Before I met Bensouda and heeded her advice to relax and do nothing, at least for now, I was probably going to make many mistakes. Had I immediately visited the Teachers Service Commission Headquarters in Nairobi, I would not have known who to speak to or what to say.
“What you need to do is simply wait for Kuya to make a mistake. But as you do so, please have someone in TSC who will speak on your behalf when Kuya messes up,” she told me last week and asked me why I thought she survived for so long as HM despite complaints from left, right, and centre.
Last week, she asked me to meet her at Teachers Tavern in Kakamega. A day before, I visited the school just to see what was happening. The advice that Bensouda had given me was to ensure that I go to school at least once a week – to deny anyone an opportunity to say I had deserted duty.
While in school, I encountered the highest order of disrespect from very junior people. The first was at the gate. The school watchman, a man I hired a few years ago and who should know better, started the disrespect. He just did not open the gate for me. I had to park my motorcycle, move each heavy pole to open the gate and enter inside.
“Why are you leaving the gate open?” he asked angrily when I made as if to move without closing the gate. “Did you find the gate open?” he asked me like he was speaking to his child. “Return it how you found it.”
“What do you mean? What is your work, is it not to open the gate?” I wondered.
“Yes, it is, but not for everyone. I do it for teachers, students, parents, and government officials,” he said. “You are none of that.”
Noticing that the small altercation was attracting the teacher's and students' attention and that things could escalate, I pinched myself and decided to humble myself. I closed the gate and rode my motorcycle to the usual spot I usually park – but arrived to find Kuya’s bicycle there already.
This too was meant to upset me. When I got to the staffroom, there was an ongoing staff meeting. There was no additional chair for me to sit on. As the HM and senior-most teacher, I expected one of the teachers to stand up and give me theirs. Or show me where to get one. There was none in the Head Master and Deputy’s office. This was surprising as there were no extra chairs yet Shapire and Madam Anita were absent. It was clear that someone had hidden chairs to embarrass me.
“Time adherence is going to be a key element this term,” I heard Kuya say as I moved from room to room looking for an extra chair. No teacher seemed to acknowledge my presence. They went on with the meeting.
Failing to get a chair, I joined the meeting while standing next to Alex.
“Why are you drinking my blood, Dre,” wondered Alex. “Unataka kuchukua nyota yangu ? Go stand somewhere else, not near me,” he said, causing laughter all around.
Kuya also wondered why I was standing when everyone was seated. I told him I couldn’t get any chairs.
“That happens when you can’t keep time for meetings, you miss a lot – including even a chair,” he said, then added, “Simple issues like lack of chairs are the things I want to address. How can a school that had proper leadership lack enough chairs for a staff meeting?”
I then sat on a table, but Kuya said that it was unsafe to sit on a table. I wondered what to do. Lena, her bad hair in tow, tried to stand and give me her chair, but Kuya asked her not to. “Lena, you arrived on time, do not give up your chair unless you do not want to attend the meeting.”
Resigned, I decided to leave, but before I did, I looked for the register book but couldn’t find it. I just walked to my motorcycle and rode away. This time the watchman opened the gate for me, as he saw me ready to open the doors.
The next day, on Thursday, I met Bensuda at Teacher's Tavern in Kakamega. Another man joined us later on, just before lunch. He introduced himself as a senior TSC official. Bensouda had told him my story.
“So, what do you want us to do?” he asked. I told him I was a simple man, I just wanted to be reinstated as HM, Mwisho wa Lami Primary School.
“It will be difficult,” he said but added that it was not impossible. He told me that while I was away, Kuya had entrenched himself so much in TSC that it would be very hard to remove him. He is the darling of everyone. He, however, said that we needed to find Kuya’s weakness and capitalise on it.
“Alcohol, not really, he takes little as he can’t even afford it,” I told him. Kuya’s problem was women, but more specifically schoolchildren. “Hapa atashikwa as he always targets a new schoolgirl every term.”
“Basi sawa,” said my TSC man. “All we need to do is set a trap. If it is schoolchildren, it will be summary dismissal, and open up a chance for you to come back since no one likes Nzomo,” he said.
“And no one will accept her, she is from Nunguni, Ukambani, ” I said.
“That’s not an issue if she performs,” my TSC guy told me.
For lunch, the guy had eaten half a chicken, two plates of chips, two soda madiabas , and had just ordered two beers. As he enjoyed, I was suffering since I was the one to pay.
Bensouda and I had to leave, and so Bensouda called the TSC guy aside, and after they talked, she called me aside and asked me what I had. I wondered why. “These things are not free, Dre, if you want to remain HM for long, you have to keep these people busy.” She added that I needed to give the guy Sh5,000 for the work he was going to do. The other 5k would be paid after the work is done.
I wondered what he was going to do—match Kuya with a schoolgirl or what? Anyway, I negotiated and gave him Sh2,000. I left and went with Bensouda to her place.
Kuya, I know you very well. You can’t keep your zip closed. Your days are numbered!
