COVID-19

The father whose children may never attend school again

It's possible that ten of Fred Ssegawa's children will never return to school.

It’s possible that ten of Fred Ssegawa’s children will never return to school.

Uganda’s rigorous coronavirus containment measures have kept them out of formal education since March 2020, resulting in one of the world’s longest school closures.

His two youngest children were too young to begin with in the first place.

Mr Ssegawa, a 20-year teacher, has lost his meager monthly income of roughly $40 (£30).

He struggled to keep the kids in school when he had a job. Now that he’s retired from teaching, the 49-year-old has turned his attention to full-time farming. He wants to make the most of the little land he has.

He enlists the help of three of his children, ranging in age from ten to fifteen years old. The older generation scrapes together money in every way they can.

People picking crops

President Yoweri Museveni has insisted that the schools remain closed until enough adults have been vaccinated to keep people safe.

True, coronavirus infections and deaths have been relatively low, but Mr. Ssegawa’s and his family’s experiences demonstrate the larger impact of the health measures.

After the schools had closed, several of Fred Ssegawa’s children began helping him out on his farm. I met him, two of his daughters, and a son picking the season’s harvest of beans at their farm in Luweero, approximately a three-hour drive north of Kampala.

As they bend and rise, plucking and gathering the bean stalks in bundles, beads of sweat form on their foreheads.

The beans are cultivated alongside maize and cassava, providing food for the 14-member household.

“A few of [my children] were boarding students. They had never done any farming before. “However, they have been forced to learn because of this situation,” Mr Ssegawa explains as the young ones rummage through the weeds, selecting the beans.

When the schools closed, two of his older children, both males, were preparing for important tests. When they temporarily reopened in October 2020 for students to take the tests, only one was able to return.

‘I’d rather be in class,’ says the student.
That was Daniel, a 21-year-old who had intended to attend university.

Instead, he now manufactures bricks for sale on the family’s property, chipping away at a massive anthill, mixing the mud, and compacting it.

He and a relative are drenched in golden-brown dirt from head to toe.

Daniel aspires to help his younger siblings by selling each block for 80 Uganda shillings ($0.02), despite the fact that his dreams of further study have been crushed.

But for the time being, his 16-year-old brother Paul works at a little thatched booth a few minutes’ walk from their home, slicing tomatoes and onions. He sells chapati and omelette treats called locally as “rolex.”

“The pandemic had an impact on my studies.” I had to work and for my own education. This art does not appeal to me. “I’d rather be in class,” he adds, adding that he doubts he’ll be able to afford to return when the schools reopen.

People making bricks

Daniel had wanted to be in a position to attend university, but it appears that he will not be able to do so anymore.
Despite the fact that Ugandan public schools have no fees, parents are nevertheless expected to pay for the uniform and certain basic materials, which are out of reach for many. Furthermore, many rural regions simply do not have enough teachers or classrooms to accommodate all of the potential pupils.

Watching his children suffer, Mr Ssegawa says, hurts him.

“At the very least, I wanted all of my children to finish secondary school.” That, however, I do not believe will be doable.

“I understand the importance of education. You can’t obtain decent work these days without a degree. “Seeing my youngsters like this makes me sad,” says the former social studies and science instructor.

Some courses have been broadcast on the radio and television, and newspapers and schools have distributed printed materials, but not everyone has received them.

According to a research published in April by the Forum for African Women Educationalists, schooling has come to an end for just over half of the country’s 15 million schoolchildren, with primary school students suffering the most.

Mr Ssegawa does not have access to online lessons or home tutors, which are available to wealthier Ugandans.

“I heard on the radio that the government was developing study materials for students. “However, we were unable to obtain them,” he claims.

‘When I became pregnant, my life changed.’
Madina Nalutaaya, his 17-year-old niece, lives a 30-minute drive from the Ssegawas’ village.

She, too, will be absent from school.

Before the lockdown, she was in her final year of primary school. She’s now the mother of a two-month-old daughter.

Her current circumstance appears to be overwhelming, and getting her to open up is proving to be a challenge.

She speaks in clipped syllables as she looks down at the infant in her arms.

“When I became pregnant, my world was turned upside down. My child’s father has absconded.”

Due to teenage pregnancies, early marriages, and child labor, Uganda’s National Planning Authority anticipated in August that 30 percent of the country’s learners would not return to school.

Pregnancies among girls aged 10-14 more than doubled between March, when the schools were first suspended, and September 2020, according to government health data.

Dilapidated classroom

Young women are allowed to return to school in Uganda, but many do not have a support system at home or the financial resources to provide for their children.

“I have someone I could leave my kid with,” Madina explains, “but I wouldn’t be able to pay my school fees or provide for my child’s necessities.”

Many of the classrooms are now dilapidated, such as this one in a private rural school.
The government has set the January reopening of schools as a condition for all pupils aged 18 and up, as well as all staff, to get vaccinated.

However, the authorities may face a challenge.

Some teachers, like as Mr. Ssegawa, have turned to farming or other forms of higher-paying jobs to support their families and are unlikely to return to the classroom.

Mr. Ssegawa, for one, sees no future in teaching and hopes that one day his farm will be able to provide for him.

According to the National Planning Authority, school structures have deteriorated and 4,300 schools may remain closed due to financial difficulties.

In addition, the youngsters will be far behind where they should be.

To make up for missed time, officials are urging that the school week be prolonged and the holidays be cut short.

Joyce Moriku Kaducu, the Minister of Primary Education, has stated that her ministry is recruiting additional teachers and funding school renovations.

“The curriculum has also been updated so that we receive the key content… so that [the kids] finish the education cycle within the stipulated period,” she adds.

Effects of a lack of education
There are other initiatives to target high-risk students or provide technical and vocational training as an alternative.

However, there are long-term effects to consider.

According to Dr. Ibrahim Kasirye, research director at Makerere University’s Economic Policy Research Centre, a bad education makes it more difficult to find quality, well-paid work, making it more difficult to overcome poverty.

“Because these young people must find a way to exist,” he told the BBC, “this could lead to an upsurge in adolescent criminality.”

Back at Mr Ssegawa’s farm, he’s despondent.

He claims his heart breaks for his children as he thinks about their future while relaxing in the shade with his children after a day of harvesting.

He believes that expanding the free primary school education program in rural areas will help them, but it may not happen quickly enough.

 

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