Whoever said it doesn’t rain, it pours; must have had me in mind, particularly this 2024, the year to forget. When it started, 2024 looked like a great year, and I was looking forward to stopping eating chalk.
By stopping to eat chalk, I mean that I looked forward to being promoted to a role that did not require me to go to class at all. And indeed, I haven’t eaten chalk for quite some time – but not how I wanted it to be. Firstly, Apostle Elkana, took me for a spiritual sojourn in Nakuru sometime in May, a trip that ended up being a journey into the wilderness.
When I thought the nightmare was over, Kuya, with his friends at TSC, my enemies of development, hatched a plan to send me to educational Siberia, which is another way of saying they want me impeached from TSC.
Isitoshe, as all this was going on, Fiolina, the lucky love of my life, started behaving in a manner not different from a Kenyan MP. She started showing signs that said that I may have been important a few years ago, but she did not see me as important now. She woke up one day and left me. All because I had called her Fiona, and I had not been giving her money. Yet she knows that I have not been going to school for long – which has denied me some HM perks.
So when I started fighting Kuya to retain my position as HM, I was doing it alone. You see, when you are fighting something, it is always good to have someone back at home who will nurse your sorrows in the evening, encourage you, and tell you that you are a lion. I was not as lucky. Not only was I fighting with Kuya and Co during the day, but in the evening I had to cook for Branton and Sospeter and ensure that they shower, which is not an easy job.
But you know God, He doesn’t give you that which you cannot handle, and He always sends help your way. God sent help my way in the name of Bensouda, my former boss whom we did not see eye to eye with on anything at school but saw eye to eye on many things outside school.
When I reached out to her, she was very supportive and has been advising me on all the processes to follow to ensure that I am not impeached from TSC. Bensouda went beyond just technical support. She has also been supporting me emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually, among other allies. She encourages me, praises me, and talks to me. She gives me a shoulder to cry on and reminds me that I am not a cat, just a lion that has been rained on.
If you remember, the first time we met was at her place, where I left late. The second time we met, after the session at Teacher’s Tavern, we went to her place. Since then, we have been meeting almost every day.
Before long, word that I was being seen with Bensouda too frequently started spreading. Soon it reached Caro, Mwisho wa Lami’s Cabinet Secretary for Misinformation, Miscommunication, and Broadcasting Lies. As you know, Caro is back at home after her husband, the gym-loving Maskwembe, found my sister a good punching bag. In short, Caro has been facing marital challenges and as such, she is back at our home.
She came to see me last Wednesday. “Dre, what is this I hear between you and that woman?” she asked. I asked her to clarify which woman, and when she said Bensouda, I reminded her that Bensouda was not just another woman. “She is my former boss and a well-meaning, respectable, gracious lady,” I said. “Have some respect for her, please.”
“But you are a married man, bro. Don’t do that to your wife,” she said.
“Which wife?” I asked. “Are you seeing any woman here? I am a bachelor, a senior bachelor.”
“You are not, bro. You are married to Fiolina,” she said. “What happened between the two of you?”
“Nothing happened. Fiolina woke up one day and just left,” I said, and when she asked me if I would be going to negotiate her return, I told her that I had more important things to do.
“I will not pay Housing Levy, SHIF, fight Kuya, TSC, and then beg a woman to return.”
“So it’s true what is being said about you and that woman? Is it true that you have been spending nights together?” she asked.
“If you are talking about Bensouda, she is not just that woman. She is a special person to me. And her name, by the way, is Skastina. Miss Skastina. Not Bensouda.”
“What about the second question, you sleep at her place?” she asked.
I went on: “The time you are wasting trying to sort our small differences, why don’t you use it to fix your broken marriage? I now understand why Maskwembe married a second wife!”
“Shetani! Shindwe!” she said, then stormed out of my home. Everywhere she went, whoever she met, she told them that I was planning to marry Bensouda.
“Ndugu yangu ameoa nyanya mzee na kuna wasichana wengi duniani…” she would tell anyone she met. “Na huyu ako na pesa ya kulipa mahari kweli?” she would wonder.
She did not end there. She went to the next village, Fiolina’s village, and told anyone she met that I was marrying a second wife. She even called Fiolina to tell her never to come back.
“Huyo ni ndugu yangu lakini wacha na yeye, hana future,” I understand she told her.
If she thought that would take me further apart from Fiolina, it achieved the opposite. If anything, it made Fiolina realise that unless she acted fast, I was gone.
You see, Fiolina had been trying to reach out to me, but I had remained unmoved. Every other day, she would send me a “Hi” message but I would respond hours later with one-word responses: OK, good, well, or emojis. On hearing that Bensouda was supporting me, she got worried. The next day, she started calling me incessantly, but I picked up none of her calls.
“Dre, let me know when we can talk,” she wrote. I never responded. “I will be coming this weekend,” she wrote. I responded with an “OK” emoji.
Last Friday, I woke up planning to go to school but did not manage to. I left to go see Saphire. As you know, Saphire is on interdiction, I think the fifth interdiction, and we spent the time talking about how evil Kuya was. While with Saphire, Fiolina called me several times but I kept disconnecting and sending her “I will call you back” messages. When she texted and asked that I call her back urgently, I responded with a simple “OK.”
When I staggered back home that evening, I was shocked to find the lights on. You see, I had dispatched Branton and Sospeter to go stay with their grandfather, so there was no one in the house.
“Welcome home,” Fiolina said as she opened the door. I did not respond. There was dinner on the table: ugali, chicken, and kunde. Since I had vowed not to talk to her, I battled with eating or ignoring the food. The heart was willing to fight the urge, but the body was weak. Your guess is as good as mine on who, between the heart and the stomach, won the battle. We did not talk that night.
I woke up yesterday to find a sumptuous breakfast served: bread, eggs, fruits name them. Once again, the stomach won the battle, despite me not having talked to her.
Although we are yet to talk, or rather, I am yet to speak to her, I have happily received everything she has served me. And that gives me more energy to fight Kuya and his friends at the Teachers Service Commission. Watch this space Kuya.
