In March 2009, to celebrate my birthday, I gave myself the gift of writing. I started penning Staffroom Diary, which, for me, was a space to share with the world my joys and struggles, my many successes and very few failures; share my story of love and hate—to let others into my world.
If you had asked me back then, I wasn’t planning to do this for long. I was very sure that an alert TSC official would see the great work I do and transfer me from Mwisho wa Lami to a big office in Nairobi, complete with a big car and a driver. By now I would be the CS for Education – who knows?
Or perhaps someone from Nation Media Group would have deported me from Mwisho wa Lami, given me a big office in Nairobi, and made me a big boss with a big office. I would have a big title like: Senior Executive Lifestyle and Human Stories Sub-Editor! But thanks to the utepetevu of people at NMG people and the laziness of successive governments, I am still here in Mwisho wa Lami, eating chalk, visiting Hitlers as I mould the privileged sons and daughters of the lucky Mwisho wa Lami men and women.
Of course, I have grown. I have received some token promotions—always coming years late—moved into my own state of the art bungalow, met many women, but ultimately chose Fiolina as the lucky love of my life. I have children, including some who aren’t biologically mine but whom I have accepted, among many other achievements.
I have been a trendsetter—the best-dressed man this side of the Sahara, the most travelled man in Mwisho wa Lami and its environs, the only man to have had a proper wedding (forget the others, those were just trials). For a long time, I was the only teacher with a laptop. I was the first teacher to buy a motorcycle—now I have three. At one point, I was the only teacher known to own a car—a Nissan Sunny. May be it’s time to revive that car.
When the year began, I was very sure that by March 25, the day I was born and the anniversary of Staffroom Diary, I would not be in Mwisho wa Lami. A 40th birthday is not meant to be celebrated in Mwisho wa Lami! I had hoped to be in an exquisite and exotic place like Beirut, Aleppo, Mariupol, Kursk or Gaza —celebrating my birthday in bliss. But guess what? I found myself deep in the village.
Even in the village, I expected Fiolina, the lucky love of my envious life, to celebrate me. After all, I celebrate her every Valentine’s and birthday with generous gifts. You will remember how, even last month, I surprised her with rear Oreo biscuits and flowers on Valentine’s.
Last year, for her birthday, I took her on my motorcycle for a romantic dinner at the exotic Roddy's Inn on the way to Kisumu—a place only the mighty go. So, I looked forward to her celebrating me, telling the whole world what an amazing husband I am—a man admired by every woman in Mwisho wa Lami and beyond. I expected to receive sweet messages like:
"If I were to choose again, I would choose you twice. You are God’s special gift to me. Thank you for being the best daddy."
We both know she didn’t choose me—I chose her. But that is beside the point. The point is, nothing of the sort happened. She did not send me a message, did not buy me a gift, and did not hug me. We ate the usual dinner—ugali and kunde —and even slept early, facing opposite directions. If I were to write a composition, I would not struggle to get a title: A Birthday to Forget!
That night, someone wished me a Happy 40th on Facebook. I expected that Fiolina would see it and, if she had forgotten, do something. I am not sure if she saw it, but if she did, she went on as if nothing had happened.
It was only the next day when Lena, with her bad hair in two, arrived in school that someone remembered me.
"Happy Birthday, Dre!" she shouted as she moved to hug me. “Same to you!” I answered, smiling and hugging her, happy that someone had remembered my day—even if it wasn’t the person I expected.
Not to be left behind, Nzomo also came to hug me, shouting, "Happy Birthday, Teacher!”
“You are welcome,” I answered.
I went back to my office, and was interrupted when I heard a commotion outside. Someone wanted to see me. When I asked them to come to my office, I was told they needed me in the staffroom, where there was some crisis. I wondered if one teacher had slapped another.
There was loud Happy Birthday singing when I got to the staffroom. It was Apostle Elkana, the Principal Spiritual Superintendent of the Holiest of All Ghosts (THOAG) Tabernacle Assembly, his first wife Perpetua, and a few church members led by Anindo, Nyayo’s wife. Two teachers—Lena, her bad hair in two; and Nzomo—had joined them.
"Because of what you are to this school, our church, and the community at large, on behalf of the Holiest of All Ghosts Tabernacle Sanctuary, Mwisho wa Lami Chapter, please accept our Happy Birthday message," said the Apostle.
Other members spoke, saying they had missed me in church. Everyone was allowed to speak, and they all spoke positively of me—including Lena and Nzomo, who I knew would be talking negatively behind my back shortly after.
After the speeches, they had something to cut. It wasn’t a cake but a tray of scones bought from the bakery in Mwisho wa Lami market. After “the cake,” they gave me an amazing gift. A brand-new red Ridsect T-shirt. It was so nice and was going to replace my red Doom T-shirt, which is now faded. I almost shed a tear upon seeing it.
And that was not all. Apostle Elkana, spoke last. He said that although he was a man of God, he understood that I still partake in earthly waters. He gave me some money.
“Don’t go to Hitlers, but go treat yourself at Cosmos Bar and Restaurant with a drink of your choice, it is prayed for,” he said as he handed me Sh400.
As I walked to Cosmos that evening, I was over the moon. A man of God had made my day, and that evening, that was the holiest beer I have ever taken in my life! I usually avoid making major decisions when I have taken something, but that day, I did.
As you know, St. Monica’s ACK has been trying to reassert itself as the sponsor of the school, keen to grab the privilege from Apostle Elkana’s THOAG. They would have earned some Bonga Points had they remembered my birthday—even by sending me a message. But they did not, yet even Equity Bank and Safaricom sent me birthday wishes.
Right there and then, I decided to reinstate Apostle Elkana and his church—he calls it a sanctuary—the Holiest of All Ghosts Tabernacle Assembly, as the official sponsor of Mwisho wa Lami Comprehensive School.
Before sleeping, I put this in writing, stamped it, and had the letter delivered to Apostle Elkana the next morning. To all those who have been angling to be our sponsor, I have bad news for you—there is no vacancy!
