mwalimuandrew@gmail.com
School laboratories always fascinate me. Perhaps this is because the secondary school that I attended had no lab. If you remember, I touched a pipette for the first time in my life during my KCSE Chemistry practical exams – at a neighbouring school. For four years, we only learnt theory as we had no facilities. During chemistry lessons, our teacher always talked of how some chemicals reacted to produce a pungent smell, while others generated a white precipitate.
“Unfortunately, we do not have a lab, so I can’t show you ‘live live’. But if you are lucky one day to enter a lab, try out these things and you will remember you can try these reactions.”
During our KCSE exams, we trekked some 15KMs to the neighbouring school for the practicals – with our teacher spending the first half an hour teaching us the difference between a burette and a pipette! I scored a strong D in Chemistry – a record that was only broken recently. I would have scored an A- if our school had been well equipped.
So when I was sent to St Theresa’s to invigilate KSCE, I looked forward to the practical exams since I planned to try out some of the tests I was taught long ago – but which I never got an opportunity to observe.
The first practical exam was Physics. Physics and I were a case of hate at first sight. I dropped it in Form 1 week 1 – although I continued sitting for physics exams for two years – writing only my name in many of the tests! Physics wasn’t that tough for me but I never saw any way pendulums were going to add any value to my life!
On the day for physics last week, we were served early lunch a few minutes after the practical sessions began and we left the physics teacher to handle the exams as our food was getting cold. Even if we had attended the entire session, I doubt we would have been of any help.
Next was Biology practicals. Biology initially interested me since my father always wanted me follow Alfayo’s footsteps. Alfayo is our neighbour and village doctor, who used to move around with his bicycle injecting kids with Procaine for every ailment. He was very respected by our parents. Layer I learnt that Alfayo had been a messenger at the District Health Centre – during which time he had learnt how to use a syringe. On hearing this, I gave up my dream of being a doctor, and lost interest in Biology.
I did not even move near the lab during the biology practicals. My day was Friday, the day for Chemistry practicals. I arrived at school early morning, and found Madam Kagendo and two other students in the lab preparing for the exams. It was a scene to behold: well arranged burettes, Bunsen burners, test tubes etc. I loved the smell of mixed chemicals, and the sight of the colourful flames.
“We shall be ready by 9 o’clock for the first group,” said Kagendo. We ushered in the first group of students at 9.20. With Madam Kagendo and the lab assistant around, we left for breakfast. I left the other invigilators still taking breakfast, the woman complaining that the smell in the lab was nauseated her.
“I don’t want to miscarry,” she said
I arrived just as the first group was finishing. Three students, including Annastacia, came in to prepare the lab for the next group
Once we gave them the papers, I joined the lab assistant in his office, partitioned from the main lab using card board. There were many chemicals all over, in pretty bottles.
Just then, a student’s test tube broke and the lab assistant went to assist – leaving me in the office alone. . Here was my opportunity to carry out a few tests. Next to me was a bottle that when I opened had some two solid particles. On the bottle was written K, and I assumed the Lab assistant had marked the bottles alphabetically as I could see H, N, O etc.
I decided to mix the contents in the K bottle with Spirit to see what happens. Somehow, I felt that these could be a dangerous reaction so I decided to try with water. There was water in a basin nearby so I opened the bottle, and dropped the contents from Bottle K into the water. I can’t remember well what happened next, but I remember hearing some explosions followed by huge flames and fumes. I jumped out of the lab as the flames and fumes increased. The students who were doing the practicals ran away – as teaches and the lab assistant rushed to the room.
The school gate keeper poured in a pail of water in the room, but this only increased the flames. The fire was only put down by the lab assistant using a fire extinguisher.
“What happened?” Madam Kagendo asked.
“I don’t know, but Potassium Metal accidentally came in contact with water,” the lab assistant said - shaken.
“Do you know potassium exothermically reacts with water causing explosive flames?”
“I must have forgotten it uncovered,” he said. With no one suspecting me, I joined the other invigilators in looking for the candidates - some of whom had run away with the exam papers when the fires began.
Afraid of the fires, we only gave out the papers and sat far away from the labs. As for me, am not returning to any laboratory any time soon.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Laptop virus that spoilt my presentation
mwalimuandew@gmail.com
When our AEO called for a meeting for all Primary School Heads and Deputies, I planned to use this opportunity to win favour with him – with an eye on a promotion.
In the invite, the AEO had asked each of us to draw strategic plans for our schools and share this at the forum in an effort towards “making our division the epitome of best academic practice in our great county.”
A week before the meeting, our HM, Mr Juma, called me from Mombsa where he was attending a Heads meeting and asked to prepare the presentation. “You will also present it at the meeting,” he also said.
I knew that his English was poor and so he never wanted to embarrass himself by presenting the plan before his seniors and colleagues.
I spent last weekend preparing the plan, but when I showed Pius what I had done, he had other ideas. “You have a laptop, use it for the presentation,” he advised.
When I told him I was not good with laptops, he helped me come with a presentation on the laptop with the information I wanted organized in such a way that it bounced on the computer every time I clicked any button.
Pius also encouraged me to use the laptop to perform my job better. “What did you buy it for?” he asked. When I told him that we do not need computers in our job, he laughed off at this.
“You can prepare your schemes of work here and update them after every lesson,” he explained. “You can also enter the students’ mark on it and easily and accurately calculate get their totals, averages, ranks, at a click of a button.”
Following this, I started going with the laptop to school every day since last Monday. Although I rarely use it, every time someone comes into my office, I immediately switch it on and pretend to be busy with it. Just as expected, word spread around other schools that there is deputy who runs the school on a laptop. The only challenge is that I have to charge it at the neighbouring secondary school every morning.
So on the day of the meeting last Thursday, I woke up early, and put on my latest Kaunda suit. Under the Kaunda suit, I put on the yellow T-shirts we used during the 2007 elections. This really matched with my white Reeboks and red socks.
I passed by school to ensure that all was fine – then rode my bicycle to the venue of the meeting, arriving to find the place milling with many teachers. All the trees around had already been taken and I had difficulty finding a place to park my bicycle. Since the meeting had not begun, I sat behind, took out my laptop and started going through my presentation again. This attracted other teachers who surrounded me marveling at the laptop and asking many questions.
“Is it true that if a student sneaks out of school you can see it on the computer? Can it tell you the teachers who arrived late? Can it show tell you how many teachers are absent today in your school? Is it more expensive than a motor cycle?” These are some of the questions that I was asked.
Soon after, the meeting began and I switched it off to save battery since I had not charged it that morning.
“With the creation of a new county, we need to start positioning ourselves early enough so that we remain relevant in the new county dispensation,” started the AEO. “This is going to be a performance based meeting and so I expect each Head or Deputy to present facts.”
Three Heads made their presentations. They simply went in front with a piece of paper and read aloud with little elaboration. Next our school was called and Juma gestured on me to go make the presentation.
I walked in front with my laptop and greeted everyone as I unpacked it. I placed it on the table from where only the AEO and other senior officials could read what I had on it.
“Professional colleagues, my presentation is entitled Marching our school to the next level under the new constitutional dispensation,” I said. Just when I was still on the introduction, something popped up on the computer screen: Low Battery, it read. I knew that I had to present very fast but elaborate fully as I noticed the AEO, who was behind me, taking notes from my presentation, something he had not done as the other teachers presented.
Abruptly, the screen of the laptop went black and the following message appeared on the screen: Preparing to Hibernate. Even before I could do anything, the laptop just went off at a time when I had just started my presentation.
This really confused me as everything was on the laptop and I had not written it on paper. I tried to switch it on but it only produced a loud beeping sound. “Am sorry my computer has been attached by a deadly virus and I have to rush to have it removed,” I said as I packed it ready to leave. Everyone was disappointed.
