My father passed on before I was born. My paternal relations weren’t exactly excited to learn that their son’s widow had given birth to a pale-skinned child; they couldn’t come to terms with the fact that she’d brought forth a person with albinism. They didn’t hide their disappointment either. My mother sensing the animosity decided to leave. Mother singularly raised her children and chose not to re-marry.

I have never set foot in the courtyard where my father was raised. I’m, however, working on bridging the gap between my father’s people and us. Growing up, it didn’t take long for me before I noticed I was different. I was neither allowed to play under direct sunlight nor wander far from home. I equally attracted lots of unwelcome attention. My first school experience wasn’t exactly memorable. Most kids didn’t want to sit beside the kid with strange hair and skin. I often found myself sitting at the back, yet my poor sight limited my ability to read whatever was on the blackboard. My teachers weren’t entirely helpful either.

I was an easy target for all sorts of name-calling. My interest in school waned, and my self-esteem dropped lower. I quit school, stayed home for three years, and was determined never to return to school. Mother, too, saw the troubles I had endured through school; she decided school wasn’t worth the torment. My fortunes turned when a kind Deputy Headteacher was transferred to the neighbourhood school from a school for persons with special needs. He persuaded my mother into taking me to a school for persons with special needs, St. Francis School for the Blind, Madera – Soroti. It was the first place I felt truly welcome because everyone was treated the same.

I settled in nicely, and my grades soared within no time. I was introduced to sports and discovered I could swing a cricket bat well enough to represent Uganda in special regional tournaments. Sport and literature have strengthened my resolve and hiked self-belief and confidence. It’s the same gospel I preach to my colleagues, especially Albinos and little persons; ‘we cannot afford to pity ourselves.’

Simon Peter Okwii, 24