When an Elephant Cries, Chapter 6, by Aquilinus Odong (UK)

Chapter 6 - Growing Up in Boarding School

Wrapped up in my new towel and with my feet in my sandals, I picked up a toothbrush and found a tube of Colgate toothpaste in my drawer by my new bed. As I walked along rows of beds of so many students, I realised that I had arrived in a world so different from my own in the village of Amuru. The feeling was surreal and, in a single night, all my dreams seemed to have been fulfilled.

To begin with, most of my personal belongings were brand new. I had a bed, mattress, bed sheets, and a pillow, for a comfortable sleep and as part of the school uniform, I was also provided with two pair of shorts, two short-sleeved white shirts and two pairs of blue nylon socks with the familiar red stripes. It was the hope of wearing the pair of socks, a status symbol, that had kept my dreams alive. Looking at them, I could not wait to show them off in Amuru and yet all these and much more in the form of text books and other scholastic materials were provided from the 800 shillings a year school fees.

The annex on the other side of the dormitory had shower rooms equipped with toilets and bathroom sinks. I was so content and proud of myself and I started to brush my teeth. The minty taste of tooth paste added to the satisfaction as the foam filled and cleaned my mouth. I then jumped in the shower and the instant hot water running on me was so refreshing and simply wonderful. It was a perfect start to a perfect day.

Back home in Amuru, things couldn’t have been more different. On a weekend or school term break, the early alarm in the morning would have been the voice of my father calling me to get up, to which I would reluctantly respond. I would then pick up my hoe and follow after him along a narrow path to the field on the far side of River Sindi. There would be little chatting on the way as I would be soggy wet with the dew. Things were slightly different in the morning during school time. I would be at my auntie’s Culina, nearer to where my School was, Amuru Lamogi Primary Seven. I would get up on my own and, together with the other children, walk the three miles or so to school. What was different this morning was that there was no travelling as everything was in one place.

Breakfast was just another experience altogether. Not that I had not had breakfast before but rather because in Acholi, breakfast is usually served from leftover dinner of the previous evening. It was simple and straight forward. Cold or reheated, a mother would serve it straight away. The other additional procedure was that lapena, a local delicacy similar to beans, where sesame or peanut butter was added.

Here in St Joseph’s College Layibi, there were many tables each seating six people. That morning there must have been over two hundred students altogether in the main Dining Hall where music was being played on a big transistor radio. On each of the table there was boiled water, milk, tea and sugar in a kettle and two loaves of bread, locally known as bafulu, shared between three people. So much thought was put into the way the bread was shared. Any of the three students was free to cut it, but could not, at the same time, be the first to choose his portion. It was a simple rule––you cut the loaf, you pick the last portion. Some students went to great length to cheat, but ended up with the smallest portion of the loaf.

Back in the remote village of Amuru, there was no bread. Since most children in Amuru had not been to town, due to the distance involved, and also because the town was considered a place which could corrupt them, many children had not seen or heard of bread.

I was, however, lucky in that respect, having been to the town on several occasions and having had a full loaf of bread on odd occasions. Although it tasted funny, full of air and not an easy bite, the first time, I had gotten used to it and actually liked it and usually took it with either tea, in the restaurant, or just with Fanta, when walking. Still things were a little more complicated on the table the first morning.

There was butter and jam to go with the bread which seemed to be all spread on. To avoid ridicule, especially from the boys coming from around town, I just watched what they were doing and followed. I tried the jam and found it just too sweet. When I turned butter, it was too slimy, oily and tasteless. I had to pretend initially to enjoy it but ended up giving away part of my portion to Okello one of my friends. No wonder he seemed to enjoy it for real because his home in Kaladima was a walking distance of some twenty miles to the town of Gulu.