My thriving holiday tuition business

When the government banned holiday tuition a few years ago, many people in Mwisho wa Lami and its environs openly embraced it.

Students were happy because they would now get some rest; parents were happy since they wouldn’t be asked for pay more.

The only people who did not like the ban were the HMs – at least our HM at the time, Mr Juma. Although Juma never taught during holidays, he would come to school every morning to collect money.

This money, however, never reached us. He would then claim that the parents never paid. “Mwisho wa Lami parents walirogwa, they never pay fees.”

But the happiness of no holiday tuition was short-lived. Our performance went down for two consecutive years. If you remember, last year, we had a mean score of 203.02. As such, some parents have been on our case to re-introduce tuition, but not many teachers supported the idea.

MOTION DEFEATED

Before the meeting, the HM had asked me to support this. I did not feel like but how could I go against Bensouda? There was quite a lot I would be denied if I opposed her. The matter soon came up in a staff meeting.

“I think we should give it a try in April for one week and if it works, in August we will do for three weeks,” said Skastina, popularly known as Bensouda.

“That will only happen under my dead body,” said Lutta. “I don’t want to be arrested.”

“I will be visiting my husband Lukulu this April so count me out,” said Mrs Atika.

“I think we need to give it a try. All of us will be happy if our school emerges top in KCPE,” I said.

Lutta laughed it off. “Dre, don’t pretend you are concerned how we perform in KCPE.”

“Do you think anyone  will remember you even if we perform well?” wondered Madam Anita.

The matter proceeded for voting and only Bensouda and I voted for it. The nays had it. A day before schools closed, Bensouda called me to her office.

“Dre, although your colleagues refused to teach during holidays,” she started, “most parents are still interested in tuition. What do we do?”

When I told her we could not do much, she said:  “Since many of these parents are willing to pay and we can’t assist them, why don’t you think about starting your own private tuition at  home?”

I told her that I didn’t think it was a good idea.

“Even then, I will be away in Nairobi during the school holidays.”

“Dre you will make money, I tell you,” she said.

That evening, I carried out a surveillance to see if parents could pay.

DRELINE ENTERPRISES

“You teachers should have holiday preps when schools close,” Nyayo told me as soon as I arrived at Hitler’s for evening classes. I told him that the government had banned tuition.

“We are not ready to sit with the children at home,” said Alphayo. “You teachers should deal with them.”

“Me, there is no way I will sit with this rude boy around,” said Rasto. “I am ready to pay anyone to be with that rascal over the holidays.”

That evening, I also consulted Juma and Kwame, both who advised me to be careful not to have any defaulters, although none of them could visualise Nyayo or Rasto paying.

As soon as schools closed, I started arrangements to open my tuition centre. I called it Dreline Enterprises.

I wrote a few posters which I placed at strategic places in Mwisho wa Lami and also took it upon myself to inform any parents that I met about my plans.

My charges were very modest: Sh200 per student per week. Since I was targeting at least 40 students, I already budgeted for the anticipated Sh24,000. I would buy Fiolina, the love of my life, a sewing machine.

With Rumona having left our home, I had Ford’s house to use. I put a large blackboard outside advertising my services: Dreline Academic Campus: Dealers in holiday tuition, exam setting, marking; and mock revision. I set up class six and seven in the two bedrooms and class eight in the sitting room. Any other student joining was to be placed in one of the rooms.

Come last Monday, only six pupils came accompanied by their parents who begged me to admit them as they promised to pay before end of the holidays. I admitted the pupils and started the tuition in earnest. Those who had come were from various classes and I put them all in one room.

On hearing that I was allowing even pupils who did not have  money, more students came on Tuesday. In total, I think we had about 30 pupils.

SUFFICIENT RESOURCES

I called Tito to help me manage the three classes. While I handled class 8, he took up class 7. We also ensured that we engaged pupils in class 6 and below with stories. Their parents did not care whether teaching was going on or not – all they cared about was that the students were away from home.

Come Wednesday and the numbers had hit 50. The rooms were a little crammed but no one was complaining. I started smelling a Sh30,000 fortune. Yet so far, I had collected only Sh420 in cash.

The only person who raised any objection was my father. At one point, he wondered if I had talked to Ford. Then he complained of noise and threatened to kick us out. But after I gave him Sh50 and allowed him to redeem another Sh50 at Hitler’s, he was quite happy and left us in peace.

My mother, too, benefited. Students who misbehaved were asked to split firewood, fetch water and clean the home.

News of my full house of students travelled far and wide and by Wednesday evening, Lutta and Mrs Atika called me, asking if I had some lessons that I could let them come in to assist. I told them that I had sufficient resources.

Lutta was so unhappy that he answered me via SMS: Dre stop ringing and give me a lesson. I am so idol I needs some money.”

I did not reply. I had already budgeted for this money and was even going to give Tito Sh1,000. I had invested too much to start sharing my windfall with everyone. Soon, once students pay, I am going to be one rich fellow. Wenye wivu wajinyonge!

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