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The Day My Bully Met My Mom: A Lesson in Standing Up

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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