He kept me in school when others lost hope in me
Jan 18, 2009
THE news of your death came when I was on a three-month course in July 1997. Delivering the letter, my coursemate and one-time resident district commissioner Mr. Kayanja Ronald said: “This came from home. It is a very special message. Please read and le
The New Vision would like to celebrate the readers’ most cherished family heroes. Below, Anthony K. Olwochwrites about his hero — his father
THE news of your death came when I was on a three-month course in July 1997. Delivering the letter, my coursemate and one-time resident district commissioner Mr. Kayanja Ronald said: “This came from home. It is a very special message. Please read and let it pass.†I opened it and read!
Toyi Pastore Itipa a.k.a Paito, you are dead? Death taking the only person I ever adored as my hero? Can this death recall it was you and not ‘it’ that saved my education? No, it cannot but you could — even in death!
How could you not when the then headmaster of Laropi Primary School in Moyo District came to our home and told you not to waste money on educating a brat like me. You retorted: “The school shall shift to this home!†Aah! I knew exactly what that meant.
At school, hardly a day ever passed without the ‘brat’ receiving raps of the ruler on the knuckles from a teacher, kicks and pinches from older boys and girls — all for some mischief I inflicted on them.
You were aware of this, but insisted I remained in school. Who could have behaved so except a superior soul, a hero who but knew how naughty and cheeky I could be at school and home?
The raps, kicks and pinches had taken their toll and aroused in me the urge to flee school. But you raised the red flag and I stayed put. Baba as we fondly called you and later Mzee, your fascination with education for us was incredible.
You often dared us to a competition of reading and writing in the Madi language. You urged us to reach Makerere and become district commissioners and drive Land Rovers.
This office and an accompanying car were the epitome of colonial and post-colonial power and pomp at the district level.
Simako Drarumo, your nephew, now a retired public servant, told us: “Paito mainly taught himself how to read and write. He was quite bright and never recoiled from challenges.†No wonder mzee, you read most signs right and never gave up.
You also spent a lot of time going over what we studied at school. We would crowd around you, challenging, teasing each other and laughing.
Baba, what I never let you know however, was that many of the boys and girls would have missed me were I to leave school then. Why? This did not have anything to do with what you told us about your love life.
You said you fell in love and wanted to marry, but the cultural institution of the Madi denied you the hand of the pretty girl that you scouted out. Being a son to Chief Itipa, it was a taboo to marry a mkopi (commoner).
Later, when I expressed happiness that you married Juliana Butia, from a chiefly clan in Vura, Moyo, that led to my birth, you checkmated me saying: “Sure and the birth of a son without natural gaps in the rows of the teeth! Just look at the beautiful gaps in the teeth of your sisters and brother, pity you!â€
We were that close and quite often hit at each other — you with stick, slaps and words and I with words and body language, remember?
But that you loved our Mama as we fondly called her, became manifested when you had some misunderstanding and she left. We never heard you blame her – not even once after you became both father and mother to us.
We would return from school to find you in the kitchen. My sisters would then take over. My brother and I would prepare where the chickens would roost, water the cabbages, tomatoes and egg plants before dashing off to River Nile to bathe.
We later learned that several forces combined to urge you to marry again. You rebuffed them all, as you did the headmaster by going straight to the bursar and paying my fees when school reopened the next year.
You kept assuring us that Mama would soon return home. And when she did, you welcomed her and unconditionally too. You beat the traditionalists who could not believe a home without a wife or mother, with your love for our Mama and us.
You were generous and drew people to yourself easily. Our home was open to all. We shared with all. The result of these attributes in you came out during the parliamentary campaigns for West Moyo Constituency in 1996.
Many a voter at rallies sought to shake my hand and inquire about you when I was introduced. This was so particularly at Laropi, Panyanga and Indridri, all in Dufile Division where you worked for over 10 years. “Oh how is Paito?
That man, so likeable! Ah, he must still be the ever welcoming Toyi I knew. Greet him.â€
By proxy you garnered votes for Baku Raphael Obudra, the current deputy inspector general of government who came to win the elections.
Similar sentiment came out in Aliba, Obongi County in Moyo District in February 2004. Uganda Wildlife Authority, my employer sent me there to establish why Obongi was reluctant about re-gazetting Lomunga as a protected area.
This was once the home of the now extinct white rhino. At the end of the meeting, a man came over and said, “How is Paito? He died? Oh sorry. I knew him when I stayed at Laropi then.
No matter if Paito is dead. Take and eat my chicken on his behalf!†I accepted the offer which I now declare to you and not my employer. Such episodes of inquiring about you with compliments occurred to my siblings too.
You were also neat and kept us on our toes to be smart and orderly. You often checked on our toilet habits. We only came to know when you would summon the culprit to go and ‘remove the madness’ or face the stick.
And one of us was routinely sent back to restore ‘sanity’ in the pit latrine.
Trust was another aspect you had in plenty. This you passed on to me in substantial amounts.
That was why some of the adolescent girls and boys would have suffered heartaches were I to leave school at that material moment.
Why? Whisper, whisper: They entrusted me with their love missives on the sly!
Rest on, dear hero.
