“I realized that many parents were hiding these children at home as their fellows went to school,” she often said, recalling the turning point in her life. “I wanted to start a place where they could also learn and access social services.”
The morning light spread gently over Bukeerere as Christine Kirungi sat quietly, watching children arrive at St. Charles Lwanga Primary School. Some came in their mothers’ arms, others on their backs, their bodies fragile but their presence powerful.
Christine did not just see children—she saw her own story.
A victim of cerebral palsy herself, she had endured years of stigma in a society where many misunderstood the condition. Some called it witchcraft. Others saw it as a curse. But Christine chose a different path—one of resilience and purpose.
“I realized that many parents were hiding these children at home as their fellows went to school,” she often said, recalling the turning point in her life. “I wanted to start a place where they could also learn and access social services.”
Her dream, however, met harsh realities. Without land or financial support, starting her own center proved impossible. Still determined, she reached out to several schools, proposing an inclusive section for children with disabilities.
“Out of all the schools I reached out to, only St. Charles Lwanga Bukeerere Primary School, a Catholic government-aided institution, gave my proposal a chance,” she explained.
That single opportunity changed everything.
Since 2019, the school has slowly built a section dedicated mainly to children with cerebral palsy. What started with five children has now grown to 27, a number that continues to rise despite limited resources.
The headteacher, Clementine Namakula, has witnessed this growth firsthand—but not without challenges.
“Though in a school setting learners are expected to attend daily, we cannot manage all the 25 children at once,” she said with concern. “Due to limited space and workers to handle children who are completely dependent, we can only afford keeping five children at school on a daily basis.”
Her voice carried both pride and strain.
Namakula explained that the school, established in 1949, was never designed for such specialized care. Yet the need in the community forced them to adapt.
“We are overwhelmed by the numbers,” she admitted. “These children require constant attention, and we lack enough staff, enough space, and even enough water. Given their condition, they need frequent cleaning, which demands a reliable water source—we currently don’t have that.”
She paused, then added with quiet determination, “We hope to establish a permanent water source if we get the necessary support.”
Christine, standing nearby, understood these struggles all too well. She knew that beyond the school walls, even more barriers existed.
“Many parents have to bring the children themselves,” she explained. “But most of these children are left with mothers or grandparents, and some come from far distances. Without transport, they simply cannot make it.”
Her voice softened.
“If we had transport or accommodation facilities, the number of children here would grow to over 50 and beyond.”
As if in answer to these challenges, a significant moment unfolded that Monday when the Rotary Club of Sonde visited the school.
Led by its president, Dr. Charles Olalo, the team arrived with not just words of encouragement, but tangible support—food supplies, mattresses, blankets, soap, pampers, and other essential items worth millions of shillings. They also handed over one million shillings in cash and pledged to complete an unfinished building at the school.
Dr. Olalo, speaking on behalf of the Rotary Club, emphasized that their mission went beyond donations.
“We are committed to improving the wellbeing of these children,” he said.
He further revealed plans to support the children’s health directly.
“Through the Ministry of Health’s malaria control program, we shall donate 100 mosquito nets to help protect these children from the deadly Malaria burden,” he stated. “We shall also ensure that a physiotherapist from Mukono General Hospital visits at least once a week to attend to them.”
But beyond the promises, Dr. Olalo addressed a deeper issue—the stigma surrounding cerebral palsy.
“It is unfortunate that many parents still associate this condition with witchcraft, which is not true,” he said firmly. He explained that cerebral palsy can result from medical complications, particularly in infancy.
“When children get high fever and it is not treated early, it can lead to convulsions that damage the brain,” he noted. “That is why parents must seek proper medical care instead of spending money on witchcraft.”
His message resonated across the gathering, challenging long-held beliefs and encouraging a shift toward understanding and treatment.
Back in the school compound, as the day drew to a close, Christine watched the children leave—some smiling, others tired, all of them fighters in their own way.
The journey ahead remained difficult. The school still needed more staff, more facilities, transport, therapists, and basic necessities like water. Yet, for the first time in a long while, there was a growing sense of possibility.
Christine held onto that hope.
Because for her, this was never just about survival.
It was about changing a narrative—one child, one parent, one voice at a time.
Christine Kirungi is the Executive Director of the umbrella organisation, Cerebral Palsy Network Association. For donations, she can be reached on 0778621437 (registered in her name).
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