My PRIVATE Diary
Patti Mugisha
Gayaza High School
Kampala, Uganda, Africa, the Universe
Sunday, April 10, 2 P.M.
Boarding school is like purgatory, or prison — being sent away to wait. That’s mainly what I do: wait for time to pass. There are five more hours to supper, and I’m hungry already. I’m up here in an empty classroom, writing in my diary when I’m supposed to be studying, ’cause it’s one week till finals. Three more long weeks, then home, home at last. Please, God, help me concentrate on this stupid history book. I don’t want to study at the dorm with the others. I prefer to be alone with the leftover scribbles on the blackboard and the disorderly desks and chairs abandoned by the last class of girls on Friday. The scratched and beaten-up furniture looks like wreckage after a riot, it’s so old.
