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