Commentary: I ran 8.8 miles to school each day. Barefoot. And it was worth it

It's been 27 years since my last conversation with my mother. Like many girls born in rural Uganda in the late 1950s, she did not finish school before she was married off. She often told me, "I never got my degree but one day, my little man, you will."

She instilled in me the value of the education she was not able to complete. Holding my small hand, she guided my right forefinger as she taught me how to scribble my ABCs in the dust. She taught me English by pointing to a tree, hut or cow and asking me to repeat their English names after her. She then translated the same words into our mother tongue of Runyankole. When I was frustrated, I'd ask, "Mama, why do I have to learn these foreign phrases?"

As if foretelling the future, she held her pen right before my eyes. "Here is your pen, hold it firmly, for it and this new foreign language will be your compass to navigate this world."

My mother died of breast cancer when I turned 6.

My father dropped out of school in grade three to take care of his family's cattle herd as the eldest boy of his family, but he, too, wanted me to have a good education. Soon after my mother's passing, he took me 30 miles away to live with her brother. He knew education standards were better in my uncle's county, and schools were closer than they were in our village.

The journey to school

But "closer" is a relative term in Uganda. I had an 8.8-mile commute each way.

When I was 7, I'd get up by 5 a.m. to help gather the cows from the farm and to help my cousins with the milking as the early morning orange sun rose over the hills of my village of Kempungu. Then I'd drink a cup of milk and eat a baked sweet potato and head to school. This would be my only meal until the evening. Soon after my breakfast, at around 6:30 a.m., I would run 8.8 miles barefoot to school. And it wasn't a leisurely jog. I had to be there in time for the 8 a.m. bell and the hygiene check at 8:15. Latecomers got six strokes of the cane.

The path was unpaved and sometimes dangerous. Some days a snake would slither across my path or I might run into a hyena or wild dogs that could have rabies. With the stick I carried to protect myself, I killed several snakes on my way to school and scared away many dogs.

During the rainy season, from late September to late November or even early December, there was an additional obstacle. A big swampy creek about a mile from school flooded daily. I'd take off my school uniform and put it in my book bag to keep it dry. I'd swim with one hand while using the other hand to hold the bag on my head.

If the water was too deep, I would ask an older cousin to carry me on his back.

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