I went straight to St Theresa’s where Mr. Mboya helped me repair it. “The laptop had a very dangerous Virus,” he said after repairing. He said that he suspected that the laptop must have contracted the virus when I allowed a few teachers to touch it. He charged me Sh3500 for the repair. Going forward, I will not allow just anyone to touch my laptop.
When our AEO called for a meeting for all Primary School Heads and Deputies, I planned to use this opportunity to win favour with him – with an eye on a promotion.
In the invite, the AEO had asked each of us to draw strategic plans for our schools and share this at the forum in an effort towards “making our division the epitome of best academic practice in our great county.”
A week before the meeting, our HM, Mr Juma, called me from Mombsa where he was attending a Heads meeting and asked to prepare the presentation. “You will also present it at the meeting,” he also said.
I knew that his English was poor and so he never wanted to embarrass himself by presenting the plan before his seniors and colleagues.
I spent last weekend preparing the plan, but when I showed Pius what I had done, he had other ideas. “You have a laptop, use it for the presentation,” he advised.
When I told him I was not good with laptops, he helped me come with a presentation on the laptop with the information I wanted organized in such a way that it bounced on the computer every time I clicked any button.
Pius also encouraged me to use the laptop to perform my job better. “What did you buy it for?” he asked. When I told him that we do not need computers in our job, he laughed off at this.
“You can prepare your schemes of work here and update them after every lesson,” he explained. “You can also enter the students’ mark on it and easily and accurately calculate get their totals, averages, ranks, at a click of a button.”
Following this, I started going with the laptop to school every day since last Monday. Although I rarely use it, every time someone comes into my office, I immediately switch it on and pretend to be busy with it. Just as expected, word spread around other schools that there is deputy who runs the school on a laptop. The only challenge is that I have to charge it at the neighbouring secondary school every morning.
So on the day of the meeting last Thursday, I woke up early, and put on my latest Kaunda suit. Under the Kaunda suit, I put on the yellow T-shirts we used during the 2007 elections. This really matched with my white Reeboks and red socks.
I passed by school to ensure that all was fine – then rode my bicycle to the venue of the meeting, arriving to find the place milling with many teachers. All the trees around had already been taken and I had difficulty finding a place to park my bicycle. Since the meeting had not begun, I sat behind, took out my laptop and started going through my presentation again. This attracted other teachers who surrounded me marveling at the laptop and asking many questions.
“Is it true that if a student sneaks out of school you can see it on the computer? Can it tell you the teachers who arrived late? Can it show tell you how many teachers are absent today in your school? Is it more expensive than a motor cycle?” These are some of the questions that I was asked.
Soon after, the meeting began and I switched it off to save battery since I had not charged it that morning.
“With the creation of a new county, we need to start positioning ourselves early enough so that we remain relevant in the new county dispensation,” started the AEO. “This is going to be a performance based meeting and so I expect each Head or Deputy to present facts.”
Three Heads made their presentations. They simply went in front with a piece of paper and read aloud with little elaboration. Next our school was called and Juma gestured on me to go make the presentation.
I walked in front with my laptop and greeted everyone as I unpacked it. I placed it on the table from where only the AEO and other senior officials could read what I had on it.
“Professional colleagues, my presentation is entitled Marching our school to the next level under the new constitutional dispensation,” I said. Just when I was still on the introduction, something popped up on the computer screen: Low Battery, it read. I knew that I had to present very fast but elaborate fully as I noticed the AEO, who was behind me, taking notes from my presentation, something he had not done as the other teachers presented.
Abruptly, the screen of the laptop went black and the following message appeared on the screen: Preparing to Hibernate. Even before I could do anything, the laptop just went off at a time when I had just started my presentation.
This really confused me as everything was on the laptop and I had not written it on paper. I tried to switch it on but it only produced a loud beeping sound. “Am sorry my computer has been attached by a deadly virus and I have to rush to have it removed,” I said as I packed it ready to leave. Everyone was disappointed.
I went straight to St Theresa’s where Mr. Mboya helped me repair it. “The laptop had a very dangerous Virus,” he said after repairing. He said that he suspected that the laptop must have contracted the virus when I allowed a few teachers to touch it. He charged me Sh3500 for the repair. Going forward, I will not allow just anyone to touch my laptop.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
LOLl!, How I got on Facebook
When I arrived at St Theresa’s and was asked to teach composition in Form 2W, I accepted, although my TP was specifically in Kiswahili and CRE. After all, in primary school, I taught all subjects.
I used my years of experience in teaching Insha to help the girls improve their English. In Insha, we always reward students for using misamiati and misemo, and I therefore was keen to see the girls use vocabulary in composition. I therefore demanded that the students spend an hour with the dictionary every week getting new words. I would give three extra marks for every vocabulary used in a composition.
Having been brought up in Nairobi, Anastasia’s compositions were always the best. She uses good vocabulary in every composition but in the last one I gave out, she used so many new words – most of which were not in any dictionary.
I had asked them to write a composition entitled A friend in need is a friend in deed. “You will get more marks for using new vocabulary,” I reminded them. What Annastacia wrote amazed me. Excerpts:
Lol, Eric is my friend indeed. I confirmed him after xeeing that he was my bro’s peep xo I felt xafe friending him. Juzi, Coz of his status, I xuxpected he was having a NKT day. Rather than wall him, I dcded 2inbox him since inboxing is mo private.
Xo I poked him. He poked back. The day b4, I had unfriended him after he pissd me off. I friended him again and we began 2chat.
Me: Xaxa dude
Eric: Nkt, not fine gal
Me: WTH is the problem.
Eric: No prlbm, jst mcd u!
Me: Lolest, UHKMO
Eric: OMG, what does that mean?
Me: You have killed me off
Eric: that’s a new one. Rotfl
Me: Lolest
Eric: Brb, lemme get 2ma diggz
Me: Xawa, Tk care, L8erz
That is when I knew that a friend indeed is a friend in need.
I shared this with Mr. Maina and Mrs. Muindi who also could not understand this. They also complained of receiving compositions with words not found in dictionaries. We decided to do something about it.
We set aside Monday to Thursday as English days and the rest as Swahili days. Except during a lesson, all students were expected to only speak the designated language of the day. We then introduced wooden disks per class and anyone who contravened the language of the day would be given the Disk. Twice every week, we followed up on who had the disk and punished all the students who had held it.
After a week, we informed the staffroom that the rule would also apply to teachers during the Friday parade. “We have to lead by example by speaking fluent Swahili on Friday Parade,” said Mr. Maina in a staff meeting. After a long debate, the other teachers grudgingly accepted.
Together with Mr. Maina, we met all class prefects and told them that on Friday parade, even teachers would speak Swahili. Come the next Friday parades, and most teachers did not speak. The Deputy, who teaches biology, stayed away for two consecutive Fridays – as she could not speak Swahili.
But last Friday since the Principal was around, she had no choice but to address the school in Swahili.
“Shikamo wanafunzi,” she started and the students answered Marahaba loudly.
“Allekum Salaam?” She then asked. There was loud laughter but she soldiered on.
“Lijuma hili limekuwa lijuma lizuri sana, na wote mmefanyeko maduties zenu kama expected,”
She went on: “Jana wakati wa preps nimekutananga na wengi wenyu nje mkiendana msalabani,” the students roared in laughter. She had called toilets msalabani, instead of msalani!
She could not continue in Swahili. “I wish to announce that toilets remain out of bounds during preps time.” Just then, several students walked to the centre of the parade and attempted to give her the Language Disk.
“Leo ni siku ya Kiswahili, mbona unazungumza Kimombo,” Anastasia shouted. Luckily for us, the Principal brought the whole commotion to an end. She then called for a staff meeting in which she wanted to know why we had implemented the language rule.
“Madam Principal, if you see some of the compositions the students are writing, you will be shocked,” I said then read the composition Annastacia had written.
