When the sub-county TSC Director gave me Kuya’s promotion letter, it was clearly written as Private and Confidential: which meant that it was not to be shared with anyone and that even Kuya himself was unaware of its existence, until he received it. Secondly, nowhere on the envelope was it marked Urgent. I was, therefore, under no obligation to issue it out immediately.
My plan was to give the letter to Kuya at an appropriate time. Appropriate time in this case meant a time when he showed professional maturity to receive the letter. As his HM, every day, I see what kind of person he is, and know him better than the clueless people in Nairobi who promoted him without consulting me.
So, it came to me as a shock when on Wednesday, Kuya came to my office, and without even greetings, demanded that I give him his letter.
“I do not understand why you are sitting on my letter,” he started.
“I am not a fool Dre, I know you have a letter for me from TSC. Everyone who made it in the deputy interviews to the stage I did has either received a promotion or regret letter,” he said.
“Dre, I know you were given my letter, just give it to me, whether it is a promotion or a regret, it is my business to deal with. You were just a mere messenger, your only job is to give it to me.”
Saying that I was a mere messenger really hurt me! How can one refer to me, a trusted TSC agent, a mere messenger?
Kuya did not move an inch. “What can you do?” he asked, arms akimbo.
I retreated and sat down, picked my phone and called Nzomo to my office. Kuya and Nzomo have this on and off relationship. They were currently off and not on talking terms, and as soon as Nzomo arrived, Kuya left.
We did not talk much with Nzomo, I merely asked her how she was doing, and how her vacation was. We had a staff meeting the next day, and I asked her to help Sella, the acting deputy HM, in planning for the meeting.
In the meeting, Kuya did not contribute anything, even when asked for an opinion. See, this was the person TSC was trusting to be a deputy HM. How can you be a deputy when you can’t make substantial contributions to an important meeting like that?
He, however, said that he had an AOB issue.
“It is important to respect communication with teachers that comes from TSC,” he said. “I do not understand why anyone would sit on a letter that is not theirs.”
“Any letter from TSC is marked private and confidential,” I said. “I do not understand why anyone would want to discuss confidential matters in the open.”
“I have not asked to discuss any letter here,” he said. “All I am asking is to be given my letter. I do not know which other teacher has their letter hidden in your office.”
I told him to relax and take things slowly. “A letter meant for you will surely get to you,” I said. “Why would anyone intercept your letter? For what benefit?” I wondered.
He started shouting: “That is exactly what I do not understand. Why would I sit on my letter? Is this the kind of HM you will be? Surely?”
“Keep quiet Kuya!” I said then stood up. “You have three options Kuya: Keep quiet and follow my instructions, transfer to another school if you are unhappy here, or fight me mundu khumundu.” I went on: “I will not sit here and entertain this nonsense from anyone in the staffroom.”
I went back to the office after the meeting. At around 5 pm, after everyone had left the school, Kuya came to see me.
“I am sorry for the disturbance I caused earlier,” he started. “Really sorry.”
“All I was asking you is to give me my letter that you picked from the TSC offices, I was told you have the letter, I am not sure what is causing the delay?”
“That said, I will give you the letter at an appropriate time,” I said. “Just relax and be of good behaviour.”
“So, you have the letter?” he asked. “The letter had no condition to it, it is my letter whether I am well behaved or not. Give it to me.”
“I said you have three options Kuya: Cool down, seek transfer, or fight me,” I retorted. “It is my time to go home.”
As I made to move, he blocked the door, held me and squeezed me around my neck with one hand. Kuya being muscular, his one hand on my neck felt like a huge pliers was holding me.
When I had an opportunity, I shouted loudly. “Help me! Help me! I am dying!”
Luckily, Nyayo, who was passing by, rushed to school to find out what was happening. Kuya claimed that nothing had happened and left immediately. With the support of Nyayo, I went to the police, and reported the attempted murder case, then to the health centre.
I will use the case to show TSC why they should not trust a violent man with such high office as deputy HM!
