Saphire shocked the entire Mwisho wa Lami teaching fraternity by reporting to school on Day 1 of Third term school opening.
Unless you are new in Damascus, then you already know that Saphire shocked the entire Mwisho wa Lami teaching fraternity by reporting to school on Day 1 of Third term school opening, staying the whole week, and even running the place while I was on official duty in Nairobi – visiting Xtash in Kangemi. Things had run so smoothly; I was told they ran even better than they would have run had I been at the steering wheel.
I returned on Saturday evening full of cautious optimism. Part of me still expected to find him missing on Monday morning of Week 2, with a message that his SIM card had been “borrowed” by someone in a drinking den somewhere between Kakamega and Mumias. You see, with Saphire, one learns not to celebrate too early. His reforms have historically had the lifespan of a company promotion. They arrive with great excitement, everybody receives the message, and before you can enjoy them, they have expired.
So, although I was encouraged by what I had seen in Week 1, I deliberately kept my expectations low. Monday morning arrived, and I got to school at 6.45am, partly because I wanted to prepare for the week and partly because I wanted to catch Saphire if his reformation had already developed cracks.
I had even prepared myself mentally for the possibility of finding the school gate locked. But I was wrong. At exactly 7.02am, the gate creaked. It was Saphire. And not only was he early, but he was ready. He greeted me with the confidence of a man who had just been appointed Deputy President.
“Morning, Mr HOI. I have already unlocked the classrooms. The Standard 7 boys swept the compound yesterday evening. Today we start with assembly at 7.30am sharp.”
I stared at him. There are moments when you don't know whether to congratulate a person or call an ambulance.
“Saphire, are you okay?”
He laughed.
“I am very okay, Boss. I told you last week. This is a new beginning.”
I nodded slowly. Inside, however, I was thinking, ‘Let us first get to Wednesday’. By mid-morning, the usual suspects began trickling in. Lena, bad hair still firmly in tow, arrived at 9.15am. She entered the staffroom expecting the usual sleepy faces and immediately looked shocked to find Saphire already seated at the table, marking the attendance register. She stood there for a few seconds, looking at him as if she had just seen a ghost.
“Si wewe ndiye unakuwa late kila term?” she asked loudly.
Saphire did not even look up.
“That was the old Saphire. This one reports on time.”
The staffroom went quiet. Lena looked at me. I looked at her. Then she slowly walked away. I could see the question written all over her face: ‘What exactly happened to this man?’
By 10am, even the pupils had noticed. The student president came to my office and asked, “Is Saphire now the headteacher?”
I told him, “No.”
He looked relieved. Then he asked, “Then why is he behaving like one?” I had no answer.
Tuesday was even better.
At about 8.30am, Mrs Atika sent a message to the staff WhatsApp group explaining that she had experienced a small emergency in Nairobi and would report later. This was not unusual. In fact, Mrs Atika has a very special relationship with Nairobi emergencies. They seem to know her personally, and strangely, they tend to occur on school days. Before I could respond, Saphire had already typed.
“Madam, it can’t be an emergency a week later! Please travel tonight and be in school tomorrow first thing – without fail.”
I nearly dropped my phone. There was a long silence in the WhatsApp group. Nobody wanted to be the first person to respond. Finally, Lena sent a laughing emoji. Saphire responded with another message.
“This is not a laughing matter Lena.”
That was when I realised we had a new, good problem. Saphire was no longer merely reforming himself. He had started reforming everybody else. By Wednesday, the miracle was still holding. Saphire had prepared a simple duty roster and pinned it on the staffroom door. He had even added a section for compound cleaning, classroom inspection and assembly supervision. I found him standing there in the morning explaining the roster to Sella.
“Monday, you supervise Standard 6. Tuesday, you are on compound duty. Wednesday, assembly.”
Sella looked at the paper, then at him.
“Who made you administrator?”
Saphire smiled.
“Nobody. As teachers, we are all leaders and need to take responsibility and initiative of leading the school in the right direction.”
I quickly disappeared before the conversation could somehow make me responsible for his new responsibilities. Later that morning, Nzomo arrived with her usual explanation.
“The matatus from Nunguni were such a problem.”
It was the third time this year she was giving Ukambani matatu excuses. Saphire looked at her calmly.
“Next time, leave early. The children cannot wait for Ukambani matatus.”
Nzomo stared at him and said nothing.
“Please protect us from Saphire,” Nzomo told me later in my office.
I asked her what wrong he had committed. “Are you saying that it is right for you to report in week 2 and expect not to be asked anything?”
“But even Saphire has always come way past week3…”
“And is that right?” I interrupted her.
“It is not.” She said
“Don’t shoot the messenger, listen to the message and reform.”
At around 11am on Thursday, I noticed that Saphire was missing from the staffroom. His phone was off. I called several times. Nothing. Panic set in. You see, having known Saphire for long enough, a switched-off phone is not simply a switched-off phone. It is an announcement.
I checked everywhere. Nothing. I looked behind the kitchen. Nothing. I wondered whether I had been too optimistic. Perhaps the reformation had expired. Perhaps the old Saphire had quietly returned and was somewhere enjoying the afternoon while we searched for him. Then I found him behind the Grade 5 classroom.
He was sitting with three boys who had been caught fighting over a stolen biro. But he wasn't shouting. He wasn't threatening them. He wasn't even angry. He was talking to them calmly, like a loving parent.
When he saw me, he stood up, dusted his trousers and said, “Mr HOI, these ones need guidance, not the cane today. I am taking up the responsibility to guide them.”
I just stared at him. This was Saphire. The same Saphire who, not long ago, would have considered being absent from school an administrative strategy. I walked back to my office smiling like a man whose long-lost relative had returned sober. When someone has been behaving badly for many years and suddenly changes, you should celebrate, yes, but quietly. Because sometimes the person does not simply reform. Sometimes they become so enthusiastic about reforming that they start reforming everyone else.
To encourage him to keep it up, on Friday, during the staff meeting, I announced that I had appointed Saphire as the Head of Discipline, Attendance, Punctuality and General Morality. Nzomo asked whether such a position existed in TSC. I asked her if discipline, punctuality, attendance and morality were important things. She said yes.
“Then we need someone to lead us and keep us honest in those aspects,” I said, and dismissed the meeting.
I remain cautiously optimistic that this is brand new Saphire will not change. Because if he is truly reformed, I now feel that I can now retire, as there is now someone reasonable in whose hands I can leave the school.
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