridge.
He then decided to get us out of the village. He took the first five out and put them in boarding school but then the roads became impassable because of the ambushes. Three of us remained in the village with our mother. My dad feared for our lives but he was determined. He did not forget to visit my siblings at school even with the chaos around.
I was taken by bicycle to Awoja swamp, then by canoe to the other side and finally by bicycle to Soroti town where one of my aunties allowed us use her house. He moved the other two in the same daring but courageous way.
While in Soroti, with mum away, dad did the cooking, bathed my little sisters, and enrolled us into school. He would prepare and pack my sister’s breakfast, then prepare lunch and then supper. He also had to travel back and forth between Soroti and Kaberamaido to do his job.
Sometimes the bus he was in was caught up in an ambush and he came home with blood stains, and at times bruises. sometimes all the food he brought was so stained that we could not eat it.
This was however the only way to get food to us since we had been denied relief food with the claim that we looked better of than other internally displaced persons.
In the night, gunshots ruled the air. My dad made sure we ate by 6:00pm then we spent the night under his bed while the shots roared and bullets rained on the roof. This went on for what I thought was eternity.
When the time of unrest was finally history, the church-going tradition was revived. He washed and ironed our Sunday best and the whole family strolled proudly (attracting stares) to church.
Every Christmas, he bought us each a beautiful new dress and we went to church looking like little flowers. He gave us money for offertory and made sure we offered it. He taught us to be honest; one day when I was given excess change at a shop, he made me return it.
In Primary two when I was put in a class with a teacher who found every excuse to spank me, he visited the school and had me put in another stream.
It was a turning point in my life. I began to excel, I scored 100% in every subject and my future brightened. This he did for the rest of my siblings, making sure none of us was punished unnecessarily yet he instilled discipline in us.
He also bought us several books which we read together every evening before bed time, which helped improve my proficiency in English language.
He taught us to be confident. When I was eight years old, he sent me to the bank to pay my sister’s fees. When asked if I was waiting for my dad, I answered confidently “I am here to pay feesâ€.
We enjoyed some years of peace, and then another catastrophe struck in 1992. Dad lost his job. Money was scarce and there was no food sometimes but he kept us all in school. He wrote to our headteachers begging them to allow us study.
When my sister and I were about to join secondary school, money was still scarce so we selected the poorest of schools, even after scoring aggregates six and nine respectively.
We were admitted to Kaberamaido secondary school but he wouldn’t let this happen. He made sure we were transfered. I went to Tororo girls school and my sister to Nabumali high school.
He had nothing to send us to school with by the end of the holiday but we still went back and he told us to forget all other things and study. And study we did.
He finally got another job as deputy headteacher of Masaba SSS. But by then six of us were in boarding schools and he was spending his last penny on fees. Once, when I did not have bed sheets and he had no money, he ripped the sheets off his bed and gave them to me.
On the eve of every school term, he summoned us and gave us lengthy talks. When he was done, he gave us our shopping and pocket money and wished us well. I believe this tradition is what kept us at our best behaviour.
He also helped us with our revision during the holiday.
We had many traditions, the church going tradition, the Christmas dress tradition, but the school tradition was the most important of them all and it has made us what we are today.
YOU cook well, did you attend cookery school? a friend asks.
“No, I used to watch my dad cook,†I answer. “fish was his specialtyâ€.
‘Your English is good…..’ some one remarks another time.’ “my dad used to read with me…†I reply
“You are so confident…..†“My dad always said a woman should be assertive and independentâ€.
On and on we went until I realised there was no success in my life that I could not attribute to my dad, Michael Omal Obol.
He wasn’t wealthy but he gave us all he had. He did not have a weapon but he protected us with his life. There is no other way to describe this selfless man than to call him my hero. My father’s story is one of bravery, determination and sacrifice.
In 1986, I was six and living with the rest of my siblings (six sisters and one brother) in Kaberamaido town. On a dry Saturday evening, panic struck the town; dad picked up a few papers and said we were leaving immediately. We did not know where we were going and we were terrified.
After walking for most of the night, ducking into the bush from time to time at the sound of gunshots, we arrived at a convent where we slept around a fire. Early the next day we had to continue the journey.
There was a brief period of rejoicing after being reunited with the rest of the family in the village (Agweng) but then the unrest continued.
The following weeks were characterised by treks between Kaberamaido town and Agweng depending on which place was deemed safe at the time. My dad opened his doors to hundreds of strangers fleeing their homes. There was not enough food to feed them all so we made a lot of porridge.
He then decided to get us out of the village. He took the first five out and put them in boarding school but then the roads became impassable because of the ambushes. Three of us remained in the village with our mother. My dad feared for our lives but he was determined. He did not forget to visit my siblings at school even with the chaos around.
I was taken by bicycle to Awoja swamp, then by canoe to the other side and finally by bicycle to Soroti town where one of my aunties allowed us use her house. He moved the other two in the same daring but courageous way.
While in Soroti, with mum away, dad did the cooking, bathed my little sisters, and enrolled us into school. He would prepare and pack my sister’s breakfast, then prepare lunch and then supper. He also had to travel back and forth between Soroti and Kaberamaido to do his job.
Sometimes the bus he was in was caught up in an ambush and he came home with blood stains, and at times bruises. sometimes all the food he brought was so stained that we could not eat it.
This was however the only way to get food to us since we had been denied relief food with the claim that we looked better of than other internally displaced persons.
In the night, gunshots ruled the air. My dad made sure we ate by 6:00pm then we spent the night under his bed while the shots roared and bullets rained on the roof. This went on for what I thought was eternity.
When the time of unrest was finally history, the church-going tradition was revived. He washed and ironed our Sunday best and the whole family strolled proudly (attracting stares) to church.
Every Christmas, he bought us each a beautiful new dress and we went to church looking like little flowers. He gave us money for offertory and made sure we offered it. He taught us to be honest; one day when I was given excess change at a shop, he made me return it.
In Primary two when I was put in a class with a teacher who found every excuse to spank me, he visited the school and had me put in another stream.
It was a turning point in my life. I began to excel, I scored 100% in every subject and my future brightened. This he did for the rest of my siblings, making sure none of us was punished unnecessarily yet he instilled discipline in us.
He also bought us several books which we read together every evening before bed time, which helped improve my proficiency in English language.
He taught us to be confident. When I was eight years old, he sent me to the bank to pay my sister’s fees. When asked if I was waiting for my dad, I answered confidently “I am here to pay feesâ€.
We enjoyed some years of peace, and then another catastrophe struck in 1992. Dad lost his job. Money was scarce and there was no food sometimes but he kept us all in school. He wrote to our headteachers begging them to allow us study.
When my sister and I were about to join secondary school, money was still scarce so we selected the poorest of schools, even after scoring aggregates six and nine respectively.
We were admitted to Kaberamaido secondary school but he wouldn’t let this happen. He made sure we were transfered. I went to Tororo girls school and my sister to Nabumali high school.
He had nothing to send us to school with by the end of the holiday but we still went back and he told us to forget all other things and study. And study we did.
He finally got another job as deputy headteacher of Masaba SSS. But by then six of us were in boarding schools and he was spending his last penny on fees. Once, when I did not have bed sheets and he had no money, he ripped the sheets off his bed and gave them to me.
On the eve of every school term, he summoned us and gave us lengthy talks. When he was done, he gave us our shopping and pocket money and wished us well. I believe this tradition is what kept us at our best behaviour.
He also helped us with our revision during the holiday.
We had many traditions, the church going tradition, the Christmas dress tradition, but the school tradition was the most important of them all and it has made us what we are today.