A few weeks ago, Catherina, Branton's mother, sent Branton to me with demands that I pay ridiculous amounts of fees to Marell Academy, where she had decided to enrol him. For those new in Damascus, Branton is Catherina’s son. He is not my son, but I accepted him to stay with me as part of my CRSR commitment to the world.
I have never denied having a situationship with Catherina when she was my colleague in school. However, the truth is that Branton was born several months after our last extracurricular activity, ruling out any possibility of me being the father.
Over the years, Branton has stayed either with me or his mother, except for the short time he was with my sister Yunia, who banned him from her house after some money disappeared. I had warned her to keep her money away while Branton was around. She didn’t listen, and I refused to be involved in that case.
After staying with me for over a year, Catherina took him to her place in Kakamega early this year, promising to give him a proper life and take him to school. "You are a Head of Institution and cannot shame us by taking your son to a bad school or a polytechnic," she had said. She went on to say many things, some palatable, some unpalatable. My response was short and stern: "Branton is not my son."
That invited a lengthy argument, during which she asked me not to dispute what the whole world already knew. I kept quiet to avoid further back and forth.
To cut a long story short, sometime last month, she sent Branton to me with a school fee request for Marell Academy, a high-cost school in Bungoma. Term Two school fees alone was about Sh55,000—and this was before shopping, uniforms, and other requirements. I told her off, explaining that if she chose Marell Academy, she should find ways to pay the fees. I could only afford to pay for a school that matched his academic abilities—or lack thereof.
She tried calling me several times, but I didn’t respond. When it became too much, I blocked her on calls and social media, including WhatsApp. A week ago, I received a call from an unfamiliar number. I answered in a low voice, as is my custom with unknown calls.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you well. I’m in a loud matatu and the network is poor. I’ll call you back,” I said when I realised the caller was Catherina. I switched off my phone and later blocked the number.
I continued with life as usual. We opened schools, and given the drama caused by Apostle Elkana, my hands have been full as I tried to regain control of things. Catherina didn’t call again, and I assumed the matter was over. But clearly, it wasn’t.
“That’s the County Director of Education,” whispered Saphire, who had just returned to school after a long time. Having had many run-ins with TSC and other officials, he seemed to know everyone in the Education sector. Even before I could ask what might bring the CDE, Saphire disappeared.
I decided to check my files in the staff room to ensure everything was in order. As I neared the car, indeed—it was the CDE. I can’t remember her name, but she got out and, to my surprise, didn’t greet me. Instead, she opened the rear door of the car. And guess who came out? Branton, wearing school uniform. Behind him was his mother. For a moment, my mind went blank. I didn’t know what to say or do. The two helped Branton get out a blue tin box which he carried as we walked to the offices. It was a long walk of shame from the car to the staffroom.
“Do you know this boy?” the CDE asked me as we settled in my office. Or rather, as they settled—because I couldn’t.
I told her I knew the boy, but that he was not my son. “I didn’t ask if he is your son,” she said. “I asked if you know him.”
I admitted to knowing him. She then asked if I knew the lady who was with him. I said yes but clarified that she was not my wife.
“I didn’t ask if she is your wife,” the CDE replied coldly.
“Why haven’t you been picking my calls?” Catherina demanded. “You knew our child was supposed to go to school this term!”
“My phone had a problem…” I began to say; and added it doesn’t ring when I was asked what problem it was.
“You are a teacher. A head of an institution. You should be setting a good example both at home and at school,” the CDE scolded. “If parents don’t bring their children here, who will you teach?”
After a moment of silence, she asked, “Can I leave the two of you to sort this matter, or do you want me to be involved?”
I told her we could sort it out ourselves. Together with Branton, she left us in the office, saying they were going for a walk around the school.
“Hi ni aibu gani unaniletea, wewe mwanamke ?” I confronted Catherina even before the CDE had gone far.
“Let’s talk about when you’re going to pay Branton’s fees, if you want to be respected,” she snapped.
“I can’t pay. I won’t pay!” I told her. “Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t pay—after how you shamed me.”
“I was forced to do this after you refused to pick my calls. What did you expect me to do? What kind of man refuses to pay school fees for his own son?”
“Branton is your son, Dre!” she shot back.
“I thought you said you could handle this between the two of you,” she said. “Now I will get involved.”
It wasn’t a long discussion. In the end, I committed to pay Sh40,000 for Branton’s fees. The CDE agreed to go to Marell Academy and negotiate with the school to admit him, with the understanding that the full fees would be paid by the end of the month.
By then, all the teachers were in the staffroom—and neither Catherina nor the CDE kept their voices down. They spoke loudly, to ensure everyone heard what we were discussing. I walked them back to the car. It was a long walk of shame, with both teachers and students watching.
“Today’s visit was personal. But expect me here again soon,” the CDE told the teachers before leaving.
I left school as soon as they were gone, weighed down with shame. The first stop was Hitler's, just to regain my sanity. I now have to figure out how to raise the Sh40,000 I promised. Being the only one at Hitler’s. It was quiet and peaceful. The plan is to sell a few of my cows.
But one thing’s for sure: Catherina doesn’t know who she’s playing with. She will soon learn who Dre really is.
