If you recall, then you will remember that when, last November, Apostle Elkana, the revered Spiritual Superintendent of The Holists of All Ghosts (THOAG) Tabernacle Assembly, returned from wherever he had been, he visited me and asked me to join him so that we could, together, celebrate our homecoming.
I refused, telling him that if he had fun in heaven, my case was different — I had suffered in hell and saw no reason to celebrate.
He may have disagreed with me, but the good apostle never disturbed me. He focused on his work as I focused on mine.
You will remember that last week, I vowed to stay a little quieter and to start working in complete silence, as I build the infrastructure of the school. As you already know, many people approached me with prospective names for Board of Management (BOM) teachers, while others had good recommendations for contractors to build the classrooms.
As you know, I ignored all these people and told them that if they thought they were qualified for whatever they were asking me, they should follow the process of applying, and we would objectively assess their suitability.
Usually, Apostle Elkana would be among the first to try to influence me, but to his credit, this time, he did not. As the term began, I expected him to come, and even more so when it became clear that our school would soon be swimming in some good cash. Apostle Elkana remained quiet. Well, until last week.
You see, as part of my working in silence, I had made several adjustments in life. While in school, I spent most of my time in the office. I also started avoiding Hitler’s before dark. That meant that very few people saw me.
I also avoided small talk and wore a serious face, meaning that even colleagues at school could not just walk into my office. Well, Apostle Elkana did just that when he visited me last Thursday.
“I always knew you were meant for greater things, and I kept praying that you be promoted,” he said. “With you at the helm, Mwisho wa Lami School is so lucky and will reach greater heights.”
“This is something I prayed so hard for, and God promised me long ago that the funds would be available,” he explained. “God may have taken long to fulfill the promise, but He is always a trustworthy God.”
I did not argue with him, so I agreed that it was God and him — even though I was the one writing and taking proposals everywhere. Alone.
Anyway, Apostle Elkana had an interesting proposal.
“As the sponsor of the school, I am just wondering how we can take advantage of this construction to inspire worship,” he said.
“The school needs two extra classes, but you have gotten four, right?” he asked.
“We need eight more classrooms, so four is still little.”
He had the school’s population data and insisted we would just need one stream for now. I told him about the many other rooms we needed, but he would hear none of it — just saying we should be thankful to God for the four classrooms when we needed only two.
“God is speaking to you, to this school, to this community,” he added.
“Instead of four classrooms, why don’t you do three and make the fourth one a chapel?” he said.
I told him he was joking, reminding him that what I had applied to the government and CDF for were classrooms — not a church.
“This is a school, remember.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he responded, “I have asked for a chapel, not a church.”
He went on: “You go ahead and bid for four classrooms, but when you make one bigger with a podium, we can use it as a chapel on Sundays.”
I told him ours was a day school, and we could not justify having a chapel since we didn’t need one on Sundays.
“Please listen, it will not just be a chapel, it will also be your multipurpose hall for events. And the school could use it for church activities.”
Not wanting to dampen his spirit, I said, “I hear you, but all the drawings were submitted and approved. All will be classrooms, and they are equal.”
“Kwani Dre, have you never built?” he asked. “The plans we submit are just that — plans. You can change things on the ground as you construct.”
I told him I was not the final decision-maker on that. We would have to consult the board. Out of curiosity, I asked him what he wanted a chapel for.
“As the school sponsor, my church would like a place where students can worship so that we thank God for what He has done for us and ask for more.”
I reminded him that the Anglican Church was the school's sponsor. They donated the land, and the church was not far from here.
“THOAG is not the sponsor,” I added.
“I know about ACK, but sponsorship is not just a title — it is action! When was the last time the padre visited?” he asked.
Indeed, I couldn’t remember.
“I am the one who is always here in good and bad times. The government may recognise them as sponsors, but on the ground, we know my church is the real sponsor of the school!”
I told him I knew and appreciated that he visited the school frequently — to pray, celebrate, or cry with us — but he was not the school sponsor.
If he was dejected at this, he did not show it. He thanked me and proceeded to make a long prayer. He then asked when the classrooms would be built, as he wanted to pray for the site.
I was hoping Apostle Elkana would leave immediately after the prayers, but he hovered around. I needed no calculator to know what he wanted — something small for his ‘spiritual efforts.’ I handed him a crisp 100-shilling note.
He reluctantly accepted, adding that he would be coming for more before the actual construction started.
“Also Dre, when constructing, can you please squeeze in 50 iron sheets for our church? The roof is leaking,” he said.
As he walked away dejected, I was sure of one thing — that it was the last time he would refer to himself as the school sponsor.
He can visit the school as a neighbour, guardian, parent, or grandparent, but he can never claim that his church is the sponsor of this school again!
