My father has taught at universities in Uganda, Kenya, and abroad for years. He knows his students, their rhythms, the way they wrestle with ideas on the page. ALSO READ: The AI skills gap: Your make-or-break moment So, when essays that once stumbled through arguments began arriving polished, fluent, and suspiciously flawless, he noticed. Not one or two papers—but dozens across several of his classes. Something had shifted, and it wasn't a sudden collective awakening of academic brilliance. ALSO READ: When is the right time to expose children to AI? It was AI. His initial reaction was what you might expect from a seasoned educator: concern. If students could generate essays at the click of a button, what was the point of the assignment? What was the point of teaching? But then my father, the philosopher, did something that separated him from the chorus of voices calling for bans and crackdowns. He paused. He thought. And he asked a different question entirely. ALSO READ: How AI in a nurse’s pocket can strengthen Rwanda’s health system Over one of our evening phone conversations, he thoughtfully asked, If this tool can help my students produce work of this quality, imagine what it could do for my teaching? That single question changed everything. ALSO READ: Is my job safe from AI? We embarked on a mission to teach my old man about AI. About what AI actually is and what it is not. How to use it ethically, responsibly, and in a way that would make him a better educator rather than an obsolete one. And so, across several Zoom sessions and shared documents between Kigali and Kampala, we began the journey; a son teaching his 72-year-old father the language of the future. We started with the basics: AI is not a thinking being. It does not understand the way humans do. It is a powerful pattern-recognition tool trained on vast amounts of data. It can draft, summarise, translate, brainstorm, and organise; but it cannot replace the wisdom of a teacher who has spent decades understanding how young minds learn. Once my father grasped this distinction, his fear gave way to curiosity, and curiosity gave way to action. He began using AI to generate discussion questions tailored to different comprehension levels. He experimented with creating practice problems that adapted to common student mistakes. He used it to draft personalised feedback, saving hours while still giving each student individual attention. My father is not alone. A 2025 Gallup survey found that 60 per cent of K-12 teachers in the United States now use AI tools, with lesson preparation being the most common application. An Anthropic study revealed that 57 per cent of professor-AI interactions involved curriculum development. The World Economic Forum reports that 71 per cent of teachers view AI assistants as essential for learning. And AARP research shows that 54 per cent of adults over 50 feel confident in their ability to learn new technologies. The barrier is rarely capability—it is courage. That is what I find most remarkable about my father's story. He did not grow up with computers. He did not have a smartphone until well into his career. But when the world changed around him, he did not retreat. He leaned in. He asked questions. He was willing to feel uncomfortable and foolish for a season so that he could emerge more effective in his calling. There is a lesson here for all of us. You do not need a computer science degree. You do not need to be young. You need three things: the courage to begin, the willingness to learn, and the discipline to follow through. My father had all three. He could have dismissed AI as a passing trend or a threat to the profession he loves. Instead, he chose to see it as a partner. My father’s story carries a simple truth we often miss: AI is not a young person’s game, nor a technology enthusiast’s private club. It is a tool—one that belongs to anyone willing to learn how to use it. Age is not the dividing line. And if he can do it, so can you. Carl Mabuka is an MIT-certified AI professional and the Head of Business & AI at Global Kwik Koders.
