“Then and Now” My Journey Across Cultures.

On a 12  degrees  Monday evening, I rushed from the lecture rooms  at the law faculty on St. Cross Road  and hurried to the Oxford Union. Senator Manny Pacquiao the only eight-division  world boxing champion in the history of the sport was expected to speak at the Union. He  had defied all odds, punching above his weight, to rise and become a senator in the Philippines, representing Saragani constituency having garnered over 16 million votes (which is nearly half the population of Uganda, my home country). From the time the Union’s Michelmas Term Events Card was released bearing him as a slated speaker, there was a great deal of anticipation for his talk. 

The 450 capacity debating chamber was indeed a full house when I walked in. Manny (as he is adoringly called by his legion of fans) gave a touching account of his life. He said his humbling life began in a struggle; in poverty and that most times as a child he had gone without food. It was a life of determination, ignoring the odds and going against them. When the floor was opened for the Q & A, I was given an opportunity to ask him a question. I gladly did.  In that moment, when I handed back the microphone after having asked the question; I thought of how extremely fortunate I was to have the opportunity of being at this historic debate chamber. To interact with world icons, political leaders, renowned influencers in all disciplines and above all the chance to engage in intellectual discourse at one of the world’s premier learning institutions, is an unusual privilege.

At the Oxford Union

I remembered how I had promised to write a blog when I settled into Oxford. Somehow, owing to the rigorous nature of my course, I hadn’t been able to sit down and do so.  Sydney, an old friend, reminded me how important it was for me to document the euphoric feeling and life changing experience in its’ raw form before I got drowned up in essays and tutorials. The ‘sad’ reality was that; the demands of the course had already taken a toll on me. However, I decided to make some time in the fifth week of term to write about my last day in Uganda and my arrival in Oxford. I   have also made a pledge to make a daily journal entry. I know that this   sounds extremely ambitious, but well; I’ll give it a shot.

Over the last couple of weeks, as you might know, I set off on a new journey, starting my master’s degree. The enthusiasm of starting the degree was prevalent but also in equal measure  a sense of a daunting challenge.  Before I left Uganda, my work colleagues, friends and family had been very helpful. They briefed me, ‘prepped’ me and suffocated me with all information in order to cushion me from cultural shock. My mother even went as far as dragging me to the market at 8:00pm to buy a thick second hand jacket and pair of strong black leather shoes for the anticipated cold weather.

My work colleagues organized a special farewell lunch and some of my friends, on the scheduled day for my flight insisted that I make time for one last meal.  In many ways I am eternally grateful to them.  I failed to meet up some close friends, because everything happened so fast; I didn’t have time to say bye to everyone.  I have since had to apologize to some relatives and friends who I didn’t see before I left.  I had not fully comprehended and accepted the idea that I was going to be away from my family and Ugandan life for over a year; it only hit me when I said my goodbyes to my family in the departure lounge at Entebbe International Airport.

I had a huge lump in my throat as I saw my flight number on the dashboard change to “check in.” I still do not know why. For some reason, I was fiddling with the wrist strap on my hand. As I hugged my siblings, it dawned on me that it would be long before I would get to sit down, have dinner and share some chapatti with them, as had been the case every Saturday. It was an oxymoron; I was filled with sadness but that same time happily anxious for the journey that lay ahead. I unwillingly let go of my young sister’s hand and joined the check-in queue. We had a turbulence free flight through Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam to Heathrow, London.

Upon arrival at Heathrow, as I hustled with my travel documents, I handed them to the immigration officer. He asked me, “What brings you to the United Kingdom? In a hasty voice, I told him I had come to study. He then looked through the documents I had given him and saw my letter of confirmation of a place at the University .  With a boyish delight and aspirational smile, he looked at me and said, “Oxford!!!”  He muttered, and continued with a significant nod of approval; “Congratulations mate, I cannot ask you any more questions. You must be extremely brilliant.” He stamped my passport and asked me to enjoy my time at Oxford and become an expert rower. I really didn’t know why he mentioned rowing. Its only when I attended the orientation talk at Jesus College that I was informed of the strong culture of rowing on the river. A sport that all the colleges engaged in.

Courtesy of my mother’s foresight, she had set  me up with her longtime friend who received me when I arrived at Heathrow. She helped me navigate the underground train system and booked me on a bus to the City of Oxford. With immense excitement, I got off the double decker at the bus stop on High Street.  There I was in the “city of dreaming spires.” The name owed to the classical architecture of the University buildings. There I was, extremely delighted and also fully aware of the daunting task that lay ahead. I was expecting to find a huge University gate labelled “University of Oxford” like the one at my alma mater; this was a typical characteristic of entrances to most African Universities. I never saw one. I got to learn later on as I moved around that the University did not not have a central campus; as an alternative its colleges, departments and other facilities were spread through the city center. One  needed a map to get around.

