The old ones lie!
Round the
fire … sat we,
Round the
fire – crackling faggots, flying sparks, yawning flames …
Sat we …
eyes goggled, hearts enthralled, minds awed …
And to
tales of old … we listened;
Tales they
told, to us …
Tales of
great and mighty works,
Of high
places of learning, of a true education,
And the
honours of matriculation to towers ivory;
They, the hoary
of society …
They,
children of a generation past,
They, scholars
of an age gone by;
A golden
age that once was … yet is no more …
They …
they told us tales …
They told
us how… once,
University
was a place …
Where
learning was a fact … not a figment of myth and fable;
Where
praxis and theory were in total concord …meeting the nation’s labour needs;
Where
learning involved research and practice … not rote study …
Where all
your dreams could come true … if hard you wrought;
The old
ones said … University was a place,
Where
tutor and student built the nation together;
Where they
loved the nation, and she loved them back;
She gave
them a meaningful curriculum to study … and good books to go with it;
She gave
the students good food for their minds … and their bodies;
She paid
the tutors their dues;
Well seeing
to their welfare …
Thru a
well-managed economy; sound social policies …
The nation
assured her graduates of gainful employment …
The old
ones said … that if you strived hard and grades good got;
Admission to
University was a reward well-deserved …
That,
lecturers knew all their students …
And the
relationship between them was mutually productive …
That
class-numbers were manageable … and no loud-speakers were required for lessons
…
Tuition fees
were affordable …
And it
wasn’t necessary to sell off the family’s only acre to send a son to University
…
We
listened to these tales … incredulous … disbelieving;
It all
sounded too good to be true …
A Makerere without daily student strikes,
Over food,
unremitted allowances, or dilapidated halls?
A Kyambogo in which lecturers showed up
for class when they should … and taught gladly?
It was all
too fanciful to be believed …
No – how could
we believe these tales!?
This was
not possible … could not be possible;
All we
experienced in our time … was the antithesis;
All we
knew was a time in which education wasn’t anything to be adored …
A time in
which a graduate and an illiterate work side-by-side …
Trading
asparagus or carrots in Kalerwe
market … both market vendors …
Or calling
out to passengers in the old-taxi park … both taxi touts …
Or worse still
… plying their pervasive and inescapably famous profession of street-ology …
No – how could
be believe such outlandish tales!
Perhaps
the old ones were lying …
Fabricating
fables from the vaults of their elderly minds to placate our seething tempers;
Soothing
our angst at our government’s inadequacies … thru tales of a past glorious age;
Of a time
when education was a medal of honour,
Not a cap
of shame to be worn with remorse …
Perhaps
they were simply trying to rekindle our hope in a nation that clearly had
abandoned us – the youth of this age …
How could
we believe such fanciful fables … such laughable tales …?
No – The
old ones lie!
Solomon Manzi – The Lantern
Meet of Poets.
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