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How to fail at civic education for young children
What you need to know:
I wonder resentfully if she thinks we can just buy a new police.
My seven-year-old daughter’s homework requires her to tell her classmates about her country, starting with the basics like capital city, president.
She asks: “How long has President Museveni been in power?” I scoff at her, asking her to guess. “Eight years?” she says brightly. I guffaw inelegantly at this polite guess of eight years. What does she think this is? A democracy? Children of these days are so entitled! I reach for the calculator to disabuse of her childish notions and triumphantly announce to her that our President has been in power for 34 years. She holds her face in shock - she cannot compute ‘34 years’.
Staying true to her generation, I quickly take pictures of her shocked face and expressions. Winning feels good. Perhaps this is why President Museveni keeps going. I then explain to her a bit more about Uganda’s current affairs. I inform her that Uganda is holding presidential elections in January 2021. I gloat like an uppity NRM functionary when I inform her that our president of 34 years is running again.
Full of questions, she asks, “Why? He has been President for 34 years already!”
I feel attacked by the nerve of her question. The ease with which she asks it irritates me. This freeloading seven-year-old, who gets to sleep at night asking loudly about that which my contemporaries and elders whisper. I now understand how Ugandans became bazzukulu to Museveni.
How dare we question he who shot his way to power, ushering in peace that allows us to sleep, 34 years ago? Such ungrateful brats of bazzukulu. Clearly, Museveni hitting the floor to show off his push-ups is to send a message to the entitled bazzukulu.
We watch a few videos showing campaigns for the different candidates, including some police action teargas-soaked videos of some candidates, which I quickly censor like any sober keeping-my-head-down Ugandan. My daughter is perplexed, “why is the police being mean and so unfair to some people?”
I envy the freedom with which she asks these questions. I want to respond that yes, the police should treat all candidates equally instead I croak cowardly, “things are not always fair.”
She rebuts petulantly: “We should get a new police which will be fair to everyone!” I nearly shed a tear at her wonderful ignorant innocence, untainted by the experience of ‘adulting’ as a Ugandan muzzukulu. Who is this ‘we’ and why does she automatically include me? Does she mistake me for a revolutionary? I wonder resentfully if she thinks we can just buy a new police at the supermarket.
Then my six-year-old son, jumps into the conversation with “Mummy, are you going to vote?” I brighten up, finally something I can talk about valiantly.
I explain that it is important that we participate in choosing our leaders. Next, they want to know does anyone know how to choose. I respond that we listen to their ideas and decide which ideas we like best.
After my heartfelt sermon on the essence of voting, my daughter quips: “Museveni is always wearing a yellow hat.” The fickleness of these bazzukulu!
My son with a worried expression pipes up, “Mummy, does the police shoot people?” Caught off guard, I fumble to answer this. It saddens me that I cannot readily answer his question. I stutter that the police do not go around shooting people. The boy is not done though. He states gravely: “Mummy, I do not want you to vote.” Taken aback that my grand teaching moment about civic duty and patriotism is an epic fail, I ask him why?
“Because I do not want the police to shoot you,” he replies. Either I am a bad teacher or I am in denial about the facts facing my Uganda that even children can see through our pretend democracy and want to throw it away.
Ms Nalubwama is a concerned citizen.
