Building Tomorrow's Entrepreneurs: An Interview with Emmanuel College Kazo's Head Teacher

By Kayiwa James Earl

November 6, 2025

Students in their uniforms rushed between classes as I arrived at Emmanuel College Kazo that Monday morning. Some clustered under mango trees, others carried metal frames toward the workshops. I'd come to meet Mr. Kiguba Paul, the Head Teacher, about a fundraising project for the school's 40th anniversary.

I expected a standard conversation about building renovations. What I got was a vision that stayed with me long after I left—less a building project than a promise to a generation of young people who've been told they don't matter.

Forty Years, One Vision

Mr. Kiguba's office is functional, not fancy. Brochures, school calenders and programmes. He offered tea before we started—a man with kind eyes behind his glasses that crinkle when he smiles, but with steel underneath. Someone who's fought too many battles for his students to quit now.

"Forty years of watching young people walk through those gates with nothing but hope, and walking out with skills that changed their lives," he said.

So why this massive project now?

He laughed. "We could throw a big party, make speeches, pat ourselves on the back. But what would that do for students sitting in our classrooms today?" He shook his head. "Our theme is 'Go Forward, Transform.' This anniversary isn't about celebrating the past—it's about building the future."

The Plan: Seven Connected Pieces

He spread the proposal across his desk with weathered, calloused hands. "We need 84,550,000 shillings—about $24,160 US dollars." He caught my raised eyebrows and smiled. "Sounds like a lot for a school in a slum area, right?"

Seven projects: six skills workshops, internet satellite, eco-cooking stoves, a shoe production unit, a commercial bakery, a modern kitchen, and solar panels.

That's a lot of moving parts, I said. Why not focus on just one or two?

"Here's what people miss about vocational training—everything connects." He leaned forward. "What good is a workshop without internet to learn from master craftspeople worldwide? What good is training if electricity bills are so high we can't run equipment? How do we teach entrepreneurship without actual businesses to run? These aren't separate projects. They're one system for transforming how we train young people."

The Current Reality

"Come on," Mr. Kiguba said, standing. "Let me show you why this matters."

We crossed the compound. At "the current reality"—a cramped room where carpentry and metalwork students competed for space—chaos reigned. Students waited in line for tools. One boy measured wood while another ground metal nearby, sparks flying.

Mr. Kiguba stood watching, arms folded. "This is what we're working with. They're fighting for space, sharing tools that should be in a museum, learning in conditions that would shut down any professional workshop." His frustration was clear, but so was his determination. "They deserve better."

Six new workshops would change that—properly equipped spaces for 30-40 students each. "A carpentry student doesn't just learn theory—they build and sell a whole bedroom set. They leave with a portfolio, business experience, confidence. That's the difference between training and transformation."

Why Internet Matters

I asked about the internet satellite—7,250,000 shillings seemed steep.

His eyes lit up. "I watch YouTube at home—master craftsmen in Italy making shoes, French bakers creating art, Indian tailors using techniques we've never heard of. Why can't our students learn from these people?"

Currently, internet is spotty at best. "We live in 2026, not 1986. These kids compete globally now. If they're only learning what we teach here, they're already behind." He wants them researching business strategies, understanding markets, connecting with customers. "Internet doesn't just teach skills—it shows kids from slums that their dreams aren't limited by where they were born."

Environmental Solutions That Pay

Fifteen million shillings for cooking stoves seemed steep, I said.

Mr. Kiguba pointed toward the kitchen. "See that firewood pile? We go through that in three days. Three days." He shook his head. "And every tree we burn is one less in our community."

The eco-stoves cut firewood use by 60%, saving six million shillings yearly. "It's about teaching kids you can develop without destroying. That sustainability is practical, necessary, and saves money." The savings go straight back to student programs. "The stoves pay for themselves and keep on giving."

Real Business, Real Learning

The bakery (9 million) and shoe unit (7 million) raised the obvious question: "Are you running a school or starting businesses?"

He grinned. "Both. That's the point."

"You can teach baking theory all day. But until they've baked bread someone pays for? They haven't really learned anything." Both units operate as real businesses—students bake for the community, make shoes people actually wear. "When real money's on the line, when customers expect quality, when reputation matters—that's when learning becomes real."