All teachers did not understand this, except Jasmine and Mboya. “Lol, you mean you have never heard of Facebook language?” Jasmine wondered.
“What’s Facebook?” asked Mrs. Muindi
“OMG! @Andrew and @Maina, kwani you are not on Facebook, mnnaishi wapi?”
Jasmine then explained to us what Facebook was. The same day, Mboya’s helped me join Facebook on his computer. He then introduced me to many friends and taught me how to ‘Facebook’ on my phone.
It’s not even a week since I joined and yet I have so very many big friends including Martha Karua, William Ruto, Raila Odinga, Churchill, Presidents Obama, and Jonathan Goodluck of Nigeria. Every day, Obama and Jonathan write to me telling me what they are doing in their country. But President Kibaki refused to be my friend. He told me that he already has too many friends when I requested to be his friend.
Lol! I have been facebooking on my phone all day ever since. Thanx Xtine Njeru, my Facebook friend, who has been t’ching me Facebook language. NKT, I hope Cate doesn’t know about dis!
XIXO, You too can be my friend on Facebook: www.facebook.com/mwalimuandrew
I used my years of experience in teaching Insha to help the girls improve their English. In Insha, we always reward students for using misamiati and misemo, and I therefore was keen to see the girls use vocabulary in composition. I therefore demanded that the students spend an hour with the dictionary every week getting new words. I would give three extra marks for every vocabulary used in a composition.
Having been brought up in Nairobi, Anastasia’s compositions were always the best. She uses good vocabulary in every composition but in the last one I gave out, she used so many new words – most of which were not in any dictionary.
I had asked them to write a composition entitled A friend in need is a friend in deed. “You will get more marks for using new vocabulary,” I reminded them. What Annastacia wrote amazed me. Excerpts:
Lol, Eric is my friend indeed. I confirmed him after xeeing that he was my bro’s peep xo I felt xafe friending him. Juzi, Coz of his status, I xuxpected he was having a NKT day. Rather than wall him, I dcded 2inbox him since inboxing is mo private.
Xo I poked him. He poked back. The day b4, I had unfriended him after he pissd me off. I friended him again and we began 2chat.
Me: Xaxa dude
Eric: Nkt, not fine gal
Me: WTH is the problem.
Eric: No prlbm, jst mcd u!
Me: Lolest, UHKMO
Eric: OMG, what does that mean?
Me: You have killed me off
Eric: that’s a new one. Rotfl
Me: Lolest
Eric: Brb, lemme get 2ma diggz
Me: Xawa, Tk care, L8erz
That is when I knew that a friend indeed is a friend in need.
I shared this with Mr. Maina and Mrs. Muindi who also could not understand this. They also complained of receiving compositions with words not found in dictionaries. We decided to do something about it.
We set aside Monday to Thursday as English days and the rest as Swahili days. Except during a lesson, all students were expected to only speak the designated language of the day. We then introduced wooden disks per class and anyone who contravened the language of the day would be given the Disk. Twice every week, we followed up on who had the disk and punished all the students who had held it.
After a week, we informed the staffroom that the rule would also apply to teachers during the Friday parade. “We have to lead by example by speaking fluent Swahili on Friday Parade,” said Mr. Maina in a staff meeting. After a long debate, the other teachers grudgingly accepted.
Together with Mr. Maina, we met all class prefects and told them that on Friday parade, even teachers would speak Swahili. Come the next Friday parades, and most teachers did not speak. The Deputy, who teaches biology, stayed away for two consecutive Fridays – as she could not speak Swahili.
But last Friday since the Principal was around, she had no choice but to address the school in Swahili.
“Shikamo wanafunzi,” she started and the students answered Marahaba loudly.
“Allekum Salaam?” She then asked. There was loud laughter but she soldiered on.
“Lijuma hili limekuwa lijuma lizuri sana, na wote mmefanyeko maduties zenu kama expected,”
She went on: “Jana wakati wa preps nimekutananga na wengi wenyu nje mkiendana msalabani,” the students roared in laughter. She had called toilets msalabani, instead of msalani!
She could not continue in Swahili. “I wish to announce that toilets remain out of bounds during preps time.” Just then, several students walked to the centre of the parade and attempted to give her the Language Disk.
“Leo ni siku ya Kiswahili, mbona unazungumza Kimombo,” Anastasia shouted. Luckily for us, the Principal brought the whole commotion to an end. She then called for a staff meeting in which she wanted to know why we had implemented the language rule.
“Madam Principal, if you see some of the compositions the students are writing, you will be shocked,” I said then read the composition Annastacia had written.
All teachers did not understand this, except Jasmine and Mboya. “Lol, you mean you have never heard of Facebook language?” Jasmine wondered.
“What’s Facebook?” asked Mrs. Muindi
“OMG! @Andrew and @Maina, kwani you are not on Facebook, mnnaishi wapi?”
Jasmine then explained to us what Facebook was. The same day, Mboya’s helped me join Facebook on his computer. He then introduced me to many friends and taught me how to ‘Facebook’ on my phone.
It’s not even a week since I joined and yet I have so very many big friends including Martha Karua, William Ruto, Raila Odinga, Churchill, Presidents Obama, and Jonathan Goodluck of Nigeria. Every day, Obama and Jonathan write to me telling me what they are doing in their country. But President Kibaki refused to be my friend. He told me that he already has too many friends when I requested to be his friend.
Lol! I have been facebooking on my phone all day ever since. Thanx Xtine Njeru, my Facebook friend, who has been t’ching me Facebook language. NKT, I hope Cate doesn’t know about dis!
XIXO, You too can be my friend on Facebook: www.facebook.com/mwalimuandrew
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The day my career almost came to an end
About a month ago, the Deputy Principal, Mrs. Kandia, banned all students from making ‘cold power’. She then conducted a search during which she confiscated kilogrammes of sugar and cocoa from the girls’ boxes and lockers. Mrs. Kandia also reduced the lunch and games time – thus creating one extra lesson daily.
These actions did not endear her to students and teachers; and a week later, a warning note was found dropped in her office. She later said that she suspected the note had been placed in her office by a student, but was authored by a teacher. “Only a teacher can write such English,” she alleged.
But the World Cup has given her a chance to redeem herself. It all began when the Principal walked into the staffroom unannounced one morning and found us watching a replay of a match that Ghana had won.
“So this is what you sit here doing all day?” she shouted. “There will be no TV here until the World Cup is over.’”
“Madam Principal,” said Mr. Maina “We can come up with rules during this tournament. The TV has many educational programmes and should not be removed just because of World Cup.”
“If you remove the TV here, these teachers will leave early to go watch matches from their houses,” added Mrs. Kandia, the Deputy. “I prefer them watching the matches where I can see them.”
“No way Madam Deputy,” the PM thundered. “Anyone leaving early will be dealt with.” She ordered the TV to be taken to the store and also announced that students would watch a maximum of two matches every weekend. The next morning, she left for the Head Teachers conference in Mombasa. But Mr. Maina claimed that the PM had actually gone on her private businesses. “The Conference will be covered on TV; you won’t see her on TV!”
A day later, the Deputy ordered the TV back to the staffroom, and announced that different classes would watch every day’s matches in turns. This made her a heroine overnight. “Only a teacher who has no classes will join the students to watch the matches in the DH, or would be allowed in the staffroom during matches,” the Deputy announced. We prepared a timetable for this and for the first few days, she walked around to confirm this.
She must have got tired after two days. Soon after, it was free for all. Most classes ended as soon as World Cup matches began – with most students leaving class to watch the matches. I remember the day Chile was playing Honduras. I was supporting Honduras, as I had never heard of the country.
