Vienna Days:The Place That Stayed

 The Place That Stayed 

By Blessed Bagyenzi (Class of 2004)

Vienna was my first real encounter with independence, the kind that arrives quietly, disguised as routine, until one day you realize you are on your own. When I first joined the school, I wasn’t entirely alone. I had siblings there already. My older brother. My older sister. I was the third of us to walk those grounds. Later, there would be two more my younger brother and younger sister both formidable in their own right, academic giants even then. I’m certain they would be offended if I left them out.

Having my older sister around gave me a deep sense of comfort. New schools can be brutal places, but knowing someone had my back that if things went wrong, if someone bullied me, if I got lost in the social maze, I had family nearby made the transition gentler. She shepherded me through those early days, an extra set of eyes watching over me.

She was also brilliant. Smart, popular, and exceptionally talented at basketball. Being her younger sister came with both privilege and pressure. People constantly asked why I wasn’t like her, why I didn’t play the same sport, why I hadn’t followed in her footsteps. The comparisons were relentless. Eventually, I realized basketball wasn’t my lane. I found my niche elsewhere: in humor, in music, in performance. I gravitated toward entertainment nights, traditional dances, rehearsals with dancers. Kadanke, especially, felt like home. That was where I belonged.

Vienna, in all its chaos, was also loud and memorably so. The toads at night were unlike anything I’d ever heard. Once, my sister invited me to join her for a run outside the school. I was excited, imagining something light and manageable. What I didn’t know was that the jog would stretch all the way toward Naalya, up a long, dusty road that seemed to have no end. That run ended any lingering thoughts of joining the basketball team. Some lessons arrive breathless and unannounced.

More importantly, Vienna exposed me to different minds; students who thought differently, dreamed differently. It was during this time, while choosing my HSC combination, that I began to confront the tension between who I was and who I wanted to become. I loved science, even though I hadn’t always excelled at it. I was more art-brained, but Vienna encouraged me to work harder, to find new ways to make my dream possible. That determination carried me forward. Today, I work as a medical consultant with nursing specialties, a path shaped by that early persistence.

The first time I truly felt alone came when my older siblings left. My brother finished S6. My sister moved on. Suddenly, I was the only one left. The loneliness was practical before it was emotional. If you forgot to buy a toothbrush, there was no sibling to borrow from. If you ran out of pocket money, there was no quiet loan to tide you over until Dad came around. I had to plan better. I had to rely on myself.

Vienna also reshaped how I understood friendship. It taught me that friends exist in seasons, that not everyone deserves access to your inner world. It showed me that value isn’t always material; sometimes the people with the least to offer physically are the ones who hold you up emotionally and mentally. And it taught me painfully but clearly that some people who call themselves your friends will disappear when you need them most. 

From this, I learned to categorize friendships, not out of bitterness, but wisdom.

There were long walks, longer jogs, endless studying, overwhelming expectations, and teachers who inspired both fear and discipline. There were good memories and bad ones I'd rather forget and others I’d replay forever. But I wouldn’t trade a single experience. Every one of them worked together for my good.

If I could speak to my younger self, I’d tell her to have fun. To enjoy that phase of life. To go easy on herself. It was never a bad thing to be naïve. Adulthood would come soon enough.

Vienna prepared me for the world that followed. 

I am who I am because of those years. And I will never forget them.