Salute the products wherever they pass.
WHAT NEXT? Thinking about my own cubicle, it produced three doctors, and three engineers. The other cubicles produced much more. But where do these brains meet post Namugongo? I guess intelligence gets lonely for them. For what is intelligence unless it finds an expression? What is intelligence unless it is shared among equals?
I had it in me to write this story. Memories are cemented with written words. For then, someone could correct you on something, or better, enhance the beauty with a recollection you had missed out. For some reason, on January 9, the winds blew me towards the Martyrs shrine for a celebration of Holy Mass.
Then I remembered those great days when yours truly joined many others to make it through the mighty gates of Uganda Martyrs SSS Namugongo. I remembered my first Martyrs Day at the school. There was a make-shift club known as Caesar’s palace. It was the most popular hangout spot on Martyrs Day.
The norm at the school was for us to be allowed the freedom to enjoy the day of our Patron Saints without much lacing of our whereabouts. Then, my friend Alinda convinced me to escape to an aunt of his that lived nearby. Little did we know that as we enjoyed the cookies, the movies and the rice, the real party was at Caesar’s palace. The sacrilege was being committed by the Namugongo students – the act of stepping into this palace.
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