Can the long holidays already end! I can’t take it any more

Like many teachers, I was among those who complained that last August Holidays were the shortest in the history of mankind, and that the Minister for Education, Dr Fred Matiang’i, aka Magufuli, had made a big mistake by not giving us enough rest. Indeed, no sooner had we closed schools than we had to open. The only solace was that we would have a very short third term, followed by a very long December holiday to look forward to.

“Mara hii tutapumzika kweli,” said Saphire at the time. This was quite strange, as Saphire is always resting, school day or holiday; weekday or weekend. In fact, I can’t remember any week that Saphire ever came to school for five days. Even when he was on Teaching Practice, the story we hear is that the supervisor missed him twice, and it is still not clear how a positive report was presented to Machakos TTC, enabling him to complete college and become a teacher.

When third term opened, he started a countdown to closing day which he wrote on the staffroom notice board, and he updated it as regularly as he came to school, which was not very regularly.

Following the tightening of rules of KCPE and KCSE invigilation, I refused to apply to become an invigilator. While I am a very strict person, and the whole world knows, I was not too sure that Matiangi’s strictness would reach the level I wanted it to be.

So immediately after KCPE, which I helped Bensouda to administer, I went home to start the long holiday. My sister Yunia, despite the fact that she is not on talking terms with Fiolina, the laugh of my life, decided to drop her son Bedford and daughter Electina to stay with us. My wife’s brother, Tocla, also deposited his three children with us. I use the terms drop and deposit deliberately; for that is exactly what they did, they brought the children to stay with us even without a change of clothing.

KEEPING BUSY

“Hao niwadosi watawanunulia nguo,” I heard from my sister Caro that that was what Yunia had told anyone who asked.

“Dre ako na mshahara na hajawai nunulia mtoto wangu hata sweet,” she had said.  

In a matter of days, we had moved from a small family to a big clan. Since those were still the early days of the month and the pocket was still not as dry, I took the kids to Mwisho wa Lami Market on market day, and bought each child a few cheap clothes. I also bought some clothes for Branton, Catherine’s son that the whole world conspired to say I am the father, yet we do not resemble at all.

I don’t know how this information reached his mum but two days later, she sent me an SMS thanking me for having bought clothes for Brandon “for the first time. The boy is very happy to see you play your expected role as a father” When I reminded her that I had once “measured” uniform for the boy, she said that had been an order from the school and could not be counted.

My parents were not happy to see so many people in my house. But they never told me directly.

“Wanafilisisha mtoto wangu,” my mum had told her chama friends. “Atajua kulisha watoto wake ama watoto wa wengine,” she had added. On his part, my father looked very happy, and every time he would pass by my house to play with the kids, and would often send them on small errands, like reducing the volume of the radio just one metre away from him.

But my father sober and my father drunk were two different people. Once he got drunk, he would start shouting how I was wasting my money on other people’s children yet I had never bought him anything.

“Hiyo usiku hata afadhali ningeenda kufanya kazi ya watchman,” he would add, without elaborating.

After breakfast, I would do some cutting of grass around and making the fence, together with Bedford, Branton and Tocla’s son. But since my side of the home was very small, we completed this in two days. After that we went to the building on construction to arrange the bricks. It was not a very important job as there were no immediate plans to make use of the bricks but we had to keep ourselves busy.

Plus I wanted to inspire the boys to work hard in school and also build a house like mine when they grow up. I, however, suspected that none of them would ever be as successful, and that, when complete, my house would remain the largest, most spacious, best designed in Mwisho wa Lami and its environs for years.

We were done with arranging the bricks within two days. And week one of vacation was not even done. For the next few days, after doing one odd, but useless work at home, we would, together with other like-minded teachers, congregate at Hitler’s.

Although Hitler usually opens his doors from 3 pm, during school holidays he always opens up early, from 10 am to serve the idle but thirsty throats from the Ministry of Education. The first week was good as there was still some money in the pocket. But by last week, there was nothing.

“Huyu Trumpet amepoteza pesa kwa economy tangu achukue kiti,” said Saphire the other day, as he asked for a drink on credit.

“We told people to vote for Clinton hawakuskia,” I said. “Trumpet will spoil the economy.”

“But Obama is still president,” said Kizito,” Until next year.”

BAD EXAMPLE

“Kwani unafikiria sisi ni wajinga?” asked Rasto. “We all saw Trumpet elected president.

Hitler gave us drinks on credit for the first weeks, but by last week, he had become wiser, and insisted that we give him something to hold onto as collateral. Saphire, who had bought a cheap phone last end month, gave it, while Kwame handed over his bicycle. I did not give anything, not because I did not want but given the full clan in my house, it was impossible to get out with anything valuable.

I tried staying at home the next two days but there was lots of drama and trouble. As usual, Fiolina had got a helping hand, and once again, there was no difference between the kids around and myself: we were all being ordered left, right and centre. The only difference was that while they were just ordered, for me, toxic words accompanied the ordering.

“Wanaume wenzako awanafanya biashara huko nje na wewe umekaa tu hapa ndeee,” she would say as she sent me for something. The other day Branton beat up some girl in the village as  they played. Instead of anyone listening to the story, everyone was against me, saying how I was bringing up the boy badly, and how the boy had just taken up his father’s bad habits.

That day, I had to fork out Sh150 for the girl Branton had beaten to go to hospital.

“Ungekuwa mwanaume wa maana ungekuwa unakaa na hawa vijana ukiwafunza maisha hatungekuwa na vita,” said Fiolina later that day when I returned home.

“Pesa tungekula nyama ndio umepeleka wengine hospital,” she added. “Mimi hapa nikiwa mgonjwa haujali, watoto wa wengine na kukunywa ndio unajua.” Fiolina was telling me all this before the entire clan knowing very well that I could not respond.

Since I have no money, I can see this being my life for the next two months. Can schools open already!

***

Because my house has taken too long to complete, I will, on Friday, November 25, 2016 be holding a Mwisho wa Lami Summit on my House Completion. I have invited Ali and Nyayo, the Fundis; Maina, the hardware owner, Rasto and Alphayo as distinguished Mwisho wa Lami Elders among other key stakeholders to join and help me chart the way forward to speedily complete my house. You too are invited to join in this very important deliberations that will change my life. If successful, next will be a Mwisho wa Lami Summit on my degree!