When Fiolina returned from where she had gone, my family and I were happy. I must say that we had the best mid-term break that was characterised by good food, good vibes, and good everything in between.
I did not know whether she had undergone wife retraining, but Fiolina overdid herself. I would wake up to find breakfast ready. If it was not boiled maize, it was sweet potatoes, arrow roots or cassava. Fruits too!
I would be allowed to bask after breakfast, as she and the girls cleaned. Out of guilt of doing nothing, I would take a slasher or panga, and together with Branton and Sospeter, pretend to be busy cutting grass, or mending fences, or cleaning the compound – anything that would make us look busy, as we waited for lunch. It would be criminal for us to take breakfast then lunch without doing any work.
The aroma of whatever was being prepared would waft through our nostrils around noon. If it was not beans, then it would be rice, or githeri, or ugali.
After lunch, I would doze off under a tree and as soon as Fiolina and the girls started preparing dinner, at around 4pm, I would leave for Hitler’s for evening classes. I usually stay at Hitlers for long, but remembering the food that awaited me at home, I would be back home by 8.00 pm to join my family for dinner. Doesn’t the good book say that a family that eats together stays together?
I loved how special Fiolina was treating me. Whenever others took tea, I was served fermented porridge, and rown ugali when everyone else had white. She served them cabbage and sukuma wiki, for me it was traditional vegetables: saka, mrenda, mitoo. After the food, she would personally warm my bath water and take it to the bathroom. And I haven’t even mentioned what and how I would be served after bathing.
Life was good during mid-term, I was not happy when it ended. I reluctantly went back to school. As usual, everyone reported on Monday, except Kuya, