Bullying

When we talk of bullying, most people think it is something that happens at school and predominantly a male thing. Far from it. Some people were bullied at school like I was. Then there are some people who are bullied at work – again like I was. And women too, some were bullied at school and some have been bullied in the office.

For a while whilst still at school, I was able to survive being bullied simply because when I got to The Grange School, there were only 12 students in the school. Twelve students in the school I hear you cry? Either I have made a typing error or Esther, my editor that is, whilst she was editing the column accidentally knocked off the zero.

Seriously speaking, we were only 12 boys in the school by the time I got there. You see the school had just started out. And because we were all so puny, weedy and with no bark or growl, it didn’t make any sense for any of us to bully each other because if we did, none of us would have taken each other seriously.

So for two years or so, none of us got bullied. It all started to change when the school enrolled sixth formers. Jeez some of them were huge. They also had hair between their legs – something that we didn’t yet have and their ‘dangly bits’ were that much bigger than ours as well.

With the sixth formers came bullying. Not only were we bullied, but we were turned into slaves as well. My slave master then, was a, nobody. “Duh” I say to myself – of course he would be a nobody because he was only in the sixth form! Today I guess you could tag him as a media celebrity for he hosts a popular talk show on one of Kampala’s FM stations.

My duties for Slave Master were explicitly clear. In the morning once he woke, I would be by his bed holding out his bedroom slippers, towel, tooth brush and paste. While he showered, I would standout side the shower with his towel held open so he didn’t have to do it for himself. I also had to put the tooth paste on his tooth brush for him, make his bed and polish his shoes amongst other things.

I guess I was rather fortunate. Other Slave’s weren’t so lucky. Their Slave Master’s would beat them, kick them and hurl words of abuse at them – words of abuse whose meanings we didn’t even know.

I couldn’t wait to get to the fourth form for I would qualify to be a Slave Master and have a chance to bully if I so wished. Of my friends who qualified to be bullies, Richard (whose father currently is a deputy prime minister) was the most timid. Anyway everything went well and though my Slave often showed me signs of resentment, anger and rebellion, he bit his tongue and simmered down whenever I assured him.

Everything however changed when some Slaves got involved in Slave Master’s dealings. One evening somebody had forgotten to lock the tuck shop. Like all school tuck shops, it was filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates, biscuits, cakes and soft drinks. We Slave’s at the time didn’t know that Slave Master had noticed the unlocked door. Rather than report it, Slave Master had kept mum for he planned to raid the tuck shop during the night.

We Slaves had also noticed the unlocked door and rather than reporting it, we decided to raid but we didn’t know that Slave Masters’ were planning the same course of action.

Shortly after 1:00am, we woke and stealthy leaving the dorm, we made our way to the tuck shop. We filled our swag bags with as much goodies as we could fit into them and slithered back unnoticed into the dark. But there was a problem. Where do we keep the loot for once the theft was discovered, the school authorities were bound to start checking the dorms.

After dividing the loot between the two groups that had taken part, my group put ours into a plastic bag and took it down to the river where we hid it.

The following day, the talk was about the tuck shop. The usual suspects were rounded up while threats of suspensions and expulsions filled the school. We held our nerve and soon enough the furore died down.

It was rekindled when it was noticed that some people always had access to chocolates. Slave Masters had noticed and did not waste time swinging into action.

Radio Presenter Slave Master I mentioned earlier came out with all kinds of threats that somebody in the other group cracked. Though he cracked, we were fortunate that he only sold out members of his group and to avoid being reported to the school authorities, they came clean and took Radio Presenter Slave Master to the den where they had hidden their loot.

Obviously Radio Presenter Slave Master did not report the find to the school authorities but instead kept the haul for him and his friends. I didn’t know at the time what Radio Presenter Slave Master had done, but in the course of my slave duties and whilst I was making his bed, I came across the stash hidden deep down in his locker. I wasted no time in swiping half of it.

When Radio Presenter Slave Master found out, he went livid! He threw at me all the swear words he could muster plus a beating of a life time. And the beatings and bullying continued for another one year coming to an end when he finished the sixth form.

When he left, I was in the fourth form and it was my turn to bully. In the first term as a fourth year student, I made it clear to my juniors that I was one of the top dogs. I also had a number of slaves to my name. I had one who polished my shoes, another to bring me breakfast in bed, to make my bed, lay my clothes out for me and so on. And whenever Slaves had a weekend visitor who brought them grub, I was on hand to make sure I got my share – and the lions share at that.

Like I mentioned earlier, if Slaves showed signs of resentment, it quickly fizzled out when I flexed the little muscle that I had on me. If not, a simple bark would do the trick.

In my last year in the fourth form, strange things started to happen. My tooth brush did not have the same feel, texture and smell that it used to have (Slave used to rub it in the grass). Though I had seen Slave polishing my shoes in the morning, they would be dusty no sooner had I left the dorm. The stupid Slave so I found out was not using shoe polish but Vaseline and of course once dust hits Vaseline, it sticks to it like super glue. And when I sent Slave to the shops he didn’t bring back the change – well not that I had given him any money in the first place.

Well enough was enough! I had to crack the whip. I did but it did not achieve the required results.

The first Slave that I took on told his mother that when she next visited him she gave me a lengthy and humbling lecture. Another simply stood his ground and said, “Pussy, what are you going to do about it!?” That startled me because then, the word ‘pussy’ meant nothing to me apart from being a baby cat or rather a kitten.

Third Slave took me on two years later when we bumped into each other at King’s Cross Station in London. Slave was no longer a weed. Rather he towered and his body was full of muscle. “Gwe Bukumunhe” he shouted out, “You still reckon you can bully me?” I kept quiet.

When I was done with education, I thought that was the end of bullying until I started working for a newspaper in which a certain Andrew, who now owns a magazine was working for at the time. Oh, he bullied me. In fact he terrified me! Then there was a Simon who also worked for a newspaper but now spends his time sending SMS’s for a living and who would bellow his gruff voice across the newsroom and in the process have me looking for the nearest place to hide.

As we come to the close of this Cowardly Tale, I have this to say to the Slave who called me ‘pussy’. “Slave, if our paths ever cross, I will show you who the pussy is!Tumbavu too!”