Graduates leave with actual business experience: managing suppliers, inventory, customer complaints, books. "They're not hoping for jobs—they know they can create their own."

The units train 150 students yearly while generating 8 million shillings. "It funds itself and teaches entrepreneurship. That's education that changes lives."

What if the businesses fail?

"Then students learn from failure," he said instantly. "Better here, where we can help them understand what went wrong, than later when they've invested everything. We're not protecting them from reality—we're preparing them for it."

Solar Power and Long-Term Thinking

The solar installation—12 million shillings—is the second-biggest expense. I asked if that made sense for a fundraising school.

Mr. Kiguba slid an electricity bill across the desk. My eyes widened. "Every month. Imagine cutting that by 40 to 60%." The panels pay for themselves within years, then keep saving money for scholarships, equipment, teachers. "But it's also teaching. When students see solar panels powering workshops, they learn about sustainable technology, long-term thinking, solutions that benefit everyone."

The Students Who Make It Worthwhile

We'd talked budgets for over an hour. I asked about the actual students.

His demeanor shifted—the administrator vanished, the teacher emerged.

"Most come from Bwayise, a slum area. Poverty, broken families, every challenge you imagine. Society sees problems. I see brilliance waiting for a chance." He mentioned the students who built a TukTuk from scratch. "Kids people wrote off. They took metal, engines, determination, and built a working vehicle. Tell me that's not genius."

His voice strengthened. "They don't lack talent or intelligence. They lack opportunity. They lack believers. They lack resources." He tapped the proposal. "This is about telling 500 kids yearly that they matter, that their dreams are worth investing in, that we believe they can do extraordinary things."

The office got a bit dusty right then.

Raising 85 Million Shillings

How does a school serving slum communities raise this money?

"It's not easy. I won't pretend." But he doesn't see it as charity. "We're asking for investment in proven results." Forty years of faithful stewardship despite limited resources. "Donors can trust every shilling will be used well, accounted for, will change lives."

They're reaching everywhere—alumni, businesses, international partners, churches, individuals. "When people understand the vision, when they see it's about transforming lives, many want to be part of it."

$24,160 USD isn't much for such comprehensive impact, I noted.

"Exactly! We're making smart, strategic investments benefiting students for decades. Extraordinary value." Complete transparency: quarterly reports, annual audits, open doors for donor visits. "See what we're doing. Talk to students. Look at our books. We've got nothing to hide and everything to prove."

PROJECT PROPOSAL.docx

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Five Years From Now

As afternoon sun slanted through the window, I asked him to paint a picture. Five years from now, what does he see?

His eyes got distant. "Schools across East Africa visiting to learn from us. Graduates running businesses, hiring from their communities. A furniture maker supplying Kampala hotels. A baker with a shop chain. Engineers starting workshops." He paused. "But mostly? A kid who walked in feeling worthless walking out standing tall. Confident. Skilled. Believing in themselves. That's what makes this worth it."

"That's not just education," he said, looking at me directly. "That's transformation."

Walking Away

I left as students finished afternoon classes—still energetic, still laughing, still working despite cramped conditions. But I saw them differently now. I saw the potential Mr. Kiguba sees.

This isn't just a building project. It's a school that's served marginalized youth for forty years deciding the next forty need to be better. Six workshops, internet connectivity, commercial units, sustainable energy—ambitious, yes. But having met Mr. Kiguba, seen those workshops, watched students work with inadequate tools but unlimited determination—I left convinced this isn't just possible. It's necessary.

Mr. Kiguba walked me to the gate. "You know what our students need to hear? That someone believes in them enough to invest in their future. Not pity them. Believe in them." He smiled. "That's what this is really about. Belief."

Support the 40th Anniversary Transformation Project:

Emmanuel College KazoBwayiise, Central Uganda, East AfricaPhone: +256 701 494880

Project Need: 84,550,000 UGX ($24,160 USD)Impact: 500 young lives transformed annually, for decades to come

Mr. Kiguba's last words: "Together, we can transform potential into productivity, and training into transformation."

After a day at Emmanuel College Kazo, I believe him. And I think you will too.

Interview conducted January 6, 2026, at Emmanuel College Kazo in Bwayiise, Central Uganda. The 40th Anniversary fundraising campaign launches this month, with celebrations planned for July 2026.