The Headmaster

He was tall. Yet he was short. Quite tall. At that time it didn’t matter to me. I was way too short and too young to know.  Yet he was tall. His spectacles were tall. His piercing eyes were tall. His bald head was tall. His pipe – oh yes his pipe was tall.  He had a way he looked deeply at you above the rims of his spectacles. His pipe – a symbol of prestige and authority- would then momentarily leave his mouth as he spoke directly to you, only to be restored back to its throne – surrounded by rather plump cheeks- to accomplish the ever present side grin on his face. 

He was smart. Always quite smartly dressed. Necktie, coat and well pressed trousers. Well polished shoes. Did he walk with a hardly noticeable hunch? As though his bald head, full of intelligence, bore heavily on his shoulders? My respect he earned automatically with is bald head – yes, like my Dad’s. His height, his dress, his head all fitted the bill. Yet he was The Headmaster -

A great Headmaster he was – A great headmaster he will ever be. Eloquent, respectful, respected. Master of the English language. I can’t imagine he ever asked us what DHL was in full. D.H.L? I had to ask my Dad to do some research in those days without Google. Yet I digress.  Oh how I envied those who escorted The HEADMASTER down the amphitheater on Friday for the weekly assembly. A Scout walked ahead, followed by the Headmaster, the head girl and head boy at his side. Following closely behind were three or four other scouts guarding the esteemed leaders right from his office to the waiting gathering of murmuring students. I recall waiting to escort the Headmaster one such Friday. The excitement of being near this great man was immense. Dressed in khaki scouts uniform, complete with a rope and knife, I waited anxiously with my tiny colleagues who could hardly hurt a fly. Yet we stood ‘tall’ and proud. Quite an impression it left on a young man like me. Who do our kids look up to these days? I digress again. The Scout leader would then walk ahead of the Headmaster down to the stage of the amphitheater. Did the rest of the school stand as they approached? I forget. ‘’Scouts salute!!’’ The shrilly prepubescent voice would scream upon reaching the stage. Then the anthems would begin. The Uganda National Anthem and the School Anthem: ‘‘There is a School near the museum by the roadside; no school is so dear to your child… Kitante is the best in the world…..’’

The Headmaster made us love that School. We felt that ours was indeed the best in the world. Indeed it was. (Some of my old schoolmates might not hesitate to add that it was even visited by the Queen of England during the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting in 2007 ). There was no other for our younger siblings and for our children.  Even as we take our kids to other schools, we wish Kitante had the glory it enjoyed then. It’s a sign of the times I guess. Once again I digress.  The Friday Assemblies had entertainment from one class, news read by some higher school pupils ( I once enjoyed this rare privilege), announcement of the cleanest pupils of the week, a thought of the week by one of the teachers ( including one who had been so damaged by alcohol that he shook all through the time he spoke). Finally, the headmaster would rise to speak. The murmuring would stop. The boy scouts scuffling to attention. ‘‘Good afternoon School…’’ he would begin …. We listened intently to advice and caution, to inspiration and encouragement. At one point he admonished a lower class for not performing well and asked them to pull up their socks… and they literally did – drawing quite a bit of laughter from those who deciphered the saying.

The HEADMASTER is now dead. Long live The HEADMASTER.

Rest in Peace Mr. Augustine Dymocke Ssozi (1933-2014). You inspired too many. 

You have left us a tall order. To inspire as you did. To leave a long-lasting legacy.

Daniel.R.Ruhweza, 
Proud ‘product’ of Kitante Primary School, Class of 1989