I checked my phone at the bus stop and realized my battery was down.   I didn’t know where my College was and I couldn’t access google maps, which anyway at that time I didn’t know how to use. Oxford University is a collegiate university. It means that every admitted student is affiliated to a college. There are 38 colleges in Oxford.  At the college, the student receives their formal admission, is offered university accommodation & meals and also has his general welfare handled by the College. For example, formal dinners are held at one’s college on a weekly basis.  I was admitted to Jesus College, established in 1571. Yes, it’s that old! And quite frankly it isn’t even the oldest college. All around me were classical buildings, I felt like I was a script torn out from J. k. Rowling’ s famous Harry Potter series. I was fortunate enough to find a good Samaritan, who not only, offered to take me to up to my college but even volunteered to carry one of my bags. I was so relieved.

He showed me to Jesus College. When I got into my room, I took a deep sigh of relief and got some rest.  That evening, I picked my University I.D and many other items. It was really happening!  I squinted my eyes to ascertain that I was truly standing at gates of All Souls College, Oxford’s most prestigious college; that rejected H.L.Hart  and William Holdsworth and former Prime Minister Harold Wilson. Standing there truly felt momentous, empowering and wonderful.  The whole city is a tourist attraction. People are often spotted taking pictures at every building. What truly amazed me was when I saw a married couple in their wedding gowns having a photoshoot on the stony pavements of Turl Street.  It was such a gorgeous site to behold.

All Soul’s College.

A friend showed me around the key sites of the city. Most notable was the Blackwell’s Bookshop and the Bridge of Sighs. The Bridge of Sighs joins two parts of Hertford College and was modelled after the famous Bridge of Sighs in Venice with an interesting history. It came from the idea that prisoners would sigh at their final view of beautiful Venice through the window before being taken down to their cells. Very Historical. Almost every building in Oxford has a story. Sadly, since I am not in any way a tourist guide I am unable to offer an account of every building with in Oxford. I hope that I can write more about them when I finish the degree here.

The Bridge of Sighs at Hertford College.   Credits: Tristan

There is just so much tradition to thrill anyone. Even me, a hardcore history lover, was truly amazed. The apex of my first weeks at Oxford was the matriculation ceremony in the third week of Michelmas term.  There we go again, another Oxford term! Matriculation is the official ceremony where one is admitted to the University.  New students are required to wear their ‘sub fusc’ (University gown) and hold their hats. One is required to wear a black suit, with a white shirt, bow tie, black stockings and black shoes. Over the time the rules on colors have been relaxed.  Students assemble at their respective colleges. 

On that morning, I dressed as required moved to the 2^nd quad at Jesus College. I took a personal portrait picture and also the official college matriculation group photo. We then were asked to pair up and move in a queue. Led by the Principal of Jesus College we marched to the Sheldonian Theatre. The Sheldonian Theatre is the official ceremonial hall of the University. It was truly a beautiful sight, seeing queues from other colleges moving asymmetrically to the theatre along the beautiful broad street.  It felt like we were again making the great walk to liberation. 

Matriculation Group Photo at Jesus College.

I stood behind the Principal and I heard when one of the porters called on the Principal to follow him and enter the theatre. I followed the Principal in a religiously devote manner like a servant in the Roman Catholic Church. It was an elated feeling. We marched into the marvel of art that is the Sheldonian; designed by Sir Christopher Wren. As we walked in I looked up at the glorious ceiling, painted on thirty-two oil on canvas panels by Robert Streater.  I traversed and was showed to my seat  by one of the porters. You could hear a lot of murmurs in the theatre, until a loud silence encircled the theatre, you could hear a leaking pipe; every one stood up; and the main entrance was opened, an almost angelic light came from the open door. There we saw three persons walk in to the theater.  My neighbor tapped my shoulder and whispered to me stealthily, that, it was the Vice- Chancellor. We waited for her to reach her seat and stand while facing the audience.  Some gentleman clad in a university gown spoke some Latin words and then asked us to take our seats.

Students take their seats inside the marvel; That is the Sheldonian Theatre.

The Vice Chancellor then welcomed us to the University community and said, “…During the short time you will be here you will gather that we are an extremely complex University. We are an institution where ancient and modern exist side by side for their mutual benefit. We are united in the pursuit of knowledge.” She remarked, “Your time here is precious; and it will pass more quickly than we could imagine.  Use your time well; explore, do not to be afraid to make mistakes, challenge yourselves and try new things.”

In many ways she echoed the essence of endurance. I reflected on how long the journey had been, how without the support of family, friends, my former professors and lecturers, I would not have been here. I remembered, the hustle of the written essay of my application, the misery of having to take its critical review, the endless emails I sent to my lecturers reminding them to submit the recommendations; But most importantly, I remembered my Lord, Jesus Christ, who enabled me, and aligned everything so perfectly well, to make sure that I’d be here on this day. He who had been behind the foundations that formed the earth, and the very basis of human existence. I marveled and thought, who am I?  That He is mindful of me.

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