Travel weary and after a long drive from Entebbe to Jinja, we arrive at PMM Girls' School. The school is about 500 strong, age range 14-18. School assembly had been delayed to await our arrival. The girls gather in the open air and greet us with evident enthusiasm. I am asked to say a few words about our visit, which I stumble sleepily through.
The assembly then takes on a familiar pattern and school uniform, classroom tidiness, hair styles are all agenda items. No punches are pulled, it's name and shame. I must say that my first impression was that the girls were very well presented in their neatly pressed white blouses and green or maroon skirts, depending on age.
An initial surprise is that the Headteacher I had expected to meet has been moved to another school and so PMM has both a new Head and Deputy. The Deputy is introduced to the school in assembly and receives a rapturous reception. Slightly perplexed, I ask why? It transpires that his predecessor was very unpopular with the girls. "I see," I respond, "honeymoon period."
We very soon receive our weekly programme and it is made clear by the Headmistress that she would be delighted if we were able to sponsor some of her girls. Many find it a great struggle to pay the fees, equivalent to about £200 per year, and thus are forced to drop out of school. The girls, incidentally, are bilingual, but the language of education is English.It is against the school rules to speak in their local language- "vernacular"- in school.
The school day, which starts with lessons at 8.00am, often ends with games/activities which finish around 5.00ish. GEC and I take part in a volleyball game [the school has only one volleyball] In its simple way, this proved to be one of the highlights of our time here. The girls were absolutely glowing, radiant, enthusiastic; laughing heartily with each other. It was, in short, a wonderful, joyful, priceless celebration of our common humanity.
Only later in the day am I am to catch my breath and make some jottings on the amazing array of sights and sounds which we have encountered today. Take the scorching heat for granted. Colourful open air markets with goods laid on the ground; pot holed roads, cyclists pushing their goods- burdened bikes up hills too steep to ride; women toiling in the fields in the burning sun or walking along roadsides with baskets skilfully balanced on their heads; the plethora of roadside shops selling a seemingly infinite variety of wares - food and drink, sofas, beds, iron gates, coffins. I should not neglect to mention the boda-boda men. These are taxi cyclists who ply their trade around Jinja, you simply sit on a comfortable seat positioned above the rear wheel. There are many of them so market forces keep prices low: the ride from the guest house to town cost 500 shillings, about 17p. I did hear that some boda-boda charge according to passenger weight, which seems fair enough to me.
How can a country with such high average temperatures and so little rain be so beautifully green?
Our morning is spent on a tour of several subject departments. It soon becomes clear that resources are both very scarce and often very old. One book between three is not uncommon, teachers sometimes dictate notes and many classes contain between 40 and 50 children who are attentive and very well behaved generally. The girls study a two year course to "O" level and a further two years to "A" level. We are able to obtain some recent exam papers which make interesting reading, not least the Economics ones. It turns out that the biologists still do dissection, I wonder whether this is still the case in England. Cockroaches [rather bigger than ours!] toads and rats all come under the knife.
As we wander around the school we find maxims on notice boards : "To fail to try is to try to fail." At the end of our tour we wonder how the school can achieve so much with so little. It certainly puts into perspective the debates at home about class sizes and resources. The school is operating with books we would long ago have got rid of and I'm left feeling that if we can arrange reliable transport, there will be plenty of material that PMM would be delighted to receive from us.
The afternoon provides our first chance to behave like tourists [honest] We visit the source of the Nile. On the opposite bank you can see the obelisk which marks the spot where Speke stood. From here the majestic river flows 4000 miles or so [sorry to be so imprecise geographers] north into the Mediterranean sea. We move on to the Itanda and Budogali Falls where a man offers to swim down the falls for 4000 shillings. The guide books had warned us about such characters risking their lives, but when we try to explain that we don't approve, he replies, "it's my job." He got paid and GEC caught it on camera.
In the morning we visit Jinja market with Dorothy and Richard. Dorothy seems to know half the population of Uganda's second city and is greeted warmly by many as we proceed. She proves a tough negotiator as we attempt to buy some gifts, telling stall holders that she will return if they give her a good deal. As all of this is done in the vernacular, Richard occasionally explains what is going on. The market itself is huge and rambling, selling a very wide range of exotic and not so exotic fruit and vegetables as well as poultry [pick your live bird] and hardware. "Snappy" Crewe is in his element, but not all stall holders are mad keen to be photographed. I hope the shots develop well, after all we risked our skins to get them.
