The dry season was always unkind to us. Sun rays pierced through our skins with so much force that their impact could easily be compared to that of a hot blade. We sweated like pigs and panted like dogs as we sat in saunas disguised as classrooms, breathing in each other’s carbondioxide. Almost every hour, one of our comrades would fall victim to the heat’s violent attack on our being. We would then carry the unconscious individual to the school clinic, remove their clothes and shoes, and then supply them with cool air by swinging our sweaters close to their body parts.

The dry season was unkind to our teachers. They tried to impart knowledge to us but we were sure that they could tell from our glassy eyes and the blank expressions on our faces that our brains were in hibernation. It was especially hard to concentrate during afternoons and so we found every reason to be distracted. If a teacher coughed (and they always did during the dry season), we took cover under our desks, saying we needed to protect ourselves from germs. If a housefly entered our classroom, we pretended it was a wasp and fled for fear of being stung.

And while other teachers took the easy way out and rescheduled their afternoon lessons to nights and weekends, Mr. Mugisha our Chemistry teacher, refused to be affected by the heat and our bad attitude. The first time he came to teach us in the afternoon, we pretended to be asleep but he gave us an impromptu test and said that the result would contribute to the final mark. We removed our shoes to expose his nostrils to their intoxicating smell but he seemed unaffected while we suffocated. We poured water on the blackboard and when he failed to write on it, he read the notes to us. We were at our wit’s end, trying to find a way to rid ourselves of Mr. Mugisha, our options limited by fear of doing punishment (which was always manual labour) on a hot day.

Until that day, all our rebellions had been confrontational and outrightly spiteful, therefore ending in punishment. So we decided that it was time to change our tactics. Right before our next Chemistry lesson, we wrote a message on the blackboard saying, "Dear Mr. Mugisha, if you wish to teach us today, please find us in West Germany, " and then we hid behind the classroom. West Germany was a place between the last dormitory and the swamp. Why they gave it such a name, I do not know. What I do know is that it was fancy, with trees, grass, and a great view of the greenness that lay beyond the swamp and that it was out of bounds during class time.

Mr. Mugisha walked to the staff room and in no time, he was leading a group of teachers as they marched like soldiers towards West Germany. Upon discovering that we were nowhere near the place, they walked back to our classroom where they found us quietly reading our books. Mr. Mugisha swore that the classroom had been empty when he first entered.

We swore that we were the whole time, waiting for him and that when he didn’t show up, we assumed that he was down with a cold. In that moment, the bell for evening tea was rung. And as we left the classroom, we handed him a get-well-soon card which he received with confusion and bewilderment.