1. Humiliation of a school boy
By AMOS MUTURI
I
t was an unusually cold
morning; the sun rose
in the east slowly like a
fireball. The rays slipped
through the trees and
found my chilly body hungry for
the warmth. Along the road, the
trees stood still like soldiers at a
parade. The grass beneath was
covered with shiny dew that glit-
tered like a thousand pieces of
glass.
Birds chirped as they flew from
tree to tree and in the distance,
a cow mooed and a lazy cock
crowed. In spite of the beauty,
the air felt strange; I felt it carried
some sad news, news that whis-
pered change in my life.
I was then a Form Three
student in Wendani Secondary
School, the only secondary school
in my village, Ndeffo Farm. It was
built through Harambee and the
Constituency Fund for local chil-
dren unable to afford the expen-
sive schools outside their home
area. This was the second term
of my third year at the school. I
was an early riser and never late
for school. I entered the gate with
a handful of students; we called it
a gate but it was just an entrance.
You could enter the school from
any other place though it was
prohibited.
The school had one stream
with not more than 100 students.
Being a new school, it was not
famous with the locals. You were
considered less fortunate if you
happened to be admitted to this
school. The boys wore brown uni-
form: sweaters, ties, and trousers
with black shoes and grey socks
with blue and yellow strip. The
girls had the same uniform only
that they wore white socks.
The headmaster, Mr Njoroge,
and his staff of seven teachers saw
to it that the administration of the
school ran smoothly. Mr Njoroge
was a tough man with one leg
shorter than the other. He wore
spectacles and loved speaking
Oxford English. I always thought
he was once a student at Oxford
University.
Unlike our primary school,
where all teachers came from the
village, the teachers who taught
in secondary school came from as
far away as Nakuru and Elburgon.
They commuted to the school in
a group. They did not mix with
the village; they felt they were a
class apart owing to the fact that
our village could not produce sec-
ondary school teachers. They saw
us as poor and miserable; we saw
them as proud and arrogant.
They were strange but the prin-
cipal was the strangest. He was
the only teacher who owned a
car; now in our village, we did not
know much about cars, but this
was a blue salon car, with a nice
look. The principal was a proud
man and usually humiliated the
teachers in front of the students.
Everybody feared him and that
made him feel strong. I always
thought he hated poor people.
He had a stained tooth that made
it look like a food particle was
stuck in his teeth, which made
his smiles even more sarcastic.
He could laugh with you in one
minute and whip you mercilessly
the next minute. He came only on
two days, Monday and Friday, and
would mainly come to send home
those students who had school
fees arrears.
Most of the parents were poor,
and so were the students. We
could not afford some of the basic
requirements like school uniform;
we got shirts and sweaters from
our relatives and friend after they
completed Form Four; some of
those pullovers were oversize and
torn at the elbows.
It was a Friday and we were
all expecting him, both teachers
and students. It was a day that
ties were properly knotted and
shoes were well polished lest you
fall into his merciless hands. He
could do anything to you if he
found something he did not like
about you; he could hurl insults at
you, slap you or send you home.
We went to assembly hoping to
see him. He did not appear. We
thought he would appear when
we were halfway through as he
always did but he did not. I con-
sidered it a wonderful day; the
dragon was not in today. We could
stand the strange teachers but not
the strange principal. We went to
our classes looking forward to a
good day — which ended when
we heard the screech of an engine
outside.
As soon as he entered, every
classroom fell silent, a silence that
was not only induced by the fear
of his arrival but the predicament
of being sent home for the school
fees arrears. I started packing
slowly; I knew I would not be
spared. I was among those with
huge school fees arrears. Fur-
thermore, my class had lost its
popularity with the teachers. It
had become a class of hot headed
adolescents.
He sent for us and soon we
were all out. We found him wait-
ing, holding a paper. We thought
he was going to call out our
names, but he didn’t. He looked
at us with mischievous eyes.
“Get out of the gate, run around
the school compound and come
back,” he said. We went around
chatting and laughing. We decided
to jog instead of running, to make
him mad. It worked. We finished
the first lap and were entering the
gate, he motioned us to go round
again, we obeyed, but this time
some of us diverted into routes
that go inside the villages.
When we approached the
school, the principal motioned for
us to come forward. He did not
wait for us to enter through the
gate; the chat and laughter ceased
as we approached him wearing
innocent faces.
He was seated on a bench out-
side the kitchen. As we gathered
there, he rose slowly and came
forward. “I tell you to go around
the school and you decide to
go around the village; you have
grown horns” he smirked. “You
there, come here” he added
pointing at me. I slowly walked
forward. He grabbed me, by my
shirt and pulled me towards him.
I simply looked down like a sheep
as he rained slap after slap on me.
“I’ve let you study in this school
because i felt sorry for you and
this is how you repay me, you
haven’t paid even a cent for the
whole of this year.” He continued
slapping my face.
All the other students were
silent in horror; they thought it
would never stop. But he finally
stopped assaulting me and or-
dered all of us to go home. He
dismissed us in anger. “Take your
belongings, go and never come
back to this school.”
Everybody quickly went away
fearing he would change his mind
and start pouncing on us one by
one. When the other students saw
that he was done with his anger,
they started laughing; thanking
their stars they had been spared.
My heart was heavy, I was feel-
ing pain not in the cheeks he had
slapped but in the soul he had
insulted.
Tears welled up in my eyes
but I struggled to hold them back.
My mind was numb as I pain-
fully walked back to my class and
packed everything I had. I also
wished never to come back to this
school. I had been humiliated, not
for my own offence but for the of-
fence of the whole class.
Yet they were there laughing,
talking in low tones. They were
lucky it never happened to them.
My world had changed. I came
out through the gate alone, the
world I knew was gone. I felt the
tears coming out of my eyes, I let
them flow freely. I sobbed slowly
along the way. I didn’t care who
saw me. I was like a sheep that
had been wounded.
I looked back and saw the oth-
ers coming out of the gate alone
or in pairs. I didn’t wait for them.
I chose to walk alone and soon
disappeared onto one of the roads
that led to my home.
‘‘I’ve let you study
in this school because
I felt sorry for you and
this is how you repay
me, you haven’t paid
even a cent for the
whole of this year.”
sho≥t sto≥y
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Illustration:JohnNyagah
The EastAfrican
MAGAZINE
DECEMBER 28, 2013 - JANUARY 3, 2014
IX