A Day in the Life: Teaching English in a Ugandan Village

The roosters don’t wait for sunrise.

At 5:20 AM in a small village outside Gulu, Uganda, I’m already awake. The air is cool, the sky still dark, and the scent of wood smoke curls through the breeze. There’s no electricity—again—but I don’t mind. I know the rhythm by now. Today is teaching day.

I’m here with Hope Through English (HTE), living in the community and teaching basic English to children who, until recently, had never held a textbook—let alone one in English. I’m not alone. I work alongside two incredible local teachers: Emmanuel, a university student on break, and Ruth, a former HTE student who’s now a mentor and leader in her own right.

Our classroom? It’s not much to look at.

A concrete room behind a church. One chalkboard we scrubbed clean ourselves. A single fan that sputters to life when the generator runs. But inside these walls, something powerful happens every day.

And it all starts before the sun comes up.

The Walk to Class

By 6:45, I’ve had a cup of strong tea and a piece of bread. I grab my notebook and step outside. The red dirt road is quiet for now, but soon it fills with life—motorbikes buzzing past, women balancing baskets on their heads, kids chasing each other barefoot.

When I arrive at the learning site, some students are already there. A few have walked nearly an hour just to be here. They spot me and call out, “Good morning, Teacher!” I answer back, and their smiles grow wider.

We start every day like this—with greetings, with review, with connection. And the pride in their voices when they remember a word from yesterday? That’s the fuel that keeps me going.

At 7:30, class begins. We have three groups today: Beginners, Intermediate, and a small “Accelerator” group for fast learners and older students who now help teach the younger ones.

Teaching With Almost Nothing

Out here, you don’t teach like they do in big cities. No projectors. No computers. No printed worksheets. What we do have: chalk, sticks, rocks, handmade flashcards, and a whole lot of energy.

Today’s lesson for beginners is simple: household objects. I draw a rough sketch of a room on the board—table, cup, floor, roof. I point, repeat, act it out. When I pretend to drink from an invisible cup, the kids laugh. But they remember.

For verbs, we move. We act. To eat. To sleep. To wash. The classroom becomes a stage. One boy pretends to snore so loudly the whole room cracks up. But he nails the word: “sleep.”

Sometimes, we take learning outside. One morning, we walked around the yard labeling everything we saw: “tree,” “sky,” “shoes,” “feet.” English isn’t just words on a page—it’s part of the world around them.

And when a student gets stuck? We don’t scold. We help. Emmanuel or Ruth will gently explain in Acholi, then guide them back into English. It’s not about perfection. It’s about progress.

The Students Who Stay With You

By 10:00 AM, the sun is high, the room is hot, and everyone’s sweating. We take a break—water, a piece of fruit, small groups practicing conversation.

This is when you really see the kids for who they are.

There’s Mercy, 15, who brings her two younger siblings to class every day. She’s behind in writing, but her speaking is strong. She wants to be a nurse.

“English helps me talk to doctors,” she told me. “I want to be the one helping next time.”

Then there’s Jacob, nine years old, the class clown. He repeats everything in a silly accent and makes everyone laugh. But reading? That’s hard for him. Emmanuel sits with him every day, going over letters one by one. Now Jacob knows 18 of the 26 letters. It might not sound like much. But for him? It’s everything.

And Brenda, 12, who used to sit in silence. For weeks, she wouldn’t speak above a whisper. But with Ruth’s patience and fun group games, she started to open up. Two weeks ago, she stood in front of the class and introduced herself in English.

The room exploded in cheers.

The Real Challenges

No two days are the same.

Some mornings, rain pours through the roof and we have to move class under a tree. Some kids come late because they had to fetch water or herd goats. Others are distracted, hungry, or tired from walking miles to get here.

The hardest part isn’t the heat. It’s not the lack of supplies.

It’s knowing that these kids carry so much—hunger, fear, responsibility, loss. Some have lived through conflict. Others are raising siblings. But still, they show up.

And so do we.

One of the most powerful moments came when a parent stopped me in the market and said, “My son teaches me English now.”

That’s when it hit me: this isn’t just about school. It’s about changing a family. A home. A future.

What Teaching Here Has Taught Me

I came here thinking I was the one giving something. But every day, I receive more than I give.

I’ve learned that success doesn’t look like a test score. It looks like a hand raised for the first time. It looks like a child writing their name without copying. It looks like parents smiling because their kid just translated a sign at the clinic.

Ruth, our co-teacher, once told me, “We teach because it’s a gift we were given. Now we give it back.”

She says it with fire in her voice. And you can see it in her students—they listen. They try. They believe.

Her journey—from student to mentor—is exactly what HTE is about. And it’s creating a ripple effect. Students become helpers. Helpers become leaders. Leaders change the tone of the whole village.

We’re not just teaching words. We’re building voices.

The End of the Day

By 12:30 PM, class is over. We clean up, put away supplies, and head back slowly. On the way, I hear kids practicing: “Hello, how are you?” “I am fine!” They’re laughing, mixing up words, but using English—even when no one’s watching.

Back on my porch, I sit in the heat, feet dusty, arms tired.

And I feel it—a deep, quiet sense of purpose.

This isn’t a fancy classroom. There’s no Wi-Fi.

No smartboard.

No air conditioning.

But something is happening here.

Something real.

Language is lighting up confidence.

Curiosity.

Hope.

I came here to teach English.

But what I’ve really learned is that language is just the beginning.

We’re teaching courage.

We’re teaching connection.

We’re teaching kids that they matter.

And that?

That changes everything.