Dee In A Nutshell

Feed Me, Love Me, Never Leave Me.

Trauma

8 Comments

While I was out last night I remembered an incident that happened when I was seven, actually two incidents.
I was in Kitante Primary School and I loved every minute of it. When I was in P.2, I decided to walk home with some of my friends one day. It was a long walk and by the time I got home I was exhausted. I just fell on the doorstep and my mother came and gatherd me up, hydrated me and told me my father was going to kill me because he went to pick me up and I wasn’t there, what was I thinking, didn’t I know how worried he would be? I didn’t, I was seven. I forgot to tell you, I walked in the first place because he was late. Being the seven year old I was I got into bed at 4.00pm in the afternoon and put the bars up on my lower decker of our doulble decker bed thinking it would protect me from my father’s wrath. It didn’t. He came home, woke me up and beat me.
The next term he was late again, this time I didn’t dare walk so I waited and waited and waited and he didn’t show. I was devastated and scared but I was not going to walk home again so I stayed put. It got dark and I was alone in th lower school waiting shed. An angel of a man who worked in our canteen and stayed in a modified container close to it invited to stay the night with him. He was so nice. He prepared fish for supper and I have to say, since that day I have not been able to eat fish. I slept in his bed and he played the radio to help me sleep. I think about it now and I thank he wasn’t a murdering paedophile because I would be dead. Apparently my parents got their signals mixed up; my mom knew my dad was getting me and he thought she was getting me, he got home at about 10.00pm and since there were no mobile phones in that age they both found out I was MIA at about the time he got home without me. I am told he came to school found the gate closed and passed under it and looked for me but couldn’t find me. My poor mother was inconsolabe, she was certain I was dead and could not forgive my father for killing her first born. My father came back to the school in the morning and the nice man, whose name I don’t know, woke me up and told me to go home. As we drove by the lower school I could see some of my friends lining up for assembly. My father being the stoic man that he is took me home, I showered changed and went back to school. You would think the traumatic experience would atleast buy me a sick day, but no.
Can of you guys beat that?

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “Trauma

  1. I remember such days in the waiting shed.

    You start off with all your friends but sooon they start dropping off one by one and soon it is getting dark and you are praying that each appproaching car is Mzee’s.

    By the way have you been there of late. I feel like a giant walking through. Its so low I cant believe it.

  2. No, but I keep meaning to go. And also I am short so I doubt I would find it so low.

  3. u’ve surely got some higher power on ur side, darlyne, that was some awfuly close call you had

  4. i can see the belt of knowledge really taught u good…

  5. *sigh* life was so much better then… i think- thinking of the kind guy… i dont want no ‘kind guys’ round my kids

  6. i actually had a similar experience. i did not sleep with the man but i did spend almost half the night (my mom insists it was only till 7pm but for me it was like till midnight) with the security guard in his shed by the gate knowing full well i’d sleep there until my mother, who worked in entebbe at the time, got back from work and realised my dad hadn’t picked me up and rushed to the school to get me. i believe i went to school the next day as well. such unfeeling parents we have!!!

  7. Hahaha.. My sisters & I were always the last to be picked up in Kitante (circa 1980’s) so we got used and the darkness became our friend.

    Funny thing is that we were always late (to be dropped) in the mornings as well; so late that i would waltz into class long after the late comers have been caned by Mr Tibhoire..

    Mr Ssozi still maintains that we were special..he’d put his smoking pipe down and ask “why so late yet you live just here in Ntinda?”

  8. Keep up the good work »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s