Fetching Water From A River In High School.

The motorist applied emergency breaks and the vehicle halted immediately.

He disembarked from his vehicle and confronted us. He beat a hasty retreat when he noted that we did not fear him.

He attempted to point a finger at us but courage deserted him in that crucial moment of need.

He surveyed us, not saying a word, we looked at him waiting patiently for his next move. He must have realized that he was up to a losing battle because he went back to his vehicle and drove off.

We, the students, had gone to look for water for school kitchen at the nearby stream. The school had gone without water for days on end and the school water tanks had ran dry. The principal had directed the teacher on duty to supervise us as we went to the nearby stream almost a kilometer away to look for water.

We used to fetch water in dining hall bowels. The whole ritual was a tiresome affair since one had to carry the bowl using two hands.

Woe unto you if you did not have a trouser belt. The trouser kept on falling down because both hands were busy hold onto the water bowl.

Every student was supposed to go to the river and deliver at least three bowls of water to the school kitchen. Prefects were on hand to monitor and register students as they delivered water.

This task fell on form one and two students because the senior students were supposed to be busy preparing for their exams.

The situation was so dire in school that most students took upon themselves to go and take bathes at the stream.

It was always a spectacle to see boys taking baths in the early hours of the night down stream as others were fetching kitchen water upstream.

The jokes that went on down stream are not fit to be repeated here. But I can tell you one thing: each class had its own area it used to bath from. It was treasonable for a form one student no matter his size to go near where form fours were.

On our way back to school boys would be so rowdy you would be forgiven for thinking their lives depended on it.

Bathing was allowed only once in every four days so the rest of the times form two and and ones would be busy fetching water for the kitchen duties.

The routine would start at 6.30am and go on until about 8.00am and resume after afternoon classes.

Carrying that bowl would eventually get into our nerves. At first it looked and sounded enjoyable but after a few weeks with no water showing up at our school taps it was time to let go of our frustrations.

On this day students were tired and frustrated. We were closing the the tarmac road when this motorist came speeding.

Students, either by design or by fault refused to give way despite repeated horns.

In response students splashed water on his car in unison. Luckily he had pulled his car window so he was not splashed.

He was however angry and opened his car in visible anger to confront us.

All students came and formed a circle around his car.

We were charged beyond measure.

He read the mood and interpreted the signs. He beat a retreat and slowly, in a panic mode got to his car and drove off.

The incident was perhaps reported to school authorities because the ritual was stopped and the school hired people to be fetching water.

The students however retained the right to go and bath at the stream in the evenings.

Ends

Retaining Village Customers

I just admire it village kiosks. They are ambitious in their own way. The owner is normally school drop out who is loved by all, not of who he is, but for the goods and services he offers.

The kiosk is in many cases found on a corner of the main road leading to nearest town. The kiosk is strategically built in such a way the seller will see customers as they approach from all sides of the roads. There are no adverts at the sides of the kiosk because everyone knows what is sold at the kiosk. The kiosk has modest things that it offers, but more of that later.

The kiosk is normally made of wood or in some cases timber. The door is at the back and for you to enter you have to bend. The plan is to ensure that the upper part of the door has shelves. Space is of paramount importance.

The kiosk is too small that there is no space for sitting down. When the owner wishes to sit he moves out at the nearby bench outside the kiosk. The bench is semi permanently anchored on the ground.

This bench is used as daytime residence of village idlers. That is where you will get the most sophisticated solutions of all problems bedeviling the village, clan, local and national politics. And any other problems of whatever nature you can imagine.

These guys know everyone in the village and the converse is not true. They know what those they know do for a living and what they earn. They even go to an extent of providing details of who sleeps with who and where! Funny thing these guys do not leave that kiosk bench and therefore you wonder how they know those things.

The kiosk lacks a window. The counter is a small timber usually half a foot in width and not more than two feet long. The kiosk, since it is made of wood, occasionally suffers from termite attacks. Mostly the owner's wife is the seller since the husband happens to be a stone mason. The wife enjoys the free gossip she gets from her company.

Now, the kiosk has those essential commodities that village people would require. Basically it cater is the quintessential kadogo economy since the customers are of modest means. The seller goes at great lengths to maintaining and satisfying customers. Supplies are got in main town once a week but fast moving goods are delivered at midday.

It is no wonder, therefore, for the shopowner to devise all tricks to sustain customers. For example you may go to buy a stick of cigarette and the owner concocts a cock and bull story.

“ati you want a cigarette?” she will ask feigning sudden frustration.

“Oh no, you see that man? Have you seen him?” she poses to you pointing to the opposite direction, yet you see no one.