Since I had a double lesson that afternoon in Form 2W, I went there during lunch time and gave them three Ufahamu exercises to occupy them during the lessons. I returned to the staffroom and settled on the sofa ready for the crunch match. Besides three other teachers, we were joined by Arthur, the bursar and Baraza, the Lab Assistant.
“Imagine Honduras, which had earthquakes, are in World Cup na sisi we are not,” commended the bursar.
“That was Haiti,” said Mboya, laughing. The game began soon after and I had difficulty pronouncing the difficult names of the players.
A few minutes into the game, my phone rang. I wondered why Jasmine, who was in class, was calling me. “Andrew, leo umepatikana,” she started. “Your supervisor from KU has just missed you in Form 2W and is coming to the staffroom.”
“What? Mwathani!, I don’t even have a lesson plan!” Even before I stood from the sofa, he was already at the staffroom door. “Andrew, I am Dr Wasonga from Kenyatta University,”
I welcomed him into the staffroom and pulled a chair for him next to my desk. “I arrived late and went straight to Form 2W as per your timetable. Why were you not in class?” he asked. I told him that we had swapped the lesson with another teacher. “I taught for her in the morning and she was supposed to teach for me in the afternoon but she fell ill.” It was clear that he was not convinced
“Where are your Schemes and records of work?” he asked.
“Sir I have them here,” I explained. “But I forgot the keys to my locker at home.” Just then, the other teachers went wild celebrating Chile’s goal. Dr Wasonga then asked me to prepare for the second lesson of the double. I hurriedly scribbled a lesson plan and went to class with him. The lesson was good, although I called a few students the wrong names, with two of them openly correcting me!
From class, we went to the staffroom where he gave me a long lecture and criticized me for not using teaching aids. Which teaching aids would I have used when teaching how to write kumbukumbu?
He then relaxed a little, smiled and said: “My car has some problem, please come help me,” I followed him to his car as we chatted. Am not good at cars but I suspect his was a new type of Mercedes Benz I had never heard of. The word Platz was written behind.
I helped him change his flat tyre. Once we were done, the car would not start until I called a few school employees to help me push it. “Thank you so much, Andrew. Forget about the earlier altercation we had. You will have a good report,” he said, went back to his car and sped off.
mwalimuandrew@gmail.com
These actions did not endear her to students and teachers; and a week later, a warning note was found dropped in her office. She later said that she suspected the note had been placed in her office by a student, but was authored by a teacher. “Only a teacher can write such English,” she alleged.
But the World Cup has given her a chance to redeem herself. It all began when the Principal walked into the staffroom unannounced one morning and found us watching a replay of a match that Ghana had won.
“So this is what you sit here doing all day?” she shouted. “There will be no TV here until the World Cup is over.’”
“Madam Principal,” said Mr. Maina “We can come up with rules during this tournament. The TV has many educational programmes and should not be removed just because of World Cup.”
“If you remove the TV here, these teachers will leave early to go watch matches from their houses,” added Mrs. Kandia, the Deputy. “I prefer them watching the matches where I can see them.”
“No way Madam Deputy,” the PM thundered. “Anyone leaving early will be dealt with.” She ordered the TV to be taken to the store and also announced that students would watch a maximum of two matches every weekend. The next morning, she left for the Head Teachers conference in Mombasa. But Mr. Maina claimed that the PM had actually gone on her private businesses. “The Conference will be covered on TV; you won’t see her on TV!”
A day later, the Deputy ordered the TV back to the staffroom, and announced that different classes would watch every day’s matches in turns. This made her a heroine overnight. “Only a teacher who has no classes will join the students to watch the matches in the DH, or would be allowed in the staffroom during matches,” the Deputy announced. We prepared a timetable for this and for the first few days, she walked around to confirm this.
She must have got tired after two days. Soon after, it was free for all. Most classes ended as soon as World Cup matches began – with most students leaving class to watch the matches. I remember the day Chile was playing Honduras. I was supporting Honduras, as I had never heard of the country.
Since I had a double lesson that afternoon in Form 2W, I went there during lunch time and gave them three Ufahamu exercises to occupy them during the lessons. I returned to the staffroom and settled on the sofa ready for the crunch match. Besides three other teachers, we were joined by Arthur, the bursar and Baraza, the Lab Assistant.
“Imagine Honduras, which had earthquakes, are in World Cup na sisi we are not,” commended the bursar.
“That was Haiti,” said Mboya, laughing. The game began soon after and I had difficulty pronouncing the difficult names of the players.
A few minutes into the game, my phone rang. I wondered why Jasmine, who was in class, was calling me. “Andrew, leo umepatikana,” she started. “Your supervisor from KU has just missed you in Form 2W and is coming to the staffroom.”
“What? Mwathani!, I don’t even have a lesson plan!” Even before I stood from the sofa, he was already at the staffroom door. “Andrew, I am Dr Wasonga from Kenyatta University,”
I welcomed him into the staffroom and pulled a chair for him next to my desk. “I arrived late and went straight to Form 2W as per your timetable. Why were you not in class?” he asked. I told him that we had swapped the lesson with another teacher. “I taught for her in the morning and she was supposed to teach for me in the afternoon but she fell ill.” It was clear that he was not convinced
“Where are your Schemes and records of work?” he asked.
“Sir I have them here,” I explained. “But I forgot the keys to my locker at home.” Just then, the other teachers went wild celebrating Chile’s goal. Dr Wasonga then asked me to prepare for the second lesson of the double. I hurriedly scribbled a lesson plan and went to class with him. The lesson was good, although I called a few students the wrong names, with two of them openly correcting me!
From class, we went to the staffroom where he gave me a long lecture and criticized me for not using teaching aids. Which teaching aids would I have used when teaching how to write kumbukumbu?
He then relaxed a little, smiled and said: “My car has some problem, please come help me,” I followed him to his car as we chatted. Am not good at cars but I suspect his was a new type of Mercedes Benz I had never heard of. The word Platz was written behind.
I helped him change his flat tyre. Once we were done, the car would not start until I called a few school employees to help me push it. “Thank you so much, Andrew. Forget about the earlier altercation we had. You will have a good report,” he said, went back to his car and sped off.
mwalimuandrew@gmail.com
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
My special role in Juma’s blissful wedding
Weddings in my village are very rare, but we had one last Wednesday; and I was very much involved.
It started when Mr. Juma, our Deputy, went to church last Sunday, after a long absence. After the service, the pastor challenged him to solemnise his marriage. Juma agreed and they settled on Wednesday – three days later - as the big day.
Juma came to seek my help that Sunday evening. “They want to appoint my wife as the chairperson of Mothers’ Union but she is not wedded,” he told me. “Since this position will bring home an extra shilling; I readily welcomed the wedding.”
I quickly agreed to help him in planning. We did not need to consult Juma’s in-laws about the date, dowry, among others. All that Juma’s wife did was to send them an SMS informing them the date of her wedding.
We drew up the budget. Two chickens, a kilo of meat, sugar and milk was required for the high table – which would consist of the pastor and teachers. The rest of the villagers would do with ‘strong tea’ and Githeri. No cards were sent out but by Sunday evening, the entire locality was aware of the big wedding.
For the wedding gown, we looked around for any woman who had one. We only found one in the neighbouring church but it was too big for the bride’s slender architecture. She therefore decided to use the purple church choir uniform. Using an old mosquito net, our local tailor managed to fashion it and this beautifully completed the gown.
The pastor cancelled all activities he had for that Wednesday. You see, besides the Sunday service, he only presides over funerals. He therefore could not to miss a wedding of a Deputy Headmaster.
On Tuesday, Juma sent me to the market to buy a few things for the wedding. Among them were two rings. After a long time of searching, I stumbled upon two that looked almost similar and I bought them at Sh35 each after long bargaining. I also bought two films as the photoman promised to charge us less if we had our own film.
