My Black History Month

My Black History Month

For Black History Month, Migrant Voice are running a series of Black migrants in the UK talking about the people and places in their history – whether personal or global - that have inspired them. Today Twimukye speaks about the impact her mother has had. 

My mother was the first female primary school head teacher in her home district, in a patriarchal society where only men held positions of authority.

She was an inspiration to many young women of her time and a champion for girls’ education in Uganda (my country of birth.) In the 1940s, girls’ education was for the privileged few, and her miracle escape from illiteracy and hardship was a result of her desire to ‘at least learn how to write her name’ so that she could sign her marriage certificate and a voters’ register.

When her older brother offered to pay for her education at the age of 10, her life as an educationalist began.  She became a role model and a respected community leader known as ‘Mwegyesa’ (teacher) by the elders in our community; and was an activist against domestic violence - having experienced it herself. She challenged the prevailing view that only uneducated men beat their wives. I could write a book about the trips to hospital mummy had to make following a domestic incident.

The first born of my family, I was born deaf and could hardly speak due to a stammer. In my formative years I used to almost have a panic attack when asked to say something in class. I was often taunted for being deaf in a society where disability meant inability, and deaf people amounted to nothing but casual hard labourers.  If you told me then that I would become an activist and public speaker, I would have thought that was a big joke!

My mother decided to supplement my education in her own time. She refused to let my disability become a barrier. I was able to learn English because my mother taught me at home. When other teachers had coffee breaks, I often ran to her class room to ask her questions about what I had missed out in class.

By the end of primary, I was determined that I was going to muddle through the complex education somehow. Secondary school for me was tough as I had to go to a boarding school. Being away from the security and support of my mother, I became a social recluse who spent time in class staring at teachers in an attempt to lip read, and in the library to self educate. During my free time, I would copy notes from friends so that I could catch up. I never had the opportunity to participate in anything else, no sports, no dancing classes or drama; just books and books all the time.

It was a lonely existence, but it was more bearable knowing that my mother would be proud of my achievements. When I went to University, she started planning who she would invite to my graduation ceremony and use it as an opportunity to challenge parents about the importance of education.

She died in my second year, and never quite made it to my graduation.

I got my first hearing aid from Kenya (there was no service in Uganda), and since then have never looked back. I set out to help other disabled students get the support they needed. As a mother myself, I see how my mother influenced me as a child to never give up. She instilled in me the ability to face adversity with resilience and hope for the better.

When events in my life threw me off my balance in 2000, I became a refugee. My mother’s grounding kept me hopeful for the future. I arrived in the UK almost broken but determined - and I am still here, a human being, and still fighting.

Recently, I followed the late George Michael’s documentary, Freedom, and he described himself as ’a man, a gay man, a son of immigrants, an addict, a convict’, and asked people to listen to his story without prejudice.

If I was to describe myself I would say I am deaf, grew up an orphan, became a widow, then a single mother, a victim, a survivor, an asylum seeker, a volunteer, an activist, a professional, and above all a woman who has made a difference. I credit my mother for inspiring me on my journey, and I am still an optimist about the future. My mother would always say, ‘I refuse to accept defeat’. So do I.