While walking through the streets of Jinja we come across a patch of ground on which millet is drying out in the sun. This will eventually be made into malwa, beer, by ugandan women. The strength of the brew depends on local taste. This proves an interesting example of the informal economy at work.
We have lunch at Jinja sailing club, which is pleasant, but not as grand as you might be thinking. We are right on the edge of L.V and there is a bizarre notice about crocodiles not swimming here. I wonder, who's going to stop them? A short distance away is a fish quay and adjacent to it a series of huts occupied by charcoal makers. They are desperately poor, abjectly so. I wonder how long it would take them to earn the price of lunch at the sailing club, which for us was perfectly reasonable.
We visit Kiira College in the afternoon. While strolling around, a man calls "I know that man!" It is Dowdie, now Headmaster here, and the man who recommended PMM as a link school. A man of ideas, he tells us of his plans to build a new computer centre for Kiira. This will prove a huge asset and should be completed in a matter of months. Kiira is a boys' boarding school and Dowdie lives in a bungalow on site. The view over the verdant, fertile plain in indescribably beautiful; I hope the video reveals this.
Dowdie tells me that his daughter may read economics as part of her degree. Clearly good judgement runs in the family.
GEC comes into his own today. We spend the morning, or at least he does, in the computer room teaching both staff and pupils alike. It turns out there are 10 computers for 200 students reading computing. Still, he likes a challenge. It transpires that the computer room is also the library and so I'm able to do a bit of impromptu economics teaching. A few students are wrestling with economic growth and the principles of supply and demand. Great, a chance to join in. Pity about their text books which are ancient.
I mentioned earlier that the Headmistress I had expected to meet at PMM had been transferred to another school. She would have no control over this. This afternoon we travel into the hills to meet Proscovia Mpabulungi in her new domain, a girls' boarding school at which she, herself, was educated. She often shares her breakfast with the monkeys which invade the compound. She greets us warmly, gives us a tour of the school and shares with us one of the best anecdotes of the trip. As we make our way towards the school pond she explains that, in her school days, it had a particular significance. "Girls who shouted out in prep were made to stand by the pond - in the dark." Work it out for yourself and never complain about school detention again.
Proscovia asks if we can help her find a link for her new place, Wanjange Girls' School. We will try our best.
Driving back to the guest house we see girls from PMM carrying gerry cans of water ay 6.45pm [ this is after a school day lasting from 8.00am-5.00pm ] We soon learn why. The notice board at the guest house states simply: "sorry, no water." At least we can avail ourselves of the outside shower, most Ugandans have no such luxury. "Water is life." Never have I felt this so acutely.
GEC and I sit down for an evening meal at the "Triangle" close to the guest house when a young white man approaches me and says, "Aren't you Mr Seales?" He turns out to be Ollie Dobbins, an Old Richian, out here on a geography field trip with Gloucestershire University. He has heard of our visit from a current year 11 boy at Rich's. Further conversation reveals that one of the uni staff, Jayne Roberts, has expertise in transporting goods out here. I think this might be the same lady mentioned to MCH by a current Rich's parent. A contact to cultivate.
I awake with a distinctly dodgy tummy: no fruit for breakfast. I discover the staff latrine at PMM there being no running water. This is House Drama day which I have described separately. It's a case of soldiering on. Still no water at the guest house, but I am able to use the outside shower: indescribable joy!
Over the evening meal another illustration of the " global village." We meet a man who knows the Godwin family really well - Will Godwin was School Captain a few years ago. I judge dinner unwise, but enjoy a few drinks. We are joined by Henry, a gapper, who calmly informs us over his egg and chips that he has malaria. Fortunately, it hasn't suppressed his appetite.
A bad night. Amin's revenge has taken full control. White water rafting clearly unwise - impossible. GEC goes off with the Gloucester Uni. crew. I manage tea and toast for breakfast before doing a little hand washing with water drawn from the well in the garden. I then wander round the garden with the video camera and also film kind Lilian who looks after us.
Malarial Henry then emerges, keeping up his spirits with tea and peanut buttered toast. He has suffered a bad night of the most vivid "larium dreams."
One of the Gloucester staff, who has resisted WWR, mentions a teacher at Sir John Kyrle High School, Ross, who ships stuff out here. I think I met him last summer and will follow up on our return. I very much hope that we will soon have material to send.