Wednesday morning. I went to Mr. Juma’s home early to oversee arrangements. With his wife having slept at a friend’s home, Juma’s sister was in charge. I paid the bodaboda guy to go and bring the bride in style.
As Juma’s best man, I went back and put on my still new green Kaunda suit, white sports shoes and red socks. Juma had his only grey Kaunda suit although it was creased and had patch below the left pocket.
“The material of the suit is so heavy,” he explained to me. “A piece of red charcoal burnt it as I was ironing it, and I had to repair it this morning.”
We walked to the church, a few kilometers away, and found the church choir practicing a few bambios. They sang and danced as they escorted us to our seats. The church was full with women and children.
The women went wild with song, dance and ululation as soon as the hooting of the bodaboda motorcycle was heard. The bride was looking stunning in the purple dress and net. Her best women, all members of the choir were all struggling to hold a piece of the flowing net.
The service followed the usual format but the pastor used the sermon to castigate all around who had not wedded. “You are all fornicating sinners,” he shouted. I then remembered that we had not bought a cake. I briefly saw my younger brother outside and sent him to get either bread or scones quickly – we couldn’t find cake anywhere.
Then vows were exchanged. “Have you been with Juma during end month and when he is broke, and will you continue doing so?” The pastor asked Juma’s wife.
“Yes!” she answered amid ululation.
My brother came back and told me that there was neither bread nor scones. He however had bought some mandazis. “This will do,” I said.
After exchanging rings, it was time to cut the cake. The mandazis had been cut into small pieces. One mandazi had been left and Juma’s wife took this, cut it into two and they shared with her new husband. The other pieces were distributed around but some boys ran away with most of it leaving the women angry.
The journey from church to Juma’s home in the hot sun was slow but interesting. Juma and I walked slowly as the women marched and sang. We arrived to find the high table already occupied by a few villagers who had not attended the church service; and they refused to budge.
As we ate the MC called for gifts. As a staffroom, we had contributed money and bought Juma four glasses, which Madam Mary presented. Juma’s mother gave them bananas while the bride’s mother gave a big cockerel. That was all.
By the time we were finishing eating; the bride had already removed the net and was busy helping around with clearing the table. Juma too changed. He then took a slasher and started trimming his fence while we reviewed the day. We agreed that the day had been a great success. Our spirits were only dampened by the photoman who arrived to announce to us that the film had accidentally ‘burnt’ and all negatives spoilt before they could be ‘washed’.
Without photos, how will Juma and his wife convince anyone that they had such a wonderful wedding?
It started when Mr. Juma, our Deputy, went to church last Sunday, after a long absence. After the service, the pastor challenged him to solemnise his marriage. Juma agreed and they settled on Wednesday – three days later - as the big day.
Juma came to seek my help that Sunday evening. “They want to appoint my wife as the chairperson of Mothers’ Union but she is not wedded,” he told me. “Since this position will bring home an extra shilling; I readily welcomed the wedding.”
I quickly agreed to help him in planning. We did not need to consult Juma’s in-laws about the date, dowry, among others. All that Juma’s wife did was to send them an SMS informing them the date of her wedding.
We drew up the budget. Two chickens, a kilo of meat, sugar and milk was required for the high table – which would consist of the pastor and teachers. The rest of the villagers would do with ‘strong tea’ and Githeri. No cards were sent out but by Sunday evening, the entire locality was aware of the big wedding.
For the wedding gown, we looked around for any woman who had one. We only found one in the neighbouring church but it was too big for the bride’s slender architecture. She therefore decided to use the purple church choir uniform. Using an old mosquito net, our local tailor managed to fashion it and this beautifully completed the gown.
The pastor cancelled all activities he had for that Wednesday. You see, besides the Sunday service, he only presides over funerals. He therefore could not to miss a wedding of a Deputy Headmaster.
On Tuesday, Juma sent me to the market to buy a few things for the wedding. Among them were two rings. After a long time of searching, I stumbled upon two that looked almost similar and I bought them at Sh35 each after long bargaining. I also bought two films as the photoman promised to charge us less if we had our own film.
Wednesday morning. I went to Mr. Juma’s home early to oversee arrangements. With his wife having slept at a friend’s home, Juma’s sister was in charge. I paid the bodaboda guy to go and bring the bride in style.
As Juma’s best man, I went back and put on my still new green Kaunda suit, white sports shoes and red socks. Juma had his only grey Kaunda suit although it was creased and had patch below the left pocket.
“The material of the suit is so heavy,” he explained to me. “A piece of red charcoal burnt it as I was ironing it, and I had to repair it this morning.”
We walked to the church, a few kilometers away, and found the church choir practicing a few bambios. They sang and danced as they escorted us to our seats. The church was full with women and children.
The women went wild with song, dance and ululation as soon as the hooting of the bodaboda motorcycle was heard. The bride was looking stunning in the purple dress and net. Her best women, all members of the choir were all struggling to hold a piece of the flowing net.
The service followed the usual format but the pastor used the sermon to castigate all around who had not wedded. “You are all fornicating sinners,” he shouted. I then remembered that we had not bought a cake. I briefly saw my younger brother outside and sent him to get either bread or scones quickly – we couldn’t find cake anywhere.
Then vows were exchanged. “Have you been with Juma during end month and when he is broke, and will you continue doing so?” The pastor asked Juma’s wife.
“Yes!” she answered amid ululation.
My brother came back and told me that there was neither bread nor scones. He however had bought some mandazis. “This will do,” I said.
After exchanging rings, it was time to cut the cake. The mandazis had been cut into small pieces. One mandazi had been left and Juma’s wife took this, cut it into two and they shared with her new husband. The other pieces were distributed around but some boys ran away with most of it leaving the women angry.
The journey from church to Juma’s home in the hot sun was slow but interesting. Juma and I walked slowly as the women marched and sang. We arrived to find the high table already occupied by a few villagers who had not attended the church service; and they refused to budge.
As we ate the MC called for gifts. As a staffroom, we had contributed money and bought Juma four glasses, which Madam Mary presented. Juma’s mother gave them bananas while the bride’s mother gave a big cockerel. That was all.
By the time we were finishing eating; the bride had already removed the net and was busy helping around with clearing the table. Juma too changed. He then took a slasher and started trimming his fence while we reviewed the day. We agreed that the day had been a great success. Our spirits were only dampened by the photoman who arrived to announce to us that the film had accidentally ‘burnt’ and all negatives spoilt before they could be ‘washed’.
Without photos, how will Juma and his wife convince anyone that they had such a wonderful wedding?
Spokesman’s bad table manners that spoilt Pius’ big day at in-laws
It was a great day, and all plans were ready by last Saturday morning. The matatu we had hired arrived early enough. With helped the driver put some leaves around it to indicate that it would be ferrying people to a ceremony. To ensure that no policeman would stop us, the driver placed a wooden sign in front for them to see. ON HIGHER, the sign read.
As we did this, Pius and I explained to him that we may expect more people than had been planned for. Just then, Aunt Trufosa arrived with her daughter – both of them dressed for the occasion. Her daughter was not on the list.
My mother had left early to go to our neighbour’s to have her hair ‘burnt’. It was useless for she planned to wear a headgear on the day. “I don’t want to be embarrassed should the headgear fall down,” she said when I pointed this out.
With my father and Pius in black suits, I decided to look different. I put on my green Kaunda suit, and matched this with my white Reebok sports shoes. Soon Alfayo our neighbour arrived. He had come to apologize that he would not be able to join us. The shoes his son had brought him the day before, he said, were too small. “I don’t want to come with my Akala; the people of your wife may think that their girl got married into problems.” Though we expressed our remorse for him, inwards we were happy an extra slot had been created.
Next to arrive was my uncle who surprised us when he said that he had not eaten since the previous day. “The last time we made such a trip there was so much food but I could not eat since I was full. Today I am not making such a mistake.”
