The good thing with Apostle Elkana is that his prayers always tell you what has brought him.
When I decided to forget all the issues at home and focus on school and making second-term work, I did not anticipate that someone would shift my focus from academic matters and make me the laughing stock of Mwisho wa Lami.
You, of course, know what happened the other week. I had just settled back in school when Fiolina’s father decided to bring shame at my doorstep.
He came to ask for dowry publicly in the staffroom, before junior teachers, workers and students. Now thanks to him, even a junior teacher like Lena, her bad hair in tow, knows that I am not a man to be trusted, as do the likes of Stella, and even Erick.
Class Seven and Eight students, whose classrooms are just next to the staffroom, also know very well that their HM doesn’t keep his promises. Even the school watchman has been telling everyone that he now understands that he made a wrong decision joining our school — or so he got an explanation as to why his salary delays. That I am the reason.
And if that was not enough, the Mwisho wa Lami Minister for misinformation, miscommunication and broadcasting lies got hold of the information on the same day. As you know, once Caro knows something, it pains her until she releases it to anyone next to her, even if it is a tree.
I did not need a calculator to know this because that evening, as I walked home, everyone was pointing at me and speaking in low tones. I did not have the strength to go to Hitler’s that early, fearing that people would laugh at me, so I went straight home. There I was expecting that Fiolina would, on behalf of her family, apologise for what her father had done and promise to speak to him.
I was wrong.
“Now what shame have you brought us?” she asked when I arrived. “Mahari ni kitu ya kudaiwa hivyo na mtu uafanya kazi?” she asked.
I told her I have no issue with dowry.
“Have I not been paying as agreed?” I asked her. “What I am against is trying to renegotiate something we already agreed on a long time ago!”
“What do you mean? Are you saying I am the same person as when I came here many years ago? That I haven’t changed?”
I needed to be careful with my answers, lest I indicate that she was not worth an addition. I accepted that she had appreciated without saying that I am the one who had appreciated her. So I avoided that question, only adding that dowry discussions are not done by women and old men.
“And it cannot be handled by someone like you and me. Let our parents handle it.”
Someone knocked on the door. It was Apostle Elkana, the Principal Spiritual Superintendent of The Holiest of All Ghosts (THOAG) Tabernacle Assembly. He said a long prayer.
The good thing with Apostle Elkana is that his prayers always tell you what has brought him. In his prayer, he said he had come to soften my heart so that I can accept paying Fiolina’s dowry. No one was talking about the fact that what was being debated was my refusal to add dowry on top of the high dowry I was already paying. I had not refused.
“Lord, I know teachers are not well paid, but I am asking You to soften Dre’s heart, so that whatever little he gets, he can send something to Fiolina’s family, even if just to appreciate the great wife he has.”
I was upset by then and even more upset by the first question he asked.
“Dre, you have such a good and beautiful wife. Surely you do not want to pay any dowry for her? Has she wronged you?”
“You don’t understand what you are talking about,” I said dismissively, trying to change topic.
“I know, Dre. Please ask my wife’s family. I paid even more than they asked me.”
It was now dark and Fiolina started preparing the table for dinner. Elkana was not going to change his topic, so I left. I left for Hitler’s, certain that I was late and patrons had already left.
“Mkono birika amefika,” said Rasto as I arrived. “Wacha ujinga Dre, surely mahari ni kitu cha kukataa kulipa?” he asked me, adding that I was spoiling the name of men.
My authority officially collapsed
“Now everywhere we go, we are told that we don’t pay dowry. Tutoe aibu tafadhali Dre, lipa mahari.”
“Sijakataa kulipa,” I said.
“Si ulipe basi,” said Nyayo, adding that he was willing to pay for my drinks that day so that I can use the money to go pay dowry.
Hitler, on his side, said he would not give me any drinks on credit and asked that I pay what I owed him.
“A man who cannot pay dowry can never pay back his debts.” He went on, “Ungekuwa haufanyi kazi ingeeleweka. Lakini mtu unafanya kazi, surely Dre?”
I needed no calculator to know that I was finished, so I went back home without taking even a sip. I did not go to school for the next few days, nor did I go back to Hitler’s.
I avoided leaving the house for that matter. I returned to school last week, called for a meeting the next day on the staffroom WhatsApp group.
“Mtu ambaye hajalipa mahari anaitishaa mkutano? Surely, sitaenda,” Nzomo responded to the group message before deleting it.
“Sorry people for the message, it was my son who had the phone,” she typed.
Sella also texted back to say that she would be away for training. Erick also claimed to be unwell.
Literally everyone had an excuse as to why they could not attend the meeting. But if you listened more carefully, the reasons were not plausible. It was as if they were being informed that I lacked the mandate to lead them.
By the time the meeting hour reached, the only people in the staffroom were me, the deputy headteacher, and one lost Grade 6 boy who thought it was the guidance and counselling office.
I decided to proceed anyway.
“First agenda,” I announced bravely, “lateness among teachers.”
Before I could continue, the deputy coughed loudly and asked, “Before we discuss lateness, Dre, kuna mahari imechelewa pia ama?”
I knew then that my authority had officially collapsed. Just then, the school watchman entered carrying a brown envelope.
“Barua yako Dre,” he announced loudly as though delivering election results.
Inside was a letter from Fiolina’s father. After greeting me with unnecessary Bible verses, he wrote:
“Following deep consultations with your father, we have agreed to host you within two weeks.”
I wrote back accepting to visit them.
Word spread across the school faster than exam leakage. Within two day, everyone knew that I had accepted to go pay dowry. For the first time in weeks, I walked proudly.
What they did not know was that the old Kiswahili proverb was the one controlling me: mwito haukataliwi. I have accepted to visit Fiolina’s family, I haven’t accepted to pay anything (extra!). If you are a tough dowry negotiator, please reach out to me. Fiolina’s family must know they don’t know!
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