As you shake your head because appropriate remarks are subdued by thirst for a smoke, she tells you

“ He just bought the last stick. The last stick of your favorite brand. Am so sorry please come later, the supplier was late today,” she says in what appears to be genuine concern for your thirst. On your way home you meet one of the idlers coming to the usual spot for some jaw exercises. You tell him that you are dying of lack of smoke. He advises you to go to town.

“My brother, haven't you heard that the supplier has not come for two days because he has not been paid his dues for a week now,” you cant believe your ears.

In retrospect you remember that you were in town two days ago and had bought enough cigarettes to last for a day and half thats why you didn't know the news earlier. You realize you were duped but the kiosk is intent on retaining its customer base.

It is business.

ends

The Art of Taking Muratina

He had defied the laid down stipulations and he had to be kicked out. The process of kicking him out was not easy. He was drunk and yet he insisted he was not, but he was.

He threw tantrums and diplomatic debate ensured, eventually he defied diplomacy and force was used. He was taken “up up” by a group of men and locked out of the house.The day was a Sunday. The occasion was taking of traditional brew otherwise known as Muratina.It was a meeting of about ten men. The brew had been prepared using highest laid down standards. We had all contributed equally except the host who was exempted.

Contributions were both in cash and goods. Cash was to buy honey from the best honey harvester in the village. Money was also to take care for meat and its preparation. Muratina is a strong drink which can manage a TKO (Technical Knock Out) if it finds an empty stomach. An empty stomach involves a stomach filled with petty foods like rice. Muratina needs to find meat and ugali.

Preparation of Muratina is not a job that can be given to your average upstart. It needs an expert. Experts are those who have learnt the art by staying close to their grandfathers over time and learnt each and every step of preparing this wonderful brew.

We were of the same age and few of us knew how to go about preparing the brew, we agreed on the budget and settled for the day which was to be two weeks away. The host was to plapare.

All efforts were directed to this day. There was no taking chance. Sugarcane was bought and crushed according to the customs.

Sugarcane and honey were in order. We even bought our own container. We didn't intend to have any altercations with the host's parents.It had to be a smooth, concealed process. Concealed because at our age we were not supposed to be taking Muratina. Nonetheless being curious as we were we went on with our plans.

The best Muratina is the one that is prepared for at least seven days. This particular brew is dangerous if badly prepared but awesome when all the rules are followed.

It need lots of heat to help in fermentation. Using a particular formula that I don't intend to let on, Miratina, water, honey and sugar are all put in a container and placed near a fire place.

If there is no wood to sustain a continuous fireplace 24/7 then it is advisable to allow the container to be in sunshine during day time.

The day was finally here and we were ready. We had searched and found traditional drinking cow horns for taking the brew.

We had agreed like men of yore that the the purpose of the horn was to be honored. Horn was used to get rid of jokers.

Unlike the ordinary glass, you cannot put down a horn. You have to hold your beer. Once you inadvertently put it down those around you will know you are drunk.

We agreed on this important rule and stated taking this wonderful brew.

We settled for what we hoped to be an eventful evening. A well prepared Muratina tastes like juice. It is sweet. If well prepared a glass and half is enough to attract uncontrollable chatter as serious inebriation takes effect. By the third glass you ought to be drunk.

Our friend had underestimated the potent nature of this brew and he kept his horn down by the second round, he poured the brew on his partner and all hell broke loose. He refused to leave.

He said it was a mistake but we knew it was not. He was finally forced out. After a few minutes a second person put down his horn and the eviction began....

Counting Mathematics In Lower Primary

In the event mathematics was a living being we would have never been friends. Funny enough we would not be enemies either.

We would just be there. Put more plainly we would be like in-laws, deep respect for each other and no questions asked.

This is not the case in the scenario here. Mathematics is not a being, but a subject. It was and and continues to be a compulsory subject from nursery school to high school.

My first interaction with mathematics was in lower primary school. I cant really remember what happened in nursery school. I remember, though crying most of the time in that first year of education.

Unlike nowadays where children have to contend with baby class, pre-unit and such other trappings I started at nursery school.

It was not until in class 2 that I finally realized I was in school for a long time to come when I realized I had to study all the way to class eight.

Our lower primary school teacher was intent on making us not only pass in maths but embrace the same.

He was perturbed that we barely comprehended sums.

He attempted all tricks to make us understand simple sums of addition and subtraction.

He used to encourage us to use our fingers and toes to do maths.

We duly obliged.

If you recall lower primary school mathematics involved numbers below 100.

You would get sums like forty minus twenty eight, sixty plus thirty two and such like.

It was therefore too hard to calculate these sums.

They looked big and menacing, it is like algebra in high school where they used to tell us to expand funny looking equations. Things we have gone through!

At first it seemed easy, counting with fingers. If for example one had to add eight plus seven it was easy to count seven fingers and eight toes then to count all of them at once, you would have your answer.

This tread continued for a few days. Things changed when the teacher decided top give us sums that exceeded the total number of toes and fingers.

He would give us random numbers like forty six plus thirty two.

Thats when my respect for mathematics reached climax. It was not until in high school algebra classes that the hate and respect for maths grew a notch high.

To count forty six you had to count the tips of the fingers which normally amount to ten, then count the furthest joints which am told are celled distal phalanges. The number would now be forty and then you had to count the second joints otherwise known as intermediate phalanges by people who studied sciences more than us. 

 

You would then count the third joints whose scientific name has deserted me a unto six. Remember after the tips of the fingers had been counted then to point at the joints one had to use his chin to isolate and count the remaining numbers.

This you would put down the number in a paper.

The next step would be isolate thirty two. Since fingers had been used it was only proceed to the toes. We never used to wear shoes so counting the numbers using toes was not a problem.

The most disconcerting thing about this method was disruption.

There was a tendency for someone to disrupt you when you were just about to finish counting and then adding your isolated numbers.

Once you were disrupted you would forget all the numbers and the process had to start again. Life.

ends

Taking Bhang the Unconventional Way

Reports that I once took bhang in High School, though true, have been exaggerated.

Many schools of thought have been advanced trying to explain this occurrence but I will put the record straight to silence my critics. We all know that bhang is a banned substance and anyone caught with those leaves is highly punished by the state.

But that realization did not deter students from engaging in that ritual. Though, our mode of partaking in those leaves was different. Iin fact the whole school was involved in a ritual that shocked the school administration. At first I was also perplexed at the behavior exhibited by my fellow students until the truth dawned on me that I had also consumed the illegal smoking substance. Unknowingly.

It started as a joke one Friday evening after evening preps. Boys started barking, well, like dogs.

It all started in a dormitory called Madaraka at around 10.30 pm. Students from other seven dormitories were not amused and dismissed Madaraka as a bunch of attention seeking boys.

That dormitory was made up of the worst bullies and therefore nobody was surprised by their barking antics. But alas! That irritating barking voice spread to nearby Jamhuri and Uhuru dormitories.

You see, after evening classes we were all free to visit the school boiler near the kitchen and fetch a cupful of water for preparing hot chocolate drink. This was done after 9.45 preps and also after 4 pm classes.

The chocolate drink was not compulsory but almost all students with the exception of bookworms indulged in it. What was for sure was 'mkorogo' as we called drinking chocolate was a must, daily. I I digress.

It so happened that on that Friday after taking mkorogo the three dormitories caught that irritating bug of expressing themselves. By 11 o clock Lenana, Kenyatta( my dormitory), Nelion, Batian and Harambee dormitories had joined the barking bandwagon..

Essentially the whole school compound sounded like one big dog training ground as boys outdid each other in barking.I also barked and it felt so good.That night the barking stopped around 12 am and there was no teacher who came to check on us despite the school being a one big barking zone.

The next day, a Saturday, business went on as usual and nobody cared to inquire the reasons for the incessant barking the previous night. That day we were privileged to have an outing. This was a sacred day for students since we could go wherever we wished from 2pm to 5.30 pm in the evening. It was the time to visit various drinking dens and sample variety of illegal concoctions that passed as alcoholic drinks sold in that area.

Despite some boys being inebriated we they could still go for evening preps but that day was different, it was an entertainment day. On entertainment day when freedom reigned in the air, boiler was always empty by 9pm. It was about that time hell broke loose in the entire school compound.

Boys masquerading as dogs were everywhere. Barking could be heard in all corners of the school compound. It was chaotic. Some teachers, male teachers, came to inquire what was the cause of the sudden turn of natural order but no questions were answered and barking resumed immediately they left. They caught no one since they saw no one bark, but they could hear.

The school slept quietly and on Sunday the school was uneventful. On Monday as the teacher on duty was inspecting the dormitories two students from Madaraka dormitory were found asleep during class hours.

After much interrogation they admitted that they were behind the incessant barking in school.

They said that they had put bhang in the school boiler. On Friday half a stone of bhang had been dropped and on Saturday a whole stone had been put in the boiling water meant for mkorogo. They were expelled. Now we all know how I took bhang.

Teachers and their Nicknames

“Those who are assigned duty around Jamhuri dormitory should collect those papers. There are many papers loitering there”, the entire high school assembly burst out in laughter as the teacher on duty, Cation, uttered those words.

“Papers loitering!?,” we wondered aloud.

But Cation was not to be cowered by the slip of the tongue, being a Chemistry teacher, English was not his forte.

He earned himself the nickname Cation because of his insistence for his students to differentiate between Cations and Anions.

The nickname stuck.

Teachers had nicknames and those who didn't have one probably led a plain lifestyle that never elicited notice from students.

Aristotle was a burly Biology teacher who brooked no nonsense from any student. He was feared.