By 9.30 am, we were ready to leave. Besides Alfayo, three others did not make it. Before we left, we all converged in my father’s house for prayers. It was Aunt Albina who prayed. She did not even mention the purpose for our journey but repeatedly prayed for the matatu and the driver.
We arrived without a hitch, and after more prayers, two crates of soda Kubwa were brought. Mr. Lutta and my uncle knocked down two bottles in a matter of minutes, and were itching for a third.
We then had an introductions session, with our side led by Lutta, who sat next to Pius and kept consulting him. After this we were led out for a stroll. This was a clear indication that we needed to clear our stomachs in preparation for the real thing.
Before we went out, we were asked if any of us had any special needs. My grand aunt announced that she does not eat beef from a cow. When she was told that they could not tell if the beef was from a cow or a bull, she said that she would easily tell this by looking at it, and if it was from a cow, then “I’ll have to do with just chicken.”
Aunt Albina said that she only takes cocoa with undiluted milk. I gathered later that at home, she only can afford ‘strong tea’, but one must make maximum benefit from such ceremonies.
We came back to find the table full with food. There was fried beef, nyama choma, fried chicken, rice, ugali, fruits name them.
Seeing most of us confused, my uncle had a word of advice for us: “Avoid any food you are likely to find at home soon.” Ugali and sukuma were not touched by anyone, but chicken and chapati were over within minutes. While those who had suits and ties were sweating profusely as they ate, I was happy I had chosen a Kaunda suit.
Lutta, his plate full with chicken and beef, struggled with every piece he picked ensuring that no meat was left on any bone. It happened so fast. Lutta struggled with a hard piece of chicken so forcefully that his right elbow knocked off Pius’s plate, splashing the entire soup on Pius’s clean suit and messing his shirt and face.
Everyone stopped eating. Pius was led out of the room to another house where his wife wiped out the mess. Lutta, like everyone else, continued eating as if nothing happened, his shirt wet with sweat. My uncle returned most of his food.
When Pius came back, he was in no mood to speak to anyone, least of all, Lutta, which made the rest of the day cold since Lutta was the spokesperson.
We had more small talk before they brought tea accompanied by bread, scones, groundnuts and more chapati. I saw Lutta and my uncle take at least two cups. As per her request, Aunt Albina’s undiluted milk and cocoa were served separately, to the envy of other women who regretted having not made any special requests. Meanwhile, aunt Trufosa and Albina were filling their lessos with whatever food they could.
It was on our way back that my uncle explained why he had not eaten a lot.
“You see I mixed my chicken with chapati and waru. But it tasted so bad. It was only later that I discovered that I had taken pineapples thinking they were waru. To avoid embarrassment, I just kept quiet.”
We only smiled, being too full to laugh.
As we did this, Pius and I explained to him that we may expect more people than had been planned for. Just then, Aunt Trufosa arrived with her daughter – both of them dressed for the occasion. Her daughter was not on the list.
My mother had left early to go to our neighbour’s to have her hair ‘burnt’. It was useless for she planned to wear a headgear on the day. “I don’t want to be embarrassed should the headgear fall down,” she said when I pointed this out.
With my father and Pius in black suits, I decided to look different. I put on my green Kaunda suit, and matched this with my white Reebok sports shoes. Soon Alfayo our neighbour arrived. He had come to apologize that he would not be able to join us. The shoes his son had brought him the day before, he said, were too small. “I don’t want to come with my Akala; the people of your wife may think that their girl got married into problems.” Though we expressed our remorse for him, inwards we were happy an extra slot had been created.
Next to arrive was my uncle who surprised us when he said that he had not eaten since the previous day. “The last time we made such a trip there was so much food but I could not eat since I was full. Today I am not making such a mistake.”
By 9.30 am, we were ready to leave. Besides Alfayo, three others did not make it. Before we left, we all converged in my father’s house for prayers. It was Aunt Albina who prayed. She did not even mention the purpose for our journey but repeatedly prayed for the matatu and the driver.
We arrived without a hitch, and after more prayers, two crates of soda Kubwa were brought. Mr. Lutta and my uncle knocked down two bottles in a matter of minutes, and were itching for a third.
We then had an introductions session, with our side led by Lutta, who sat next to Pius and kept consulting him. After this we were led out for a stroll. This was a clear indication that we needed to clear our stomachs in preparation for the real thing.
Before we went out, we were asked if any of us had any special needs. My grand aunt announced that she does not eat beef from a cow. When she was told that they could not tell if the beef was from a cow or a bull, she said that she would easily tell this by looking at it, and if it was from a cow, then “I’ll have to do with just chicken.”
Aunt Albina said that she only takes cocoa with undiluted milk. I gathered later that at home, she only can afford ‘strong tea’, but one must make maximum benefit from such ceremonies.
We came back to find the table full with food. There was fried beef, nyama choma, fried chicken, rice, ugali, fruits name them.
Seeing most of us confused, my uncle had a word of advice for us: “Avoid any food you are likely to find at home soon.” Ugali and sukuma were not touched by anyone, but chicken and chapati were over within minutes. While those who had suits and ties were sweating profusely as they ate, I was happy I had chosen a Kaunda suit.
Lutta, his plate full with chicken and beef, struggled with every piece he picked ensuring that no meat was left on any bone. It happened so fast. Lutta struggled with a hard piece of chicken so forcefully that his right elbow knocked off Pius’s plate, splashing the entire soup on Pius’s clean suit and messing his shirt and face.
Everyone stopped eating. Pius was led out of the room to another house where his wife wiped out the mess. Lutta, like everyone else, continued eating as if nothing happened, his shirt wet with sweat. My uncle returned most of his food.
When Pius came back, he was in no mood to speak to anyone, least of all, Lutta, which made the rest of the day cold since Lutta was the spokesperson.
We had more small talk before they brought tea accompanied by bread, scones, groundnuts and more chapati. I saw Lutta and my uncle take at least two cups. As per her request, Aunt Albina’s undiluted milk and cocoa were served separately, to the envy of other women who regretted having not made any special requests. Meanwhile, aunt Trufosa and Albina were filling their lessos with whatever food they could.
It was on our way back that my uncle explained why he had not eaten a lot.
“You see I mixed my chicken with chapati and waru. But it tasted so bad. It was only later that I discovered that I had taken pineapples thinking they were waru. To avoid embarrassment, I just kept quiet.”
We only smiled, being too full to laugh.
My Valentine’s day out with Cate and Ruth’s little secret
Although I only first heard of Valentine’s Day this year, I decided that I would give Cate a treat. To make the day a success, when I went for my salary, I took time to buy some gifts for Cate. I had done some research, and settled on gifts that I knew she would really like.
I actually had consulted Madam Ruth, whom I am now close to. As you know, the political arithmetic in our school is changing quickly and I am now more aligned to the Deputy’s side, to which Madam Ruth firmly belongs.
I first asked her if she knew about Valentine. “She was good in Maths,” Ruth answered. “She is in Form two at St Teresa Girls.”
I clarified that I was talking about Valentine’s Day, not Valentine our head girl of 2008. “Oh, that, I know it but you know Juma will be with his Main Sim Card so I will not feature.”
I asked her what her ideal Valentine gift would be. “A nice dress, necklace - something that would make me look pretty,” she said before adding. “But Juma ni mkono-birika. He won’t buy me anything.”
So I settled on three gifts: Ngoma rubber shoes from Bata, Kitenge material, and Piece for her hair. I could not get Kitenge material. I therefore went for “Piece”, and quickly bought two of them. Next I went to Bata. Finding Bata too expensive, I got the same pair of Ngoma rubber shoes at much lower prices at the open air market.
Valentine’s Day. I was ready by noon. I had my latest new green Kaunda suit, white Reebok sports shoes and since it was Valentine – red socks.