Please send in your hero/heroine of the family stories. The article should be between 800-1,200 words, accompanied with a family picture or of the person you are writing about. If you have an interesting story, but do not know how to present it, you can request for a reporter by calling 0414 337 127 or SMS Vision (leave a space) your request and send to 8198. Your hero/heroine could still be living or one who has already passed on. The winning story will earn that family a dinner for 20 family members
THE news of your death came when I was on a three-month course in July 1997. Delivering the letter, my coursemate and one-time resident district commissioner Mr. Kayanja Ronald said: “This came from home. It is a very special message. Please read and let it pass.†I opened it and read!
Toyi Pastore Itipa a.k.a Paito, you are dead? Death taking the only person I ever adored as my hero? Can this death recall it was you and not ‘it’ that saved my education? No, it cannot but you could — even in death!
How could you not when the then headmaster of Laropi Primary School in Moyo District came to our home and told you not to waste money on educating a brat like me. You retorted: “The school shall shift to this home!†Aah! I knew exactly what that meant.
At school, hardly a day ever passed without the ‘brat’ receiving raps of the ruler on the knuckles from a teacher, kicks and pinches from older boys and girls — all for some mischief I inflicted on them.
You were aware of this, but insisted I remained in school. Who could have behaved so except a superior soul, a hero who but knew how naughty and cheeky I could be at school and home?
The raps, kicks and pinches had taken their toll and aroused in me the urge to flee school. But you raised the red flag and I stayed put. Baba as we fondly called you and later Mzee, your fascination with education for us was incredible.
You often dared us to a competition of reading and writing in the Madi language. You urged us to reach Makerere and become district commissioners and drive Land Rovers.
This office and an accompanying car were the epitome of colonial and post-colonial power and pomp at the district level.
Simako Drarumo, your nephew, now a retired public servant, told us: “Paito mainly taught himself how to read and write. He was quite bright and never recoiled from challenges.†No wonder mzee, you read most signs right and never gave up.
You also spent a lot of time going over what we studied at school. We would crowd around you, challenging, teasing each other and laughing.
Baba, what I never let you know however, was that many of the boys and girls would have missed me were I to leave school then. Why? This did not have anything to do with what you told us about your love life.
You said you fell in love and wanted to marry, but the cultural institution of the Madi denied you the hand of the pretty girl that you scouted out. Being a son to Chief Itipa, it was a taboo to marry a mkopi (commoner).
Later, when I expressed happiness that you married Juliana Butia, from a chiefly clan in Vura, Moyo, that led to my birth, you checkmated me saying: “Sure and the birth of a son without natural gaps in the rows of the teeth! Just look at the beautiful gaps in the teeth of your sisters and brother, pity you!â€
We were that close and quite often hit at each other — you with stick, slaps and words and I with words and body language, remember?
But that you loved our Mama as we fondly called her, became manifested when you had some misunderstanding and she left. We never heard you blame her – not even once after you became both father and mother to us.
We would return from school to find you in the kitchen. My sisters would then take over. My brother and I would prepare where the chickens would roost, water the cabbages, tomatoes and egg plants before dashing off to River Nile to bathe.
We later learned that several forces combined to urge you to marry again. You rebuffed them all, as you did the headmaster by going straight to the bursar and paying my fees when school reopened the next year.
You kept assuring us that Mama would soon return home. And when she did, you welcomed her and unconditionally too. You beat the traditionalists who could not believe a home without a wife or mother, with your love for our Mama and us.
You were generous and drew people to yourself easily. Our home was open to all. We shared with all. The result of these attributes in you came out during the parliamentary campaigns for West Moyo Constituency in 1996.
Many a voter at rallies sought to shake my hand and inquire about you when I was introduced. This was so particularly at Laropi, Panyanga and Indridri, all in Dufile Division where you worked for over 10 years. “Oh how is Paito?
That man, so likeable! Ah, he must still be the ever welcoming Toyi I knew. Greet him.â€
By proxy you garnered votes for Baku Raphael Obudra, the current deputy inspector general of government who came to win the elections.
Similar sentiment came out in Aliba, Obongi County in Moyo District in February 2004. Uganda Wildlife Authority, my employer sent me there to establish why Obongi was reluctant about re-gazetting Lomunga as a protected area.
This was once the home of the now extinct white rhino. At the end of the meeting, a man came over and said, “How is Paito? He died? Oh sorry. I knew him when I stayed at Laropi then.
No matter if Paito is dead. Take and eat my chicken on his behalf!†I accepted the offer which I now declare to you and not my employer. Such episodes of inquiring about you with compliments occurred to my siblings too.
You were also neat and kept us on our toes to be smart and orderly. You often checked on our toilet habits. We only came to know when you would summon the culprit to go and ‘remove the madness’ or face the stick.
And one of us was routinely sent back to restore ‘sanity’ in the pit latrine.
Trust was another aspect you had in plenty. This you passed on to me in substantial amounts.
That was why some of the adolescent girls and boys would have suffered heartaches were I to leave school at that material moment.
Why? Whisper, whisper: They entrusted me with their love missives on the sly!
Rest on, dear hero.
Please send in your hero/heroine of the family stories. The article should be between 800-1,200 words, accompanied with a family picture or of the person you are writing about. If you have an interesting story, but do not know how to present it, you can request for a reporter by calling 0414 337 127 or SMS Vision (leave a space) your request and send to 8198. Your hero/heroine could still be living or one who has already passed on. The winning story will earn that family a dinner for 20 family members