Maria Mulungi’s home in Buziga had the kind of quiet confidence that only years of hard work can build. The gardens rolled gently towards Lake Victoria, the furniture was elegant without shouting, and every corner seemed to whisper, “Someone earned this.”

Uncle Rwamiti sat comfortably on the veranda, sipping black tea from a large mug.

“I like this place,” he said. “It has the smell of sacrifice.”

Maria laughed.

“Uncle, only you can smell sacrifice in a mansion.”

“My daughter,” he replied, “every comfortable chair has an uncomfortable story.”

Just then a young man walked onto the veranda.

Tall.

Well dressed.

Polite.

Confident enough to greet everyone, but carrying that strange heaviness in his eyes that only an old man notices.

“My nephew David,” Maria said proudly.

Uncle stood up and shook his hand warmly.

“A good handshake,” he smiled. “Not too soft. Not trying to break my bones either.”

Everyone laughed.

As lunch progressed, Maria spoke proudly of David.

“He has done very well academically.”

Uncle nodded.

“What did you study?”

“A Bachelor’s Degree in Economics.”

“Excellent.”

“Then he completed a Master’s.”

“Very good.”

“And later another Master’s Degree from a prestigious university in the United Kingdom.”

Uncle’s eyebrows rose.

“Ah…”

Maria continued.

“It cost a fortune, Uncle. But education is something nobody can ever take away.”

There was silence.

Then she sighed.

“It has now been eight years since he returned.”

“No stable employment.”

“No successful business.”

“We’ve tried everything.”

“I sometimes wonder what else we should do.”

Uncle quietly placed his cup on the table.

“My daughter…”

“May I ask David a few questions?”

“Please.”

Uncle turned towards him.

“My grandson…”

“If money were not a problem…”

“…what would you study next?”

David smiled sheepishly.

“I’ve actually been thinking about another qualification.”

Maria nodded enthusiastically.

“Exactly! Maybe something more specialised.”

Uncle leaned back.

“No.”

The single word surprised everyone.

“You do not need another qualification.”

He looked directly at David.

“Go and bring me your bachelor’s transcript.”

“The bachelor’s?” David asked.

“Yes.”

“What about my master’s degrees?”

“I didn’t ask for them.”

Puzzled, David disappeared into the house and returned a few minutes later with a slightly worn academic transcript.

Uncle adjusted his spectacles and began reading silently.

Nobody spoke.

After several minutes he started reading aloud.

“Microeconomics.”

“Macroeconomics.”

“Statistics.”

“Project Appraisal.”

“Research Methods.”

“Development Economics.”

“Cost-Benefit Analysis.”

He closed the transcript carefully and rested it on his lap.

Then he smiled.

“Maria…”

“I don’t think you paid for three degrees.”

“I think you paid three times…”

“…to avoid using the first one.”

Nobody laughed.

The words landed heavily on the veranda.

Uncle turned back to David.

“My grandson…”

“Which of these subjects excited you so much that you forgot to look at the clock?”

David frowned.

No one had ever asked him that.

He looked again at the transcript.

His finger stopped.

“Project Appraisal.”

A smile slowly spread across Uncle’s face.

“I thought so.”

The old man leaned forward.

“Tomorrow morning, you will visit one abandoned factory.”

“The next day, another.”

“And the next.”

“I want you to ask only one question.”

Why did this project fail?

“Write one page.”

“Not for marks.”

“Not for a lecturer.”

“For the country.”

“Publish one analysis every week.”

Maria looked puzzled.

“But Uncle…”

“Who will pay him?”

Uncle chuckled.

“My daughter…”

“The market rarely pays people because they are educated.”

“It pays people because they are useful.”

Months passed.

David kept writing.

One abandoned factory.

One failed cooperative.

One unfinished government project.

One struggling family business.

One economic lesson after another.

People began reading.

Then sharing.

Business owners started calling.

Banks asked for his opinion.

District officials invited him to speak.

Universities requested guest lectures.

Television producers discovered him.

One evening Maria watched David leaving for yet another engagement.

He looked different.

Not richer.

Not louder.

Just… alive.

She turned to Uncle.

“You gave him no money.”

“No.”

“No job.”

“No connections.”

“No.”

“So what exactly did you give him?”

Uncle looked towards the lake for a long moment before answering.

Then he smiled.

“My daughter…”

“David never needed another qualification.”

“His bachelor’s degree had been waiting patiently…”

“…for someone to wake it up.”

Uncle picked up his tea again.

“We spend fortunes adding floors to a house whose foundation has never been lived in.”

He took a slow sip.

“The tragedy is not that our children know too little.”

“The tragedy is that we keep sending them back to school…”

“…before showing them the extraordinary value of what they already know.”

Have you noticed this?

— Uncle Rwamiti’s Musings on Mobility, Knowledge and Life
Mbunifueastafrica@gmail.com
Dr Petero wamala