I wrapped the gifts in fresh newspapers, and carried them in a yellow polythene bag. We met at the market posho mill, where Cate had brought maize for grinding. We left the maize with the mill attendant. Since it was Valentine’s, I was not going to take her to a hotel at our local market centre so I carried her on the bicycle and off we left for the next market centre – some kilometers away. We went straight to Kasuku Hotel, which mostly sells chai and mandazi.
“Kuna madondo Chapo, lakini maharagwe haijaiva,” the waiter answered when I asked if lunch was ready. I could not ask for beef since Cate does not eat ‘animals’. We were assured that lunch would be ready within half an hour.
We decided to take a soda as we waited for the lunch. We each took Madiaba (Soda Kubwa) and half bread. As I parked the bicycle, Cate placed her lesso under the tree behind the shop and we sat down to enjoy our drinks.
I took out the margarine which I always carry and Cate applied it on the bread. We didn’t have much to talk as we took the soda. I sought to break the silence.
“Do you think the Naivasha constitution will pass?”
“I thought it was passed?” she asked. She had no idea what I was talking about. I finished my Stoney, helped her finish her Fanta then gave her the gifts; but told her to only open them once back home. “Let’s check if lunch is ready,” I said as we stood up.
It was not, but one waiter brought us water to wash our hands while another left the hotel in a hurry. After some wait, they brought us beans which had been fried before they cooked well. The waiter who had left came back but left immediately again. The other waiter gave one chapati to Cate and asked me to wait for mine. The waiter who had left earlier rushed in back. She then brought me two mandazi – cut into pieces.
“The chapatis are over, please take mandazi," she explained.
Cate didn’t eat much so I cleared her plate once I was done with my mine. All the while she was quiet. I was keen to end the silence.
“Do you see Ongeri resigning?” I asked her.
"Kwani what did he do?” she asked and I knew I had to look for another conversation. Just then, I received an SMS from my brother Pius: “Raila has dissolved the cabinet.” This made me very unsettled and although I shared the news with Cate, she wasn’t moved.
Just then, Nyayo, who sold food by the road side, rushed into the hotel. “Bado mnataka Chapati?” he asked the waiters. We realized then that we had just taken chapati and mandazi from his dirty roadside shed.
As we were mounting the bicycle ready to leave, I saw Madam Ruth, together with Mboya, a high school teacher, come out of the lodgings behind Pumzika Bar. Ruth hugged Mboya, and then boarded a Bodaboda motorcycle while Mboya waved at me, then swaggered back to the bar.
Late that night, I got an SMS from Madam Ruth: “I know u enjoyed ua Vals like me... lol. U know what not to tell Juma. Sweet dreams dear.”
I hadn’t finished reading this when Cate’s double SMS arrived: “Thanks dear 4the treat n gifts. The shoes were hwvr small n I gve my small siz. I usually use 4 sets of hair piece – not 2. Did u check them? 1 was brown n de other black. But I love them. Xoxo.”
Although I did not understand what lol and xoxo meant, I was happy to have received good SMSs from two pretty ladies at the same time. What a memorable Valentine’s.
I actually had consulted Madam Ruth, whom I am now close to. As you know, the political arithmetic in our school is changing quickly and I am now more aligned to the Deputy’s side, to which Madam Ruth firmly belongs.
I first asked her if she knew about Valentine. “She was good in Maths,” Ruth answered. “She is in Form two at St Teresa Girls.”
I clarified that I was talking about Valentine’s Day, not Valentine our head girl of 2008. “Oh, that, I know it but you know Juma will be with his Main Sim Card so I will not feature.”
I asked her what her ideal Valentine gift would be. “A nice dress, necklace - something that would make me look pretty,” she said before adding. “But Juma ni mkono-birika. He won’t buy me anything.”
So I settled on three gifts: Ngoma rubber shoes from Bata, Kitenge material, and Piece for her hair. I could not get Kitenge material. I therefore went for “Piece”, and quickly bought two of them. Next I went to Bata. Finding Bata too expensive, I got the same pair of Ngoma rubber shoes at much lower prices at the open air market.
Valentine’s Day. I was ready by noon. I had my latest new green Kaunda suit, white Reebok sports shoes and since it was Valentine – red socks.
I wrapped the gifts in fresh newspapers, and carried them in a yellow polythene bag. We met at the market posho mill, where Cate had brought maize for grinding. We left the maize with the mill attendant. Since it was Valentine’s, I was not going to take her to a hotel at our local market centre so I carried her on the bicycle and off we left for the next market centre – some kilometers away. We went straight to Kasuku Hotel, which mostly sells chai and mandazi.
“Kuna madondo Chapo, lakini maharagwe haijaiva,” the waiter answered when I asked if lunch was ready. I could not ask for beef since Cate does not eat ‘animals’. We were assured that lunch would be ready within half an hour.
We decided to take a soda as we waited for the lunch. We each took Madiaba (Soda Kubwa) and half bread. As I parked the bicycle, Cate placed her lesso under the tree behind the shop and we sat down to enjoy our drinks.
I took out the margarine which I always carry and Cate applied it on the bread. We didn’t have much to talk as we took the soda. I sought to break the silence.
“Do you think the Naivasha constitution will pass?”
“I thought it was passed?” she asked. She had no idea what I was talking about. I finished my Stoney, helped her finish her Fanta then gave her the gifts; but told her to only open them once back home. “Let’s check if lunch is ready,” I said as we stood up.
It was not, but one waiter brought us water to wash our hands while another left the hotel in a hurry. After some wait, they brought us beans which had been fried before they cooked well. The waiter who had left came back but left immediately again. The other waiter gave one chapati to Cate and asked me to wait for mine. The waiter who had left earlier rushed in back. She then brought me two mandazi – cut into pieces.
“The chapatis are over, please take mandazi," she explained.
Cate didn’t eat much so I cleared her plate once I was done with my mine. All the while she was quiet. I was keen to end the silence.
“Do you see Ongeri resigning?” I asked her.
"Kwani what did he do?” she asked and I knew I had to look for another conversation. Just then, I received an SMS from my brother Pius: “Raila has dissolved the cabinet.” This made me very unsettled and although I shared the news with Cate, she wasn’t moved.
Just then, Nyayo, who sold food by the road side, rushed into the hotel. “Bado mnataka Chapati?” he asked the waiters. We realized then that we had just taken chapati and mandazi from his dirty roadside shed.
As we were mounting the bicycle ready to leave, I saw Madam Ruth, together with Mboya, a high school teacher, come out of the lodgings behind Pumzika Bar. Ruth hugged Mboya, and then boarded a Bodaboda motorcycle while Mboya waved at me, then swaggered back to the bar.
Late that night, I got an SMS from Madam Ruth: “I know u enjoyed ua Vals like me... lol. U know what not to tell Juma. Sweet dreams dear.”
I hadn’t finished reading this when Cate’s double SMS arrived: “Thanks dear 4the treat n gifts. The shoes were hwvr small n I gve my small siz. I usually use 4 sets of hair piece – not 2. Did u check them? 1 was brown n de other black. But I love them. Xoxo.”
Although I did not understand what lol and xoxo meant, I was happy to have received good SMSs from two pretty ladies at the same time. What a memorable Valentine’s.
Mathematics drill that turned tragic
When I was moved to teach maths in class five, I found a class that was very poor in the subject. This was not surprising since Saphire had been their maths teacher since 2008. With their maths books marked only thrice in the two years, Saphire definitely had better things to do at Hitler’s during maths lessons.
First, the pupils knew nothing about The Table; many of them could not give an answer to 4X4. As for 13+18, they needed all their fingers and sticks to solve: but only two of them got it right.
Since I expected to move with the class until class 8, I decided to start early. Who knows, I may appear in the newspapers in December 2013 for having the highest Mean Score in maths countrywide!
