For the first time in many years, I began to believe that my retirement was no longer a distant dream. As you know, my wish has always been to leave someone from the great village of Mwisho wa Lami to take over the reins of the school. In the entire school, only Saphire, Mrs Atika and I are natives of this great village.
The rest are outsiders. Mrs Atika is just about to retire, while Saphire, for obvious reasons, could not be trusted with anything until the start of the term.
Saphire had reformed. Not the usual Saphire reform where someone reports to school on Monday, stays until Wednesday and then disappears into the mist of Western Kenya. This time, the man had reported on time, stayed the whole week, supervised pupils, prepared duty rosters, dealt with late-comers and was even counselling boys who had been fighting over a stolen biro . And he had extended this reform into Week 2.
I had therefore concluded that the miracle was real. In fact, by Friday of Week 2, I had become so confident that I appointed him Head of Discipline, Attendance, Punctuality and General Morality. Looking back, I still think I made the right decision, even though I may have created a new monster.
On Monday morning of Week 3, I arrived at school at exactly 6:45am. I found Saphire standing at the gate with a notebook under his arm.
“Morning, Boss. Three teachers have reported.”
“Who?” He gave me the names. Then he added, “Another three are late.” I checked my watch. It was 6:47am. I stared at him.
“Saphire, what time is reporting?”
I told him to relax. By 7:15 am, the staff WhatsApp group had received its first message from the newly empowered Saphire.
“Good morning, colleagues. I wish to remind everyone that reporting time is 7am. Going forward, all members of staff are expected to be punctual. Let us lead by example.”
It was a very good message. Professional. Responsible. Motivational. Then came the second message: “Late coming will be recorded.” Then the third: “Repeated lateness will be addressed.” Then the fourth: “Please take note.”
Nobody responded. The silence was deafening. You could almost hear teachers putting their phones on silent.
At 7:31am, Lena, her extremely bad hair in tow, walked into the staffroom. She looked at Saphire. Saphire looked at his watch. Lena looked at me. I suddenly became very interested in some papers on my desk.
“Morning,” she said. Saphire replied, “Morning. What time did you report?”
“Mr HOI, is this man serious?”
I told her, “He is very serious.”
At 9am, things became worse. Saphire came to my office carrying a file.
“Boss, I have prepared a weekly punctuality report.”
“Exactly. We need to start early.” He opened it. There were columns: names, reporting times, reasons for lateness, frequency, remarks and action required.
“Saphire, why are you creating all these?”
This is how dictatorships begin. By Tuesday, Saphire had expanded his responsibilities. The noticeboard now carried a document titled SCHOOL STAFF PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT – WEEKLY MONITORING FRAMEWORK. Underneath were six items: punctuality, attendance, lesson preparation, classroom presence, professional conduct and general morality.
“Saphire, what exactly do you mean by general morality?”
Part of me liked what he was doing. It was allowing me to rest, and I could even take days off without worrying. But there was something I did not like about his approach.
I therefore asked that we meet at Hitler’s that evening. I wanted us to have a man-to-man discussion. The school environment was not allowing us to have such a conversation.
I was the first to arrive at Hitler's, and I asked to be given two chairs at a secluded place. I sat under the banana plantations.
Saphire arrived later than I had expected. Everyone was happy to see him, for he had not been at Hitler’s for at least three weeks.
“Where have you been?” they all asked. He told them that he had been busy with schoolwork. He came over to where I was sitting. He was carrying a laptop bag. I asked him what was inside.
“These are Social Studies revision papers I am going to mark,” he said.
He said he was sure. He was a changed man. I had ordered enough stuff for both of us. There was a glass for him. When I tried to pour Hitler’s stuff into his glass, he stopped me.
“I no longer imbibe poison,” he said.
“Can you bring me water, please?”
Even Hitler was shocked. No one had ever asked for water at his place. By then, I had done one glass, so I can say for sure that I was fully sober.
Instead of me talking to Saphire, he was the one who talked to me. He told me that for the school to change, I too needed to change.
“As HOI, you can’t be sitting here drinking this poison. What morality are you showing?”
He would leave me at Hitler's, and I would take everything, including whatever I had bought for him. Naturally, I arrived home later. And I was not myself.
The next day, I woke up late. I wasn’t sure whether I should go to school, as my body felt like a tractor had been driven over it.
What happened next made me regret ever trusting Saphire and giving him extra responsibilities. It is indeed true what the wise men said: Kikulachao ki nguoni mwako.
