My plans fail as Brandon’s mother becomes my boss

Following the interdiction of Bensouda and the verbal announcement that I would be the acting in-charge of this great school, I was just happy to act but not so keen to take over. Just like Former Gambian President Jammeh, I had said here that I wouldn’t mind handing over the reins of the school to Bensouda or whoever was sent here, as long as it was recorded in the annals of history that yours truly was once the headmaster of this school.

But just after a week of sitting on the seat, and seeing how lucrative the seat is, through several ways that I don’t want to mention here lest they reach Matiang’i, like Jammeh, I made an about-turn, and decided to do whatever I could do to ensure that I remain the HM of this school. This followed intelligence reports that reached me saying that Bensouda had been in Nairobi trying to change things.

Now I had two options: to sit back and wait for her to return as HM or fight for the position. I chose the latter. Last Monday, after taking care of things in the school the whole day, I packed in the evening, wore my special journey Kaunda suit plus special occasion glasses and left aboard Nyayo’s motorcyle for Mwisho wa Lami Market to catch a Nairobi bound bus.

Word that Dre was travelling to Nairobi to defend his seat had spread far and wide, and at the stage, as we waited for either Mbukinya or Msamaria Mwema, people came to wish me good luck.

“Hii kiti ni yetu,” said Rasto when he came to say goodbye. “Uwaambie hakuna Mwalimu Mwisho wa Lami amesoma kuliko wewe.” We talked for some time, and how he managed to get Sh20 from me remains a mystery. 

Mbukinya arrived first, and I was lucky since the driver was my schoolmate. He had been two years ahead of me; and the conductor was a former student of mine, one of the most successful students I had taught. As such, I paid only Sh350 while others paid Sh800. And to show the respect they had in me, I was not even given a receipt!

It was a rather quiet trip to the city, and we arrived very early, at around 3am. I notified Pius who told me he would arrive there at 6 am. I wondered why he couldn’t just drive and come and pick me but he said that he did not have his car. “Nilikwambia gari iliharibika na sina pesa,” he responded to my SMS.

He arrived at 6 and called a taxi to take us to his house.

DRESSED TO KILL

After breakfast, I set out for TSC officers in Upper Hill. I was dressed to kill, brand new blue Kaunda suit, the one with four pockets and is long-sleeved, new moccasins; yellow and red socks, special occasion spectacles, etc. Under my armpits was a brown envelope carrying all my TSC documents, as well as my academic certificates and KU admission letter, in case anyone doubts my credentials. I also had Sh2,500 in my pocket that I could count on if needed for the promotion letter to come out that day.

Getting to Upper Hill was not easy but I was there finally at 11am. It was long since I had been there.

“Whom do you want to see?” asked the lady at the reception. From her tone, it was clear that Bensouda had warned her that I would be coming and she was keen to frustrate me. Clearly Bensouda was connected.

“I want to see the promotions officer,” I said. “Ok, the staffing officer then,” I said when she said there was no promotions office.

She sent me to some office which upon arrival, I was asked which school I had come from. “That is in Western,” said one officer. “Let me refer you to the officer that handles western region,” he said.

“Have you talked to your HM about the matter you have?” the western officer asked. I told him I was the acting HM.

“Did you have any permission to be out of school today?” he asked. Clearly that guy was no going to help me at all. Bensouda had blocked all my ways.

“We have fully fledged TSC offices in all counties that can handle all your matters,” he said. “Plus I can’t serve you without permission to be out of school.” With nothing much to do, I walked around Upper Hill, admiring the tall buildings in that estate of Nairobi. After asking for directions I managed to walk to the city. I had with me all my belongings and after taking a lunch of chips and half a chicken, I walked to Machakos Country Bus. It was 5pm and I was among the first passengers. I had the luxury to choose between Msamaria Mwema and Mbukinya. I went for Mbukinya after I got assurance that I could sit next to the driver.

Despite paying at 5pm, by 8pm the bus was still not full. It left at around 9.30pm, and drove to a petrol station for some repairs. We left the petrol station at around 10.30pm, and stopped at Kangemi, where the bus stayed for about an hour picking more passengers and loading. And we stopped at the next petrol station for more repairs. By the time we left Nairobi proper, it was well past midnight. I was sleepy and did not enjoy seeing the driver at work.

I woke up late at night. We were not moving. The bus had broken down and the conductor and driver were out trying to repair it. We only got help the next morning and we left at around 10.30am – for a slow journey. It was at around 3pm that I alighted at Mwisho wa Lami Market – tired, sleepy and dirty. I went straight home, ignoring everyone.

I went to Hitler’s after a shower.

HANDING OVER

“Dre you have really been looked for,” said Saphire when he arrived. He told me that the County Director of Education had been at school. “She really tried calling you.”

“Simu ilizima jana,” I told him.

Upon charging I got several messages including one from Jane, the county director. The one I remember most was from Catherine. “Dre, kwani what happened to Bensouda? See you tomorrow. xoxo.” I did not understand her SMS. For those of you who may have forgotten, Catherine is the mother of Brandon. And I am not Brandon’s father!

I was in school early Thursday morning, and put everything in order. Things had settled and classes were ongoing when the same car that had brought the County Director of Education arrived. She alighted from the car, and was accompanied by Catherine.

The director’s body language was clearly against me, and even as I welcomed her to the HM’s offices, her concentration was on Catherine.

“Where were you yesterday and Tuesday?” she asked, me.

“I was home sick,” I said confidently.

“So you think I am a fool?” she asked me. “I know everything. Everything.”

“Dre, I had thought you could handle this school in Madam Skastina’s absence but clearly you can’t,” she said. “That’s why we have made decision to bring in Madam Catherine to act as headmistress until Bensouda’s matter is resolved.”

I could not believe my eyes. Catherine was my junior in the teaching profession. She could not be my boss.

“As I told you and as you can see, this school has problems and I am trusting you to bring order here.” Jane told Catherine.

“Don’t worry, I will make Mwisho wa Lami great again,” said Catherine.

We went through the motions of handover and the director asked me to call for a staff meeting during which she introduced Catherine as the acting headmistress.

The director left soon after. Catherine, or Catherina as my father calls her, took the day to walk around the school, and know the teachers. The next day she came in early but left at midday. Today morning, she sent an SMS asking me to call for a staff meeting tomorrow. “The journey of Making Mwisho wa Lami Great Again starts tomorrow,” she added in her text. Interesting times lie ahead!