Martin, Kevin and I is a statement
Kevansweli has used to describe us, in previous blogs, but today he has taken a
French leave away from his blog, I being an ardent friend and reader, have
done my best to tweet him him
@kevansweli or call him on his social line but to no avail. I haven’t tried his
business line though; you know what they say about friends and business!
Methinks that like all deserving persons,
he has taken a vacation. Good for him. I do say that because I received another
SMS trailing off with a password to REAL. Being the last of our latest
communication, I decided to be noble and take over as this was a silent go
ahead from him.
Wherever he is one thing is for sure, he
has a new found mteja status (the mobile subscriber cannot be reached). I hope
that he has not ended up in a romance that will jeopardize our bromance.
The sight of high school teenagers,
strutting from the school administration block, foolscap in hand and looking
conspicuously neat, is a sight any Kenyan parent and teacher will enjoy. The
details fore mentioned are a phenomenon to me simply because of the assumption
one was wont to make when they saw us in our former high school under the same
uniform and foolscap in hand scenario. It simply meant that there was more
going on than what met the eye.
Back in the day, I was a magnet for
problems. I was so immersed that all I contemplated was turning me into
Aristotle in the hope that the transformation would assist me in the powers of
reasoning. If you have never reached such extreme, then you are doing well
don’t change a thing.
I am talking about this past because I
can’t understand why my short memory of late has suddenly become that of an
elephant. (Yes elephants can recall what went on 20 years ago!). I have no
memory of good times, not out of disease but blessing. You see I am blessed
with the ability to forget. That means I can forget my sorry state without
having to chemically induce myself.
I am haunted however by my high past one incidence
to be exact. It seems the world has decided to con me. The system pulled a fast
one on me because half the things that are permissible now were illegal back
then. I think that my perpetual brush with the law was not because I am among
the strange people that occupy this world. The rule book was the problem; most
teachers seemed to disagree with my interpretation. The director of prosecution
aka the deputy was there to ensure that every minute of my faltering was well
exorcised out of me.
Whereas other students spent their time in
prep reading, I spent mine in the san (the caning was brutal) or in the
deputy’s office being whipped away. Those great days, were apparently not great
for my sitting tools, ask my sitting tools they are scarred for life. And by
the way I was innocent, so what about those that were truly guilty, they are
maimed!
You see I was a bright fellow, so bright
that ready kilowatt identified my potential as a source of green energy. I
would have gotten an A but like you guessed my injuries impaired my
concentration in class, but that did not stop my admission through JAB, I
tricked the system.
The deputy was the shadow that preceded
death. The bloke hardly slept, else how do you explain a man rushing the whole
school out of slumber at 4am yet by 1 am he was still caning students at his
office. If it was his hobby, that is, tearing the students’ ass up, I am glad I
am not him. He was the type of man who when asked to bring down the cat from
the roof would burn the whole house down just for the kicks of it!
So his vocation of exorcising demons of
ingenuity from the students has a weapon of choice, a whip. Sticks could not
work as our backsides had metamorphosed to hardened elements that broke any
stick that came into contact.
He had an office assistant called Solo who
summoned students from class either for attending to their visiting parents of
for caning, but mostly it was caning. When he called you and you later returned
with foolscap in hand, your lady class teacher would die with guilt for
reporting you and well your friends laughed at you.
When the deputy summoned you for caning,
you turned up in your cleanest uniform lest you get extra caning for being
untidy. After the daylights were beaten out of you, you tidied yourself and
walked out with foolscap to write that apology letter.
The next time you see a high-schooler
neatly dressed in the uniform with foolscap in hand, there’s probably a deputy
nearby sweating in their suit on a cold July morning in a quest to build the
nation. Believe me, that child or teenager if you like is innocent.
yours Martin
