And yet, I have just spent five weeks at a school where more than 700 children played within the school grounds, completely unsupervised, and playtime was delightful. Groups of girls played a game where the middle one had to dodge a ball while some boys played tag. The football and netball pitches were full of noise and laughter, while more studious older pupils sat under trees revising. I searched for conflicts but without success. Over the weeks, I continued my vain quest, until I saw two children wagging their fingers at each other threateningly. Words were spoken, but both backed off.

In contrast to my grey inner-London concrete jungle, these children had acres of space, and beautiful trees, and often enjoyed sunny weather. But this was no island of privilege. Kizibu primary school in Uganda’s rural Masindi region has no electricity or running water. Many pupils are beaten at home, and their parents - poor peasant farmers - demand that teachers do likewise. Kizibu’s 700-plus children fill seven dilapidated classrooms and their “lunch” break does not include lunch. Some bring food but most have one daily meal - at home.

In a country emerging from a century of foreign mischief-making, bloody civil wars and tribal conflicts, the area around Kizibu has incorporated many internally displaced people representing scores of ethnic and linguistic groups, and Christian, Muslim and traditional religions. Yet children transcend the divisions, playing and communicating in Swahili, their most common language.

Alongside the joy of playtime, the children’s manner constantly displays maturity and caring. I ask some children about weekends. They list family duties - washing clothes, preparing food, looking after goats, hours of digging - which they complete before earning any solitary reading time. In the early evening, four and five-year-olds walk long distances alone to collect huge jerry cans of water from the local bore-hole. All seem acutely aware of their interdependence and the need for mutual assistance - an attitude Kizibu fosters by organising children collectively to clean the school at both ends of the day, move furniture for outside activities, collect water and scythe the grass. These values of mutuality and support are deeply held by all generations in the local villages.

In a few weeks in and around Kizibu, I have seen more acts of basic human kindness than I have seen in all my 43 years in London. I came to Uganda to share ideas, to support one school’s development, and to teach. I’ve worked among dedicated, determined teachers, thirsty for knowledge, who envied the resources, learning aids and easy access to information I have in London. I’ve come back jealous of their physical space and the values by which they and their children live their lives. And I reflect on the apparent difficulty of nurturing these values in our competitive educational system where dog-eat-dog attitudes, dominated by league tables, blind teachers and parents alike to the real issues of children’s development.

David Rosenberg teaches at a primary school in Islington, north London