Chaka Mu chaka Military training at Shimoni

Dad tuned to radio Uganda one bright Saturday morning and heard an announcement inviting boys and girls on holiday to attend "chaka mu chaka" military training at  Shimoni Demonstration School. "Chaka mu chaka" refers to the military march in Swahili.
Soon after the announcement Daddy declared that my brothers and I would attend the training. Our jaws dropped. What?! A whole 3 weeks holiday was going to be spent on military training? So while our friends shared stories of fun holidays events our hot news would be military training at Shimoni Demonstration School, nice!!
I rather suspect, he didn't want us to idle around. This was a cheap easy way to keep us out of trouble.

Daddy dropped us right in front of the school and left us to find our way to the sessions. Simon and I depended on Peter our older brother to find the room. He asked around and we were shown to a class room in the corner of the building. We walked into the class and took seats to one side. There were no familiar faces. This was not looking good at all. None of our friends parents would send their kids to attend these sessions anyway. We didn't know what to expect or how to prepare. Did we need books and pens, sports wear, what was the topic of discussion. Would we be taken to the bush to experience real military life? It was not clear but we had an assignment to recount the events to Dad when we returned home.
When the instructor begun to speak Swahili, I knew it was all over. I barely got past the greeting. His assistant came to the rescue and translated to English. We would have class sessions three times a week from 9:00 am to 12:00 pm. The soul purpose of these sessions was to infuse patriotism into every fiber of our beings. To encourage and strengthen intellectual bonds of solidarity among the young Ugandan minds. We after all were the future leaders of this wonderful country. He said it was important we learn to protect ourselves and our nation and to understand the fundamentals of government. He emphasized the value of being time conscious and the disciplines of mental and physical fitness.
By about the third day I'd lost my brothers rather permanently - they didn't return the next day or the next. Things came up, homework and research for the next term, illnesses emerged and slowly it faded off dad's radar. I on the other hand soldiered on like a good girl and followed instructions.

By the middle of the second week we were out in the field, running around in shorts and taking cover behind imaginary bushes. I essentially got semi-militarized in the comfort of the school compound; I learnt to march to the leaders instructions and to dismantle an AK-47. It was hard to imagine bush life with cars hooting in the distance, the tip of Crested Towers peaking up into the sky and the sounds of music as drama groups rehearsed at the National Theater. "Kunja ngumi" the officer shouted to one absent minded participant. That meant he had to assume the push-up position with folded fists. If you've walked under Kampala's noon day heat you know that assuming a push-up position in an open field can make one wish wishes and fill tumpecos with sweat. He set an example that kept the rest of us alert to instructions.

It has been several years since the kyaka mu kyaka program was a prerequisite to University. I can hardly recall the class lessons but I will not forget crouching on one knee that hot Thursday morning in front of an audience of instructors, officials and invited guests. I picked up an AK-47, dismantled and assembled it in competition with other participants which I completed in just over 2 minutes. I stood up, saluted and received cheers from the crowd. I had done my duty for my dad and my country. I proudly identify with this small landlocked East African country where ever I travel. I follow current events and I write poems and short stories as I reminisce about the country in which I was born and raised.
And no! I didn't talk about it at school.

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