Although the government banned corporal punishment, caning cannot be avoided when teaching maths. So when my CRE approach to maths proved unsuccessful, I had to become a little tough – and I have seen a cane in time save nine.
The entire class had to know the table off head. Every lesson began with a five-minute “mental arithmetic moment” during which I would randomly ask any pupil to instantly answer my mathematical problem. Those unable to give correct answers received instant slaps while repeat failures were caned.
The results were instant. Within just a few weeks, most pupils were able to say the correct answers – although few were unable to give answers to problems outside the mathematical table!
A few complaints started coming through, though. I first heard of them at Hitler’s. Although avoiding Hitler’s drink was one of my New Year Resolutions, while my heart always wishes to be at Cosmos, my pockets always lead me to Hitler’s.
“Mwalimu tumesikia wewe ni mkali sana?” Rashid, our PTA chairman asked me. I did not answer. “Bora tu usiguse Sandra wangu,” added Nyayo, a PTA member whose daughter is in class 5.
A week later and the HM called me in his office. “Thanks for the good work you are doing in class 5,” he started. “But I have received complaints from parents that you are caning their kids badly.”
“No, I only slap once or twice,” I answered, smiling.
“Remember corporal punishment was abolished? We need to use counselling or we can always involve the parents for complex matters,” he said.
“I know that. But if a class five pupil cannot tell you the answer to 3X3, do you counsel him? Do you send the kid home to bring his parents? By the time the pupil comes back, he will have forgotten 2X2. But a quick slap gives instant results!”
The HM laughed at this, then said: “I agree with you. But wanyoroshe na mpango. Hatutaki makelele.”
Last Monday, I was angry after most of the pupils failed a test I had given them. I asked all the students who had gotten below 40 per cent to arrange themselves in a circle. I gave each of them a cane and asked each to cane the one in front five strokes.
“One!” I started counting as they began punishing one another. A few of them, who had given out mild ones, on realizing that the person behind had no such mercy, put all their energy in the subsequent strokes.
It happened so fast. After the fourth stroke, Sandra fell on the floor, fainting. This brought some commotion in the class but we soon handled it and the girl was ok within minutes. I knew her father, Nyayo, would create a big problem out of this. But nothing was heard for three days.
On Thursday, I left school early and having nothing to do, I passed by Hitler’s to have ‘one for the path.’ It was getting dark and I had just ordered my third glass when Saphire arrived panting.
“Mwalimu, kimbia twende, ni kubaya!” he shouted. I knew it was a police raid and so I followed Saphire into Hitler’s maize plantation.
“Mmeona Andrew?” I heard a voice ask behind us. “Kwa mahindi!” someone shouted.
I followed Saphire and we lay low in a small thicket in the plantation. They passed us and returned a few minutes later, disappointed. “Hakajui bei ya watoto na kalipiga Sandra wangu kama punda! Bahati yake!” Nyayo said as the other ones clicked loudly. “Twende kwa Hitler mpewe moja,” he told them.
I left once they had disappeared – shaken to the bone about the danger I had just escaped. But Saphire’s words still ring in my mind. “Mwalimu, no parent will remember you once their children pass. Take things easy.”
Thankfully for me, I will not be facing the class again very soon, for we already have began end term examinations and next term I will be at St Teresa’s Girls for my first Teaching Practice. I hope to meet better parents there.
***
When I started writing this diary, I had expected that within a few months, someone would have seen my abilities and given a big job in Nairobi. A year later, and am still in this village; regularly quarrelling with my parents and school colleagues; riding the same Hero bicycle to school; and struggling to make citizens out of the sons and daughters of my people. Saphire still hasn’t paid me my Sh350; and I still haven’t bought a posho mill. But you, the reader, have been with me through my struggles and joys; and I thank you for that.
mwalimuandrew@gmail.com
First, the pupils knew nothing about The Table; many of them could not give an answer to 4X4. As for 13+18, they needed all their fingers and sticks to solve: but only two of them got it right.
Since I expected to move with the class until class 8, I decided to start early. Who knows, I may appear in the newspapers in December 2013 for having the highest Mean Score in maths countrywide!
Although the government banned corporal punishment, caning cannot be avoided when teaching maths. So when my CRE approach to maths proved unsuccessful, I had to become a little tough – and I have seen a cane in time save nine.
The entire class had to know the table off head. Every lesson began with a five-minute “mental arithmetic moment” during which I would randomly ask any pupil to instantly answer my mathematical problem. Those unable to give correct answers received instant slaps while repeat failures were caned.
The results were instant. Within just a few weeks, most pupils were able to say the correct answers – although few were unable to give answers to problems outside the mathematical table!
A few complaints started coming through, though. I first heard of them at Hitler’s. Although avoiding Hitler’s drink was one of my New Year Resolutions, while my heart always wishes to be at Cosmos, my pockets always lead me to Hitler’s.
“Mwalimu tumesikia wewe ni mkali sana?” Rashid, our PTA chairman asked me. I did not answer. “Bora tu usiguse Sandra wangu,” added Nyayo, a PTA member whose daughter is in class 5.
A week later and the HM called me in his office. “Thanks for the good work you are doing in class 5,” he started. “But I have received complaints from parents that you are caning their kids badly.”
“No, I only slap once or twice,” I answered, smiling.
“Remember corporal punishment was abolished? We need to use counselling or we can always involve the parents for complex matters,” he said.
“I know that. But if a class five pupil cannot tell you the answer to 3X3, do you counsel him? Do you send the kid home to bring his parents? By the time the pupil comes back, he will have forgotten 2X2. But a quick slap gives instant results!”
The HM laughed at this, then said: “I agree with you. But wanyoroshe na mpango. Hatutaki makelele.”
Last Monday, I was angry after most of the pupils failed a test I had given them. I asked all the students who had gotten below 40 per cent to arrange themselves in a circle. I gave each of them a cane and asked each to cane the one in front five strokes.
“One!” I started counting as they began punishing one another. A few of them, who had given out mild ones, on realizing that the person behind had no such mercy, put all their energy in the subsequent strokes.
It happened so fast. After the fourth stroke, Sandra fell on the floor, fainting. This brought some commotion in the class but we soon handled it and the girl was ok within minutes. I knew her father, Nyayo, would create a big problem out of this. But nothing was heard for three days.
On Thursday, I left school early and having nothing to do, I passed by Hitler’s to have ‘one for the path.’ It was getting dark and I had just ordered my third glass when Saphire arrived panting.
“Mwalimu, kimbia twende, ni kubaya!” he shouted. I knew it was a police raid and so I followed Saphire into Hitler’s maize plantation.
“Mmeona Andrew?” I heard a voice ask behind us. “Kwa mahindi!” someone shouted.
I followed Saphire and we lay low in a small thicket in the plantation. They passed us and returned a few minutes later, disappointed. “Hakajui bei ya watoto na kalipiga Sandra wangu kama punda! Bahati yake!” Nyayo said as the other ones clicked loudly. “Twende kwa Hitler mpewe moja,” he told them.
I left once they had disappeared – shaken to the bone about the danger I had just escaped. But Saphire’s words still ring in my mind. “Mwalimu, no parent will remember you once their children pass. Take things easy.”
Thankfully for me, I will not be facing the class again very soon, for we already have began end term examinations and next term I will be at St Teresa’s Girls for my first Teaching Practice. I hope to meet better parents there.
***
When I started writing this diary, I had expected that within a few months, someone would have seen my abilities and given a big job in Nairobi. A year later, and am still in this village; regularly quarrelling with my parents and school colleagues; riding the same Hero bicycle to school; and struggling to make citizens out of the sons and daughters of my people. Saphire still hasn’t paid me my Sh350; and I still haven’t bought a posho mill. But you, the reader, have been with me through my struggles and joys; and I thank you for that.
mwalimuandrew@gmail.com
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