I found him, two of his daughters and a son, picking the season's harvest of beans at their farm in Luweero, about a three-hour drive north of the capital, Kampala.
Beads of sweat form on their foreheads as they bend and rise, plucking and gathering the bean stalks in bundles.
The beans are planted alongside maize and cassava - sustenance for the family of 14.
"Some [of my children] were in boarding schools. They had not done this farming work before. But with this situation, they have been forced to learn," Mr Ssegawa says, as the young ones rummage through weeds, picking the beans.
Two of his older children, both boys, had been preparing for crucial exams when the schools closed. Only one was able to return when they temporarily reopened in October 2020 for pupils to sit the tests.
'I'd rather be in class'
That was Daniel, 21, who had planned to go to university.
Instead he now makes bricks for sale on the edge of the family land, chipping away at a huge anthill, mixing the mud, and compacting it.
He and a cousin are covered from head to toe in golden-brown mud.
Although his dreams of further education are now dashed, by selling each brick at 80 Uganda shillings ($0.02), Daniel hopes to support his younger siblings to get a few more years of schooling.
But for the moment, his 16-year-old brother Paul spends his time chopping up tomatoes and onions at a small thatched stall a few minutes' walk from their home. He makes chapati and omelette snacks, known here as "rolex", for sale.
"The pandemic affected my studies. I had to work and pay my own school fees. I don't like this work. I would rather be in class," he says, adding that he does not think he can earn enough to go back when the schools re-open.
Although there are no fees in Uganda's public schools, parents are still expected to pay for the uniform and some basic materials, which are beyond the reach of some. Also, in many rural areas, there are simply not enough teachers and classrooms to absorb all the potential students.
Mr Ssegawa says it hurts him to watch his children struggle.
"I had wanted all my children to complete secondary school, at least. But I don't think that will be possible.
"I know the value of education. These days, you cannot get decent work without a qualification. It makes me sad, seeing my children like this," says the former social studies and science teacher.
There have been some lessons on the radio and TV, and newspapers and some schools have provided printed materials, but these have not reached everyone.
A study in April by the Forum for African Women Educationalists found that for just over half of the country's 15 million school pupils, education had stopped entirely, with primary school children the worst hit.
Wealthier Ugandans have been able to access online classes and home tutors, but not Mr Ssegawa.
"I heard on the radio that there were study materials the government was making for learners. But we didn't get them," he says.
'My life changed when I got pregnant'
His niece, 17-year-old Madina Nalutaaya, lives a 30-minute drive from the Ssegawas' village.
She too will not be returning to school.
She was in the penultimate year of primary school before the lockdown. Now she is the mother of a two-month-old baby girl.
Her current situation seems overwhelming and getting her to open up proves quite difficult.
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