My mind turns to Newcastle versus Man Utd. I hope the world service will bring good news tonight.
Amin's revenge is enervating so much sleep and lounging around.
From bad to worse: Newcastle 2 Man Utd 6 and later a text message, Gloucester 25 Newcastle 23. Woe, woe and thrice woe. Try, through gritted teeth, to be magnanimous in defeat.
I was woken in the night by the pouring tropical rain, but get up to find little evidence of it. The rafters are watching the video. Amazing. GEC is in his element [if you see what I mean] I hope we can incorporate some of this footage into our video. Mind you, nothing is without cost, his legs are the colour of Ugandan earth.
In the afternoon I sit in the guest house garden watching the Gloucester geographers practice their role in a "cultural extravaganza." They are good sports, sorting themselves by height for their rendition of "Heads and Shoulders, Knees and Toes." Their performance was also to include the "Hokey Kokey." Wish I'd been there.
To Makereri university, Uganda's Cambridge. Highly selective, the place has nicely laid out lawns and an atmosphere of serenity.
We move on to visit the tombs of the former kings of Buganda, one of Uganda's old kingdoms. One particular king, we are told, had 84 wives. Such bravery.
Next stop is the Entebbe Nature Reserve, at which we seem the only visitors until we encounter a troop of small children. The reserve contains the remarkable shoebill stork which resembles a creature from the age of dinosaurs. We suddenly make a left turn to find that the park borders a beautiful golf course. We stare towards the green with the tree- lined fairway beyond. The Bursar would be in his element.
I meet a lady from Bristol Cathedral School, Sarah Pearce, who tells me of TOFTA educational trust. She suggests that they might be helpful in selecting students for sponsorship. I will e-mail the director.
I strike up a conversation with a guest house visitor who hails from the south west. He tells of his support for Bristol City. On hearing that I'm from Gloucester he says that he went to school there. Alan Noblet OR [1959-64] attended the Barton Street school and remembered Mr Stocks. His father was a builder who built houses in the Longlevens, Matson and Tuffley areas. Perhaps current Richians are living in them now. He spoke with great affection about Rich's, but had to leave the school when his family moved to Bristol.
On arrival at school, I'm met by Johnson who tells me of his plans for environmental education at PMM. He's a real man of action as his impact on the compound and the creation of a garden [small holding!] show.
Next stop a meeting with Genevieve and Nelson of the Fine Art department. GEC and I admire some work only to be told that it's not up to exam standard. Oops! GEC asks the staff to explain on camera, which they do with great aplomb. They go on to explain the many uses of gourds, which, incidentally, Johnson grows in the garden. Weird, but interesting things.
In the afternoon we set of to visit the father of Proscovia Mpabulungi, our original link Headmistress. His welcome is truly overwhelming even by Ugandan standards. Oranges are fresh picked from the garden and mixed with passion fruit to make a wonderful refresher. A retired man of substance, his 11 children all have master's degrees and one is currently Minister for Power. A picture of him hangs proudly in the sitting room. He shows us his biogas system, recycling cow dung and saving on electricity. Despite their lands and cattle, he and his wife still live on the edge of a village.
This wonderful gentleman is one of the very few old people we have met in Uganda. I wonder what the country's population pyramid looks like? Sadly, I don't need to wonder at all.
Jerome drives us back through villages where utterly grinding poverty is evident. Yet somehow girls and boys from here turn up to school in uniform every day. How can this be? This was, I think, the most telling part of the whole adventure and reminds me, brutally, of exactly why we are here. Our efforts can make a difference, I've seen it with my own eyes.
A final evening meal with invited guests, including three current Headteachers. This proved a fitting finale. Dowdie, my original contact in Bristol, and now Head at Kiira college is among our gathering. We talk of our hopes for the future and Dowdie makes a brief speech [Ugandans love the formalities] in which he expresses his wish that we will come to achieve a deep understanding of Ugandan culture. I think, over time, we will. The benefits for PMM are more obviously material.
We receive a variety of gifts. Why is it that those who have so little are often the most ready to share what they have?
And so we have come full circle, from a meeting at a Bristol eatery to a restaurant on the shores of Lake Victoria [the eatery was more expensive, incidentally] in ten months. A link established, new friendships made, unforgettable memories, hopes for the future. The end of the beginning.