This week has been amazing. As you will remember, Kuya, who had rendered me deputy with no portfolio, allowed power to get into his head, and before he knew what was happening, he was chased out of school like a dog.
Anyone who knows Kuya would have seen it coming. There is a reason I am the deputy and Kuya is not, and will never be. TSC is not made up of fools. Kuya has never taken time to understand the Teachers Code of Conduct, and he does not read the numerous regulations and guidelines from the Ministry of Education.
“I was born a leader - I do not have to read to lead this school,” he once told me when I encouraged him to read.
So when Bensouda started running the school through Kuya, totally ignoring me, they thought I would protest. But I am brighter than that.
And knowing Kuya and his temper, and his lack of emotional intelligence, I had no doubt that his closeness with Bensouda would not last long. And I would be back in Bensouda’s corner – for good.
As expected, it did not take long.
As you already know, Kuya found himself in trouble after beating Aggripa, Alfayo’s daughter. Angry parents stormed the school and chased him away.
Come last Monday, I reported to school very early. I was keen to correct the many things that Kuya had been doing wrong. One of them was to start the week on a high. As an experienced pedagogist, I know that the mood you set at the beginning of the week lasts throughout the week.
Kuya had always begun the week on a negative tone, leading to a lot of negative energy around: Teachers were angry, pupils were tired, and workers were edgy. Only Nzomo seemed okay, or rather, pretended to be okay. By now, you know that Kuya and Nzomo have a child together, but they do not stay together.
“I even don’t know what I saw in him,?” said Nzomo when we once asked her why they weren’t staying together. “Kuya only has big muscles; everywhere else is empty, from the head downwards. Empty.”
Anyway, that morning, rather than issue instructions to students, I cleaned the school with them. By the time we were going for morning parade, the school was sparkling clean.
I did not quarrel Mrs Atika, the teacher on duty, who arrived late. Instead, I asked her how I could support her to make the week a success. Had it been Kuya, he would have shouted at her.
“Today I just want to listen to you,” I started. “I would like to hear your ideas on how to make Mwisho was Lami great again!”
“Thank you Dre,” said Mrs Atika, adding that it was the first time her views had been sought. “Yet I am the most experience teacher here.” She had some great suggestions. So did Alex and Sella.
“That is true leadership Dre,” said Nzomo. She went on to say that although she was Kuya’s friend, when it came to school administration, they did not see eye to eye. “Anyway, we disagreed on many other things.”
She, too, gave her suggestions.
The common complaint from everyone was that the timetable was quite a pain. I promised to review it. Bensouda arrived just as we were almost ending the meeting.
“The school is very clean today, kudos to whoever is on duty this week.”
“It is Mrs Atika,” I said, “She was in school very early and ensured everything is sparkling.”
“Thank you Dre for providing a great environment that makes our work easy,” Mrs Atika said. “Without you we wouldn’t do much.” Alex and Sella also praised me.
Bensouda came to my office immediately after the meeting. I took her through my four-point plan to return the school to its former glory.
“Exactly what needs to be done,” she said. “Make me proud of being HM of this school.”
She wished to stay longer, but was called for an urgent meeting at the county education office, and so she left at 11am.
I went on with my duties until 5pm, by which time everyone else had left. Just before I left, I noticed that Bensouda had forgotten her scarf in my office. I called her to inform her about it.
“Wa! And I need it tomorrow for this cold! Let me send someone to come for it,” she said.
“Please bring it to me at home,” she called to ask me a few minutes later. “I can’t get my boda boda.”
“You know this house Dre, make yourself comfortable.”
I did not need a calculator to know that I was being invited to serve myself juice. By the time Bensouda came to the sitting room, I was on my third glass of juice and second packet of biscuits.
She was wearing a sleeveless blouse and tight fitting shorts that reached way above her ankles; and she was smelling nice. “Talk to me Dre.”
She kept moving between the kitchen and sitting room, talking to me as she cooked. After sometime she said: “Just come to the kitchen Dre.”
We talked from there as she continued cooking. And guess what? She was preparing my all-time favourite meal - Ugali Matumbo. We took super from her kitchen.
It was late, very late, when I left her place. I walked home slowly, singing in a low tone. Satisfied.
Ladies and gentlemen, friends and enemies, I am back in Bensouda’s fold!
