Back then, school in Uganda wasn’t quite the same as today. Some students were much older than us in primary school, and I’m talking much older. Some of the “boys” in the upper primary classes in my school had wives, kids, and their own houses but were still stuck in primary school. It wasn’t uncommon to hear some of them being called ‘won boy’ in the Acholi language, a polite way of referring to someone who has fathered a son. One of these characters was Labongo. He hailed from St. Mary’s Lacor, a small town about 6 kilometers West of Gulu town in Uganda. Labongo was way older than us but was in Primary Three class with us at Christ the King Demonstration Primary School. He was an absolute nightmare.
Labongo
would show up to class in football boots—screws and all. You’d expect to see
the kind of shoes on a soccer field, not in a classroom. I’m not sure if he
knew any better or couldn’t afford proper shoes, but those boots were his
weapon. They weren’t just for kicking balls; Labon used them to stomp on our
bare feet (because most of us didn’t even have slippers to wear). It hurt like
crazy!
But
that wasn’t the worst part. Labongo also had a craving for palm fruits. I
remember Palm trees in Mary Immaculate Primary School, where my mom worked. We
lived in the teacher’s staff quarters at the time. These palm trees had the
sweetest, juiciest fruits, and if I didn’t bring him a bunch, well, let’s just
say my life would be a living nightmare. So, I’d climb the tree almost daily at
around 6:00 AM to steal the fruits while the catholic nuns and Mary Immaculate
Students were at church. Then I would head to school with palm fruits stuffed
in my school bag like they were for sale, ready to hand them to my bully. It
was either that or face his wrath. Labongo had made me his unpaid servant, and
the worst part? No one could know about this. Bullies don’t just threaten you;
they make you feel like the punishment for not complying will be so much worse
than whatever they’re doing to you already. They keep you loyal with fear,
making you do things you never thought you’d do, like becoming a 6 AM palm
fruit thief, all in the name of my survival.
One
day, however, fate had other plans. Our teacher asked me to write down the
names of all the kids making noise in class, and let me tell you, I was ready!
This was my chance to get back at Labongo and all the other bullies. I wrote
down the names of everyone I could see opening their mouths to talk—even if
they weren’t being disruptive. Labongo, of course, made the list, and when the
teacher returned, they were all in trouble. The teacher gave them some strokes
with a stick, and I enjoyed every bit of it. It was a was a small win for me.
Now,
you might think this was the end of it, but nope. Labongo and another notorious
boy, Kilama, were furious with me. They both swore revenge, and I knew I was in
trouble. So, I decided to run home right after school that day because I didn’t
want to face the wrath of my tormentors.
The
next day, Kilama did not attend school, which relieved me. On the third day, He
did not show up again, and I felt bold enough to relax. I thought it was
another lucky day. Little did I know that he had been hiding in the bushes
along the way to our home for two days, plotting his attack.
After
being dispersed from school in the evening, I was walking back home relaxed
with many other kids. Out of nowhere, Kilama jumped out of the bush and kicked
me right in the head! I hit the ground, and the fight was on. He was bigger,
stronger, and more experienced than me, but I wasn’t backing down. I fought
back, giving it my all, but I was losing. So, I did what any kid in my shoes
would do: I ran. Our home was only a kilometer away, and I ran like Usain Bolt.
Kilama chased me as the crowd of kids came running after us, seemingly cheering
him on, but I never stopped.
Kilama
chased me all the way to our compound. As I entered, I heard my mom’s voice.
She was there. When Kilama followed me onto our property, my mom stepped in.
Calmly, she asked what was happening, and I told her everything. She turned to
Kilama and asked, “Is this true?” He nodded, though his face was twisted with
unfulfilled anger and a desire for revenge. My mom told him to lie down without
hesitation and gave him a few strokes with a stick. Then, she warned him not to
disturb me again. She threatened to report his behaviour to the school
administration if he did. Kilama remained silent, the weight of her words
hanging in the air. It was not uncommon at the time for a parent or an adult to
discipline any child, irrespective of whether the child was their own or
not.
Kilama
left our home in defeat, having been canned by my mom in front of my eyes and
the other students cheering for the fight earlier. We met in class the next
day, and Kilama didn’t say a word to me. I’m not sure if Kilama was more
embarrassed or in pain, but from then on, he never bothered me again. The word
spread around school quickly about my mom’s actions, putting all the bullies, including
Labongo, who I was sure was still scheming his revenge – on notice. After that,
no one dared mess with me again.
Here’s
the thing: sometimes, standing up to bullies doesn’t mean you have to punch
them in the face (although it might feel tempting). It could mean finding the
right moment to get back at them, running away when needed, and having
someone—like my mom—who’s got your back when it matters most.
So,
if you’re facing bullies at school or work, remember this: stand your ground,
don’t be afraid to ask for help, and always, always keep running if it means
escaping the situation! You never know who might be waiting at home to save the
day.
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