I Was Caned 58 Times In School
Jul 06, 2003
I watched a movie in my brother’s room on his bed.
By Juliet Nsiima
I watched a movie in my brother’s room on his bed. Because it was interesting, I had to sit on the carpet to concentrate. Suddenly, I felt a sting on the right side of my rear end. I ignored it. I got stung again. This time I jumped up to survey myself. As I felt my behind, I got stung a third time! I dashed to my room, stripped naked and found a peculiar black ant clinging on to my butt! I crushed it and changed into new clothes.
I remembered the first time I felt my bottom in this agony. It was the first week of my second term of Primary Six at Kampala Parents’ School. That day I was caned fifty-eight times by the school’s headmaster, Mr. Edward Kasole Bwerere. Why? I had got 42 percent in my civics examination. Add 58 to 42, you get a hundred percent. After the caning, I customarily thanked him for caning me. I did this quickly because my tears were in my throat and were about to burst out of my eyes. Sometimes, if we cried, we were caned further for rejecting discipline, mbu, ‘No Pain, No Gain.’ After that, I cursed Mr. Kasole. I asked God to cut off his hand so that he would never cane another pupil. Surprisingly, the following year, he stopped caning us because he had had a mild stroke. I quietly thanked God for answering my prayers.
However, Mr. Kasole was a hilarious man. He used to assure us at assembly he was the only civilised man in Uganda, because he carried three handkerchiefs. One in his right trouser pocket, the second in the left trouser pocket and the last one was decoratively folded in his left breast pocket.
Was that the criterion for a civilised person?
The canes were the semi-wet bamboo sticks. Those sticks delivered the best stings compared to others, wet or dry.
When I was caned with a bamboo, I asked God why he never brought panda bears to Uganda. I mean, they would have eaten all the bamboo trees before I was born.
Anything warranted a cane at school. When I walked too slow, when I ran fast, when I talked too much in class and when I decided to keep quiet.
Going to school was really a ‘fresh experience’ because I never knew when to expect a cane. Worse than the cane was a hot slap across the face. My cheeks were so chubby that my mother used to tease me that she would fold a handkerchief into a ‘V’ put it under my chin and tie it at the top of my head to stop them dropping to the floor.
Life at school got worse in P.6 during my home economics knitting and sewing class with Mrs. M.Z (not real name). I was good at sewing but could not knit. She put me in the knitting group with expert knitters. Knitting was to go on for half the year and on learning that, I got close to Lillian, an expert knitter who turned me into an average knitter and I am forever grateful to her.
At the end of the project my sweater and a large tablemat were not proportional and for that Mrs. M.Z. made a big fuss out of it like I had cut school. She wanted me to redo the sweater, as well as my sewing projects. I pleaded my case to the other home economics teachers and I won! I was so excited that I hugged them except Mrs. M.Z. who demanded I also hug her. “No way!†was my answer. She promptly failed me! She would get her revenge, and she waited patiently for that day.
That day was a hot lunchtime in P.7. after Physical Education. We had played football and an opponent had tagged and torn my shirt during a tackle. My palms, legs and knees were also grazed. As I walked to the taps to clean myself, Mrs. M.Z. pounced on me, slapped and dragged me to the staff room. She gave a rousing speech to teachers in the staff room as why I was being exhibited. As she aired her speech, I tried to tidy myself by tucking in my blouse. She slapped me again and I fell down. I remember her saying that I was a dirty girl, lazy and stubborn.
She then untucked my blouse, ruffled my hair and undid my shoelaces. She ordered me to stand in the staff room for the entire lunch break.
Before lunch break was over, I was let off to tidy up and to get lunch, but had no appetite. I sat in class that afternoon and did not concentrate at all in class.
In secondary school, I met Mrs. M.Z. at a parents’ day. At that moment, my friend and classmate Patience K. was with me. I dragged her to Mrs. M.Z., pointed at Mrs. M.Z. and said,
‘Patience, this woman made my primary school life hell.’
‘Why?’ Patience asked very embarrassed.
‘Because she tried to break my spirit by degrading me.’
I told the whole story to Patience and Mrs. M.Z.’s friends’.
‘Why did you do that?’ asked Mrs. M.Z.’s shocked friends and Pateince.
“I wanted to harden her. She was too soft,†she replied proudly.
