By Mariah Nandyona -Ssebuufu
Principal, Morning Star Education Services | Founder, She Rebuilds Foundation Uganda
This morning, as the sun rose over Ndejje, the compound at Morning Star School was unusually quiet. The usual laughter of our pupils was replaced by whispers, trembling hands clutching pencils, and silent prayers.
Today marks the first day of the Primary Leaving Examinations (PLE) 2025. This day has come to define not only children’s futures but also the emotional temperature of families, teachers, and entire communities.
You can feel it in the air—the collective anxiety that hangs over the nation like a cloud. Parents pace outside school gates, clutching rosaries and exam cards.
Teachers stand at classroom doors, trying to smile reassuringly, but their eyes betray the weight they carry. Children, some only 11 or 12 years old, sit before an exam they have been told will decide the rest of their lives.
As I walk from class to class checking on my candidates, I feel that familiar ache: pride, fear, and frustration all at once. Pride, because I know how hard they’ve worked. Fear, because I know how fragile confidence can be. And frustration, because I cannot help but wonder—why must so much depend on two days of exams?
The Unseen Toll of “Success”
Every November, Uganda turns its schools into pressure chambers. The weeks leading to PLE are filled with tension: extra coaching, late-night study sessions, and endless mock exams. Some schools keep candidates at school for months without a break, drilling and rehearsing like marathon teams.
The intention is noble—to prepare children to excel. But what we have created instead is a system that equates performance with worth. A grade judges a child’s intelligence. A teacher’s competence is measured by how many “first grades” they produce. Schools compete not for better learning but for better statistics.
Behind every first grade is a story we rarely tell: sleepless nights, tears, anxiety attacks, and the fear of disappointing parents and teachers. I have seen children fall sick during exams, not from illness but from pressure. I have seen parents whisper to their children, “Make me proud… don’t embarrass the family.” I have seen teachers, even the most dedicated, break down when results don’t reflect the effort they gave. This is not education. It is performance under duress—and it is costing us our children’s joy for learning.
The Reality at Morning Star
At Morning Star, we try to do things differently. We pray with our candidates, we encourage laughter and breathing breaks, and we remind them that they are more than their grades. Yet even here, the national anxiety seeps in.
Parents call constantly: “Teacher, how is my child performing? Are they ready?” Teachers stay long after classes, reviewing papers and worrying about what they might have missed. Some have nightmares about failing their students.
This morning, I found one of my pupils sitting quietly in a corner, tears in her eyes. When I asked what was wrong, she said, “I don’t want to forget anything.” I hugged her and told her that forgetting a formula won’t erase her brilliance—that exams test knowledge, not worth. But deep down, I knew my words were small comfort in a system that has made forgetting feel like failure.
As a principal, I stand between hope and heartbreak—encouraging resilience while knowing the high stakes. For many of these children, a good PLE result means access to better schools, scholarships, and a path out of poverty. That is the cruel paradox: we know the harm, but we also see the door it can open.
A Nation Held Hostage by Results
Uganda’s obsession with examination performance has turned education into a prestige contest. Schools boast about first grades. Politicians and parents celebrate “best performers” as proof of progress. But we rarely ask what happens to the majority who do not make the list.
Many bright children internalize failure too early. Some drop out; others are pushed into trades they never chose. Some lose faith in learning altogether. Teachers are casualties too—blamed, overworked, underpaid, and emotionally exhausted.
We have built a system where compliance replaces creativity. Teachers teach to the test instead of for understanding. Lessons are rushed, curiosity is stifled, and learners are trained to memorize rather than think. It is a safe, predictable, and profoundly limiting mindset.
This approach might produce grades, but it will not produce innovators. It will not give us citizens who can think critically, solve problems, or adapt to an unpredictable world.
Teaching for Life, Not Just for Exams
As I watch my candidates take their papers, I am reminded that our responsibility as educators extend far beyond preparing children to pass. We must prepare them to live, to lead, and to learn continuously.
That means rethinking what we teach and how we teach it. Learning should be relevant—grounded in real-life application, creativity, and critical thinking.
Project-based learning, digital literacy, and community problem-solving should be central, not optional. We must also teach intentionally designed lessons that connect knowledge with empathy and curiosity. Intentional teaching helps learners understand why they are learning, not just what they are learning. It turns classrooms from sites of instruction into spaces of discovery.
Above all, we need to heal the culture of fear that grips our schools. Education should once again become a joyful journey, not a lifelong anxiety.
Parents and Political Will
Real change will require two things: informed parents and political courage. Parents must begin to demand better. Proper education is not about ranking schools by results but about nurturing children’s potential. Parents’ voices can reshape policy faster than any reform document because no one has more at stake. And we need political will. Policymakers must accept that Uganda’s future cannot rest on a system built on memorization and compliance. We must invest in teacher training, curriculum review, and mental-health support for learners. We must reimagine assessment not as a one-time verdict but as a continuous reflection of growth. Change will not come overnight, but it can start today in one classroom, one school, and one district at a time.
An Appeal for Humanity in Education
This morning, as my candidates bent over their papers, I whispered a silent prayer, not for grades but for peace. For them to know that their value is not measured in marks, that their dreams are valid even if they forget a formula, and that their worth is far greater than their performance.
We must humanize our education system. We must stop treating learning as a race to the top and start seeing it as a collective climb. Because the truth is, we are all accountable—principals, teachers, parents, and leaders alike.
The first day of PLE should not feel like a national emergency. It should feel like a celebration of learning, resilience, and hope. Until we reach that point, I will keep reminding my pupils and myself: We are not just preparing children to pass—we are preparing them to live.
About the Author:
Mariah Nandyona -Ssebuufu is Principal at Morning Star Education Services and Founder of She Rebuilds Foundation Uganda. She is a Harvard-trained education leader and researcher focusing on teacher empowerment, curriculum reform, and equitable learning.
