12/08/2026
The year was 2014, and dusk over the shores of Lake Victoria didn't just bring a cool breeze to then Sori Mixed Secondary School—it brought the quiet, coordinated hustle of survival.
Before the modern bathrooms and stricter compound security arrived after 2018, life at Sori Boys High School was dictated by unwritten traditions. The most important of these centered around the legendary Fig Tree, which stood just outside the official school boundary. Massive, ancient, and sprawling, its broad canopy created a shaded sanctuary. To the outside world, it was just a landmark. To the schoolboys, it was the ultimate open-air washroom.
Every evening, the signal went out, and the gates opened to release the boys outside the compound for their daily bath. Carrying bright yellow plastic basins and bars of LIDO and NJOGOO soap, a steady procession would march out to the broad branches of the giant tree. Water splashed, hearty laughter echoed off the trunk, and debates over football were settled in the cool shade.
For most, it was just time to clean up. But for JoDHUP—the school's legendary elite squad of night navigators—bathing under the fig tree was actually tactical cover.
While the crowd of boys gathered under the tree was busy lathering up, the student prefects stationed nearby were tasked with keeping watch and ensuring everyone returned straight to the compound afterward. But JoDHUP knew the terrain better than anyone. Using the thick trunk of the fig tree to block the prefects' line of sight, they would slip away undetected, blending seamlessly into the path heading toward the center of Sori town.
The mission? Escaping the kitchen's relentless cycle of cooked kales. Night after night, steam rose from dark green mounds of sukuma wiki served alongside ugali, giving rise to the famous dorm joke that all those greens were wearing down their enamel and turning their teeth green. Their teeth simply needed a break.
The destination was always the lively kiosks near the lake, where the irresistible aroma of freshly fried omena filled the air. Crisp, golden, tossed with onions and tomatoes, and crackling with flavor, those small lake fish were worth dodging every prefect on duty.
Standing in the center, sharing a hot newspaper package of crispy omena before stealthily merging back into the stream of boys returning from the fig tree, JoDHUP feasted like royalty. The stark contrast between bland school kales and the salty crunch of lake-fresh omena made every calculated move worth the risk.
Today, the routine has changed, and modern facilities keep the students within the fences. But for anyone who walked those grounds before 2018, that grand fig tree outside the fence still stands as a monument to evening baths, outsmarted prefects, and the legendary taste of freedom from Sori center.