Throughout my days here, I’ve done a few jobs society frowns upon. During my senior six vacation, I got hired to work as a bartender in Mbarara. I found my way to Mbarara on the invitation of a cousin who works with the Uganda Prisons in Mbarara and hoped I’d find a job if I ventured out. I found an opening at a newly set up hotel, bar section. At that job, I came face to face with the grim realities of this barren wasteland. Before getting employed, I had not encountered routine harassment. I countless times got hit on, groped and pulled by men. Revellers often invited us to drink with them, and our boss encouraged it. He expected us to order expensive drinks in compensation for sitting with the clients. When men buy you anything, they feel entitled. It was a not-too-pleasant cycle.
My good-natured boss was fond of me because I was versatile and quick on my feet, and I fluently spoke English, Luganda and Swahili, which was a plus. There was a friendly lawyer who often invited me to sit with him. I could tell something was eating him up, and all he desired was just someone to talk to. The fellow was an absolute gentleman; respectful, kept his hands to himself and not once did he hit on me. All he did was open up to me about his struggles and strifes. All he did was talk, drink, pay up and slither away into the darkness. He said his legal career had exposed him to various shades of humans, and he was good at discerning character. He said I was misplaced serving as a barmaid and deserved to use my time better. I told him that I was only trying to raise tuition each time he brought the topic up.
The bar job barely paid, and I felt lost in that crowd, so I quit and tried reaching out to relations pitching to them why I needed to go to university. When that didn’t work out, I applied for the Students Loan Scheme and forgot about it. A few weeks later, my phone screen beamed with a notification. It was a text from the state congratulating me on my Students Loan Scheme Grant. I was elated beyond count. When I shared the good news with my mother, she was also excited for me. My mother lost her partner when we were little. She has always given her all to us. Her merriment soon turned to worry. She worried whether she’d be in a position to raise money for my scholastic needs. She worried about whether I would be allowed to study without a laptop. I was offered an opportunity to pursue a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science, and I’ve studied all three years without a laptop. I’ve depended mainly on the mercies of friends who let me borrow theirs.
To keep afloat, I decided to run a small food joint in Kibuli, which I hoped would enable me to raise a few monies to purchase academic needs and personal effects. The pandemic struck my business with a fatal blow, so I decided to sell chapati to enable me to complete my final year at University. I am in my final year, and it is difficult to strike that delicate balance between raising rent and finishing the final spell. I hope to secure a laptop, so I am in a position to appreciate the practical application of Website Design and multimedia applications to supplement my largely theoretical skillset. My mother, too, decided to enrol for a counselling course to reinforce her chances of employability. She’s a remarkable woman, that mother of mine. We all are dancing to the same tune now; hustle.
Doreen Apio, 24. Kibuli