Happy emotions as this column turns ten years!

I grew up in Munyanza village, a small, evergreen hamlet in the small intestines of Kakamega County.

It's a lovely place, where once food is set on our tables, we wash hands in River Yala.

In the past few years, Munyanza has seen some development and that is why I call it Mwisho wa Lami; otherwise when I was growing up, it was Mwisho wa Dunia — literally.

I loved Munyanza. I still do. Growing up, other than herding cattle, committing juvenile mischief, and swimming in River Yala, I loved reading.

I read everything I could lay my hands on: school textbooks, the Bible, magazines, novels, and newspapers — the Sunday Nation in particular.

I literally consumed Wahome Mutahi’s "Whispers" column so much that I collected all Whispers articles I could get and filed them.

ROLE MODEL

While I enjoyed the stories from the slopes, where the Son of the Soil was born and bred, I always thought there were some interesting chronicles from Munyanza — sorry, Mwisho wa Lami — that; if I met Whispers, I would tell him to consider featuring in his acclaimed column.

Like the story of Ratiko, the village doctor whose only qualification was that he served as a messenger at Kenyatta National Hospital (KNH) for long.

Or Hitler, whose many years of dedicated service to quench the throats of Mwisho wa Lami men and women is legendary.

There were the stories of the local primary school, and the teachers in particular.

There was this one who took 20 years to complete his house as he personally carried sand and koto on his bicycle; that other one who was always on interdiction, and yet another so mean he wouldn’t donate his saliva to a dying man …

Unfortunately, Whispers died before I could meet him, and share with him these stories that I thought were funny.

TEACHING

Six years after his demise, I convinced some friends of development at Sunday Nation that I had some interesting stories from Mwisho wa Lami.

When the first piece appeared, on March 28, 2009, I was a young teacher just two years into the Teacher Service Commission (TSC) job; I was ambitious and never thought I would still be teaching in three years.

There would be an opening for an Assistant Chief’s job in two years. Who knew? I could even contest for an MCA position.

My father Dan — but we always call him Caleb here — was proud of me then, for he still had hopes that I could end up being something.

My mother Agnetta loved me, just as she still does. I was still staying in my parents’ compound, eating from mother Agnetta’s kitchen like a calf sucks from the mother’s udder.

I had no plans to start a degree course, and only owned a bicycle! A Raleigh bicycle that I had acquired on hire purchase.

FAMILY MAN

I was yet to meet Fiolina, nor was Sospeter born. But I had met Catherina. I had known Catherina socially, professionally and biblically, although Branton would arrive two years later.

I had not yet met Bensouda, and I wish I had never met Kuya. Nzomo, Sella, Lena, Erick were just names.

Friends and enemies, it’s been 10 years of me sharing Mwisho wa Lami stories. Ten years of my life being out there in public; and I am so honoured that you have stayed with me.

I am still an ordinary schoolteacher; in the same school, same village. That however is the only constant, a lot other has changed.

I am now a married man who held the only fresh wedding in this area.

GRADUATE

I have one great son called Sospeter, plus another rascal called Branton, whom I accepted as my CSR contribution to humanity, despite the boy not being mine.

There are rumours about some other child that people say looks like me, but you know this world is full of enemies of progress.

I moved from my father's nest into my own state-of-the-art bungalow that will remain the talk of Mwisho wa Lami for years to come.

I graduated from a bicycle to a motorcycle, then to a car. Envious people still remind me that the car hasn't moved an inch since last December.

It doesn't matter, when the national census is done later this year, I am one of those people who will be recorded to be an owner of a car!

I joined the pedagogically acclaimed Kenyatta University and, were it not for the little matter of a unit called Statistics, I would have graduated long ago. I am now a deputy HM, and the de-facto HM of this school.

ENCOURAGEMENT

Have I mentioned my dressing? I drastically changed my dressing from outdated green Kaunda suits to stylish, modern pure polyester, blue Kaunda suits. Relations with my father nosedived, but am I to blame really?

There was no way I was going to give him my full salary to plan for me.

What am I trying to say here? I am saying four things. The first is to thank my friends at Sunday Nation for allowing me to share Mwisho wa Lami stories with the world.

Secondly is to thank you my readers — or fans as you call yourselves in emails to me — for staying with me all along, even when nothing much happened here and my writings were flat; for always encouraging me, and occasionally telling me off when I got it wrong.

LEGACY

To the people of Mwisho wa Lami, a big thank you for allowing me to share your stories; it’s not easy doing things and reading them on Sunday.

Particularly my staff mates at Mwisho wa Lami Primary. Special thanks to my family: my brother Pius and sister Caro; Senje Albina and my big sister Yunia.

Thanks, too, to Fiolina, the laugh of my life, who reminds me every week that I have to write.

And finally, I want to welcome Professor George Magoha to the Ministry of Education. And to tell him that ministers (or is it CSs) come and go.

But we teachers remain. There have been like seven ministers since I started writing. Some left a mark, others left a mat.

I believe you will leave a mark. Because in us teachers, you have allies, experienced professionals who will help you navigate the tough terrain that is the education sector in Kenya. Give us a call, Prof, and let us help you.

Here is to another 10 years!