Flowers in a hailstorm (or 'We are children marching forward...')

I read plenty of stories about the way kids in this Country are mollycoddled (Lord, I love that word) If you so much as glare at your child, you'll have social services crawling up your ass. Kids tell off their teachers and can do pretty much what they want. That's not the way things were back in my day, I can tell you that.
Now I know the 'in my day' story is usually the reserve of 70 year old men reclining on a sofa with a pipe in one hand and the shards of their broken dreams in another but hey, this is my blog so get comfortable or go somewhere else. Back in my day as a child, you knew where you were in the pecking order and at Nakasero Primary School ("We work for progress")the teachers were not slow in reminding you. There was no situation that couldn't be resolved with a cane and life as a student became a constant battle to avoid being whipped. SOmetimes you were halfway through a thrashing before you wondered what exactly you had done- teachers with canes could move pretty fast and they weren't fond of explanations. And what was worse was that the teachers appeared to take delight in it. There didn't appear to be many heavy hearts in the proceedings, no 'I'm sorry I have to do this' sentiments. As a result, the fear of being caned or of watching classmates get caned haunted you throughout Primary School. Let's just say if a film is made of my Nakasero years, the soundtrack will be low on violins and high on the screeching effects of horror films.
I was fortunate enough to be a well-behaved kid so my encounters with the 'kiboko' were fairly rare. Infact I was that rule-obsessed geek who wouldnt even play on the benches in the waiting shed because they were for sitting on. I felt I had to maintain that principle even if so many others had stepped on the benches playing tag that nobody would ever dream of sitting on them. Yes I was a bit uptight, but time is a wonderful maseuse.
However I did face the cane on several occasions. On one occasion, I wasn't even sure I was supposed to be among the condemmned. Mr Matsiko went around the classroom looking up people's homework. I was generally hopeless at Maths, but this particular assignment had been so difficult that most people had either flunked it or-like me- had not completed it. Halfway through his class tour, Mr Matsiko got tired of walking around and announced that everyone who had failed the homework or who hadn't completed it should save him the trouble of further exploration. He invited us outside for a further discussion of the situation and the tone of his voice suggested this discussion was unlikely to be amicable. It was only when I saw him grab a fierce-looking stick that I began to suspect that refreshments would not be provided.
I was in a dilemma here: should I go out and face the music? If I didn't, Mr Matsiko could launch a fact-finding mission and those who failed to be truthful would be in the kind of serious trouble that couldn't be solved by a heart-felt speech reminding him that 'children are our future..let them lead the way' On the other hand, if I went out...well I'd be thrashed with a big cane. COnsidering the fact the school had compelled us to wear such tiny and tight shorts, you felt every stroke of the cane very keenly indeed. I wasn't even absolutely sure I'd heard him correctly and I certainly couldn't go outside and ask for clarification. I turned to my friends for some advice, but they were looking at me like I had leprosy. As someone who was now potentially facing a thrashing, nobody was eager to be too chummy with me and their eyes now had that blank, faraway look that said 'eh?'. So with a heavy heart, I went outside and duly got caned. It hurt like hell and it didn't improve my maths grades in the long-run.
Some teachers became chillingly creative. Nobody would ever forget Mrs. Nabirye who took sadistic pleasure in humiliating her pupils. One of her favoured punishments was to get the offender to kneel infront of the class where she would subsequently aim kicks at them. As a 12 year old kid, you certainly didnt want to spend an afternoon being kicked by a deranged woman who taught S.S.T. Sometimes she would get you to stand on your hands with your feet above the blackboard where she would again kick the living daylights out of you. Another teacher had a special punishment for any students he caught chewing gum. He'd make you spit it out and make you spread it in your hair. Amazingly people still kept getting caught even after he'd made an example of several victims. Presumably they thought that you could take their chewing gum but YOU COULD NEVER TAKE THEIR FREEDOM!
Meanwhile Mr Kabanda was determined not to be left behind in this arms race. One morning I dashed past him in the corridor on my way to class- I was late so I didn't have any time for niceties. He called me back and scolded me for not saying 'Good morning to him'. He then ordered me to get to class by crawling on my knees with my bag on my head. It is easily the least dignified entrance I've ever made into a room, a situation not helped by 90+ kids laughing at you. Many others made similarily uncomfortable journeys to their seats.
Some teachers caused terror among us, even though we'd never faced them in the field of battle. Mr Kiconco was one such individual. My friend Joel had horror stories about his approach to discplinary action, and he suggested that merely having a pulse was enough provocation for him. The stories were so traumatic that everytime Mr Kiconco walked past me in the corridor, I felt a chill run up my spine. I'd have jumped into the lap of the grim reaper himself to get out of his way. I wasn't much of a Christian, but I do remember thanking God profusely that he had seen fit not to put me on a collision course with Mr Kiconco.
Some students decided that not being caned was more important to them than keeping their dignity. One guy in P.3 was repeatedly marked out for a thrasing usually because his homework was poor. He simply refused to face the cane at all costs. He'd run screaming out of the classroom and then stand about 10 meters away from the teacher begging and pleading not to be caned. If the teacher was nimble enough to chase after him, the poor bastard would run away screaming and crying every step of the way. Caning him required a huge logistical effort: a teacher to block him off, another to hold him and a third to cane him. The boy never went quietly and everybody in the class was watching in silence and thinking 'There, but for the grace of God.." I mean, did these guys have a league table or what? And of course there was no exhaustive list of the things you could get caned for, so there was a strong element of uncertainty.
Somehow we grew up into well-adjusted individuals. The fact that we had the educational equivalent of Full Metal Jacket probably helped. And getting close to that terror and escaping unscathed always gave you a rush. I remember standing in the assembly, hand on heart and singing the school anthem with gusto ("Nakasero our school of hooooope...")and taking care to put an extra theatrical flourish on 'God our faaather' (but then again, who didn't?)I had survived another day and I was back on the battlefield in one piece. It seemed only right that I should sing as loud as everyone else.