From school corridors to global pathways

The hustle started early. In senior school Joel ran a tiny airtime-and-snacks operation out of his dorm, keeping a ledger in the back of an exercise book.

At the University of Nairobi he noticed how badly small businesses were served by couriers. SafiRide began as three riders and a WhatsApp group. It now coordinates hundreds of deliveries a day.

Every December he runs an internship intake reserved for Namilyango leavers. "Someone gave me a chance to figure it out," he says. "This is just me keeping the line moving."

David's path was the one parents dream about: top science grades, Makerere medical school, a clean run into clinical practice.

What surprised people was the choice to stay. He took a post at Mulago, the busiest hospital in the country, and built a quiet mentorship habit on the side.

Today nearly a dozen younger alumni in the sciences count David as the person who answered the call when they were deciding whether medicine was for them.

Samuel left for a master's in statistics and, like many, found that one degree turned into a career and a life in a new city.

But distance didn't mean disconnection. Each year he funds two bursaries for science students at his old school, and joins the diaspora circle calls when the time zones allow.

"The diaspora isn't lost to the school," he says. "We're just another wing of it, a few thousand kilometres out."

Henry is still a law student, but he treats the Cohort of 2016-2021 like a case he intends to win: every missing classmate is a lead to follow.

Armed with an old class list and a lot of patience, he has helped lift his cohort's traced rate to nearly two thirds.

"A class record is only proof if it's close to complete," he says. "So I keep dialling."

There is a road near Mukono that Patrick walked as a boy. Years later, as an engineer in the works ministry, he found himself supervising its upgrade.

Public-sector engineering is rarely glamorous, but Patrick is clear about why it matters: the work outlasts the headlines.

He is one of a steady cohort of alumni who chose service over salary, and the school counts them among its proudest proof points.

Sarah took the long way into design, no straight line, plenty of detours, and a stubborn belief that local brands deserved world-class craft.

Her studio now shapes identities for companies across the region, with a visual language that draws on Ugandan texture, type and colour.

She mentors younger Namagunga creatives, reminding them that taste is a skill you can build, not a gift you're born with.

Timothy was never the biggest player on the field, but he was the hardest to knock over. House rugby at Namilyango gave him a game and a temperament.

A national cap followed, and with it a quiet duty: showing the boys still in school that the pathway is real.

He turns up for Matchday whenever the calendar allows, boots in his bag, ready to remind everyone how it started.

It began modestly: a reunion, a collection tin, a half-joking pledge to "do something real this time."

Coordinated through the giving circle and matched by an older class, the fund grew past its target and paid for a complete lab refit.

The plaque is small and the impact is not. Hundreds of students now run experiments in a room their predecessors paid for.

It used to be ad hoc: a student would get a number from a teacher, call an alumnus, and hope they picked up.

Now the school's mentor list runs to dozens of verified alumni across medicine, law, engineering and the arts, each opting in for a season.

The promise is simple and the same for everyone: if a student from the school reaches out, you answer.