At the beginning of third term, you will remember, Saphire, one of the longest serving (if you include the years he was on interdiction) teachers at Mwisho wa Lami Comprehensive School, had returned a fully reformed man.
After years of disappointing us with his behaviour, the man had announced that he was a changed person. He spoke with the seriousness of a man who had just seen the light, heard the voice of God and received a personal apology from his past.
“I am a new Saphire,” he declared one Monday morning, standing in the staffroom with his hands clasped behind his back. “The old Saphire is now history.”
And he wasn't just talking; he was walking the talk. He arrived at school early, supervised students, taught his lessons diligently and introduced new rules and ways of working. At first, everyone thought it was a lie.
But by the third week, Saphire had maintained his discipline. We began to believe that the reformation was permanent. Students and teachers were arriving early, the school programme was running smoothly, and I no longer had to report to school early every day to ensure things were done.
Even I, who had initially doubted him, now trusted him. He was the first to arrive at school every day and the last to leave. He had stopped disappearing on his usual outings and was always concerned about the welfare of the children, even on weekends. And I told off other teachers who questioned my trust in him. Interestingly, all this happened at a time when my QVSE business was booming.
I was signing up new members, and my money was growing. I believed Saphire was God-sent. Here was someone in whose hands I could comfortably leave the school. He had all the attributes we needed to take the school in the right direction: restoring discipline among students, teachers and parents, and improving our academic performance.
If you remember, I had always wanted to quit teaching before reaching my retirement age. The only thing keeping me in school was the fact that I could not find a responsible teacher from our village who could steer the school to the next level. Mrs Atika was old and ineffective, while Saphire, the only other teacher from the village whom I could have entrusted with such responsibilities, could not be trusted.
Now that I was making a lot of money and my TSC salary was beginning to look insignificant, out of nowhere emerged a teacher I could trust with school matters.
As such, I started delegating most of the school's responsibilities to Saphire. It was not easy to trust him at first, but within weeks, he had proved to me that he had changed for good and that he had the school's interests at heart. To the extent that I even gave him the staffroom keys. It was only appropriate that I entrusted him with the keys. As the first teacher to arrive every day, it was only natural that he should be the one to open the staffroom. And he did it very well.
In the meantime, I took time to plan my retirement. I was simply waiting for the QVSE servers to be opened, allowing us to access our money. My plan was simple: invest in shares, money market funds, Treasury bills and forex, and then enjoy a steady income for the rest of my life.
When I was not planning how I would spend my retirement, I was busy editing my resignation letter. I later decided not to resign. I would simply not go to work. There was nothing illegal about that. I made that decision after the twelfth edit. There was nothing I would lose. Whatever else the TSC and the government could offer me in retirement benefits was nothing compared to what I was already making. They could keep their money.
Then, whatever happened, happened.
You already know that malicious players, all the way from Russia, compromised the QVSE servers, hacked into our accounts with ransomware and fled with all our money. Every coin.
One day, I was looking at a balance that had been growing by more than 50,000 shillings a day. The next moment, it was zero. And not just zero; my balance was in the negatives because I had borrowed heavily. Were it not for Apostle Elkana's words of support, drawn from the Bible, I would have committed suicide. But he encouraged me and told me to keep the faith. On his advice, I took a few days off to calm down and think about my next move. I travelled to the only place where I could find peace. I went to Nairobi, Kangemi specifically, to visit Xtash, my former student from years ago, former girlfriend, and now woman friend. Many people find Kangemi noisy, chaotic and confusing. Not me. At least, not with Xtash there. In Xtash's presence, I see only serenity, peace and calmness. The kind that the Bible describes as peace that surpasses all understanding.
Xtash did not judge me. She asked no questions. She never inquired when I would be travelling back or what had brought me to her doorstep. She simply prepared meals and served me. She served me during the day and at night. She never let me rest. I was always eating something.
Having switched off my main phone lines, nobody could reach me. Very few people knew my second line. You will remember that even last week, I nearly shared with you what had transpired, having decided to put the whole affair behind me and keep it to myself. But then, last Wednesday afternoon, my other line started ringing incessantly. It was a number I did not recognise. When I picked up, the caller on the other end sounded formal.
“Am I speaking to Mwalimu Andrew, the head of the institution at Mwisho wa Lami Comprehensive School?” he asked.
When I confirmed that he had the right person, he wanted to know why the school had been closed.
I told him that the school had not been closed and that I had travelled to attend to an emergency but would be back.
“Call Saphire if you need anything,” I told him, before giving him Saphire's number.
“That Saphire fellow has not been seen for over a week,” he said.
I also tried calling the numbers, but the numbers was not in service. I called Lena to find out what was happening. “Thank God, you are still alive!” she exclaimed when she picked.
“Why are you not in school?” I asked angrily when she said she was at home. She told me that the staffroom had been closed for over a week, as were all the other offices.
She explained that nobody could reach me and that I had trusted Saphire while distrusting everyone else.
“We warned you at the beginning of the term that Saphire was a problem, but you refused to believe us. You trusted him and him alone. We let things run when Saphire went back to his old ways.”
I needed no further motivation. That night, I travelled back to Mwisho wa Lami and went straight to the school. When I arrived, I found the school in a sorry state. I had to break into the offices to gain access. I then went around the village, informing everyone that the school had not been closed, and asking students to report back.
On Friday, half the students returned, along with about half of the teachers. I am spending the weekend talking to all those who did not get the messages. And with no one else to trust, looks like I will continue being HOI for a long time!