‘You hardened me alright,’ I told her. ‘You hardened my heart against you.’
I walked off on her.
Ends
I watched a movie in my brother’s room on his bed. Because it was interesting, I had to sit on the carpet to concentrate. Suddenly, I felt a sting on the right side of my rear end. I ignored it. I got stung again. This time I jumped up to survey myself. As I felt my behind, I got stung a third time! I dashed to my room, stripped naked and found a peculiar black ant clinging on to my butt! I crushed it and changed into new clothes.
I remembered the first time I felt my bottom in this agony. It was the first week of my second term of Primary Six at Kampala Parents’ School. That day I was caned fifty-eight times by the school’s headmaster, Mr. Edward Kasole Bwerere. Why? I had got 42 percent in my civics examination. Add 58 to 42, you get a hundred percent. After the caning, I customarily thanked him for caning me. I did this quickly because my tears were in my throat and were about to burst out of my eyes. Sometimes, if we cried, we were caned further for rejecting discipline, mbu, ‘No Pain, No Gain.’ After that, I cursed Mr. Kasole. I asked God to cut off his hand so that he would never cane another pupil. Surprisingly, the following year, he stopped caning us because he had had a mild stroke. I quietly thanked God for answering my prayers.
However, Mr. Kasole was a hilarious man. He used to assure us at assembly he was the only civilised man in Uganda, because he carried three handkerchiefs. One in his right trouser pocket, the second in the left trouser pocket and the last one was decoratively folded in his left breast pocket.
Was that the criterion for a civilised person?
The canes were the semi-wet bamboo sticks. Those sticks delivered the best stings compared to others, wet or dry.
When I was caned with a bamboo, I asked God why he never brought panda bears to Uganda. I mean, they would have eaten all the bamboo trees before I was born.
Anything warranted a cane at school. When I walked too slow, when I ran fast, when I talked too much in class and when I decided to keep quiet.
Going to school was really a ‘fresh experience’ because I never knew when to expect a cane. Worse than the cane was a hot slap across the face. My cheeks were so chubby that my mother used to tease me that she would fold a handkerchief into a ‘V’ put it under my chin and tie it at the top of my head to stop them dropping to the floor.
Life at school got worse in P.6 during my home economics knitting and sewing class with Mrs. M.Z (not real name). I was good at sewing but could not knit. She put me in the knitting group with expert knitters. Knitting was to go on for half the year and on learning that, I got close to Lillian, an expert knitter who turned me into an average knitter and I am forever grateful to her.
At the end of the project my sweater and a large tablemat were not proportional and for that Mrs. M.Z. made a big fuss out of it like I had cut school. She wanted me to redo the sweater, as well as my sewing projects. I pleaded my case to the other home economics teachers and I won! I was so excited that I hugged them except Mrs. M.Z. who demanded I also hug her. “No way!†was my answer. She promptly failed me! She would get her revenge, and she waited patiently for that day.
That day was a hot lunchtime in P.7. after Physical Education. We had played football and an opponent had tagged and torn my shirt during a tackle. My palms, legs and knees were also grazed. As I walked to the taps to clean myself, Mrs. M.Z. pounced on me, slapped and dragged me to the staff room. She gave a rousing speech to teachers in the staff room as why I was being exhibited. As she aired her speech, I tried to tidy myself by tucking in my blouse. She slapped me again and I fell down. I remember her saying that I was a dirty girl, lazy and stubborn.
She then untucked my blouse, ruffled my hair and undid my shoelaces. She ordered me to stand in the staff room for the entire lunch break.
Before lunch break was over, I was let off to tidy up and to get lunch, but had no appetite. I sat in class that afternoon and did not concentrate at all in class.
In secondary school, I met Mrs. M.Z. at a parents’ day. At that moment, my friend and classmate Patience K. was with me. I dragged her to Mrs. M.Z., pointed at Mrs. M.Z. and said,
‘Patience, this woman made my primary school life hell.’
‘Why?’ Patience asked very embarrassed.
‘Because she tried to break my spirit by degrading me.’
I told the whole story to Patience and Mrs. M.Z.’s friends’.
‘Why did you do that?’ asked Mrs. M.Z.’s shocked friends and Pateince.
“I wanted to harden her. She was too soft,†she replied proudly.
‘You hardened me alright,’ I told her. ‘You hardened my heart against you.’
I walked off on her.
Ends