The origin of his nickname was his insistence that Aristotle the famous Greek, was his friend.

“There is this good friend of mine, Aristotle whom I like very much...,” he would thunder in a Biology class and thus thus his nickname stuck.

No student ever wanted to collide with Aristotle. He would beat you mercilessly.

Therefore no student ever called him Aristotle within his earshot, such a move would earn you straight admission in the nearby mission hospital.

One day a fairly new form one student was sent to staffroom by a fourth form student to go and shout in the staffroom that Aristotle was wanted outside.

The young man was saved by several male teachers after it became apparent Aristotle was bent on killing him. We always doubted his “born again” credentials.

There was also Mtimule a Kiswahili nickname aptly named after a kiswahili teacher. We always suspected that Mtimule smoked banned substances because of the way he carried himself. He would enter the classroom and walk around for about five minutes without uttering a single word.

He would then, without warning grab Musyoki's left ear and pinch him for a whole minute.

“Kasyoki unafanya wengine wapige makele?” he would ask Musyoki.

We never really knew why he always chose Musyoki neither did Musyoki.

This phenomena started in form one and ended when we left high school. Mtimule would sometimes go to to the assembly ground and stand there as if addressing students only that students were in classes observing him with amused looks.

Piriton as her nickname suggests always managed to make the whole class doze off moments after she entered the class.

The English teacher would never bother to wake anyone up. She would go on teaching the less than five awake students as if everything was normal around her. A class had over 50n students.

There was Sucrose or Soko as we called him. This Deputy Headmaster and biology teacher never pronounced Sucrose correctly hence his nickname.

Soko was loved and feared in equal measure by his students.

No one had a grudge against him and he always had his way. Once a student would resist caning (caning was still legal in those days) he would suggest that they fight a bare knuckled fight.

One day a student opted for a man to man fight and he had to jump through a window to escape Soko's jabs.

Soko always wore a suit and a tie. I am yet to meet a student who ever came across him without a suit and a tie,

Mtiki, every time this revered name was mentioned it elicited fear from all students. It belonged to the Principal. This veteran former English teacher (he had stopped teaching when we were admitted) was held in high esteem because for his masterly of the queens' language.

He never shied away from using the language to tell us off.

He once called a student a “foolish buffoon who resembles a devil's incarnate”

Birthday Wishes, High School Style

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He was shaking uncontrollably. He was on the verge of tears. He was drenched in water, his clothes were soaked. To cap it all words failed him, he couldn't beg for mercy anymore.

The occasion was his birthday and boys had conspired to give him a present he would never forget.

A student came from nowhere and splashed him with a bucketful of liquid cow-dung. That was a game changer.

There are a few cardinal rules in high school. The first and adhered by all regardless of station in life is that Form Ones are not supposed to sit, bathe or conduct their business where Form Fours are.

As a Form One, you have to check out when form fours of your dormitory bathe and adjust accordingly. Likewise you cannot sit anywhere they are. Breaking this rule had dire consequences which I wont repeat here.

The second most important rule is not to tel your classmates your birthday. By telling them you have sold the little freedom you have. They conspire to make your birthdays the most unmemorable events during your sojourn in high school.He broke the rule a few months into our stay in High School. He casually told a talkative classmate when his birthday was due. In the first year we did not”celebrate” his birthday. this was simply because Form Ones, as I have alluded above, are supposed to be seen and not heard.

Any kind of excitement coming from Form Ones was crushed with brute force by senior students. We therefore waited patiently for the second year. He had thought his secret was safe but unbeknown to him the talkative guy had let on the secret.We therefore waited patiently until we reached in form two.

Three days to the big day, secret meetings were held to map out strategies of giving him an unforgettable birthday. All this happened without our colleague being in the picture. Buckets were secured and everything was prepared to detail waiting for the big day. The execution had to be meticulous.

On that day buckets with water were placed in his class room. Two were placed behind the classroom door while two others were placed at the farthest two corners of the class. Several others were in his dormitory.

Evening preps went on as usual. Most students were in the loop. Even colleagues from other two streams were aware. Only those who made it their duty to exclusively socialize with their books were unaware. Preps ended at 9.45 pm. Five minutes to time, two students went near the door. The door was secured.

His instincts must have alerted him because he made to the door, but he was too late. The first bucketful of water caught him unawares, as boys clapped and cheered three others splashed on him in quick succession. He was advised to head to the dormitory. On the way to the dormitory, heavily guarded, he was pleading for mercy.

On arrival at the dormitory, the party was not over as he hoped. More water came from all sides.

Then the unexpected moment of the cow dung being splashed on him. We had gathered around him and teasing him but after this single act, the teasing stopped and he was asked to go take a shower.

The rituals were to be repeated in the next two years but the man was clever, he would be away from school for two days around that time.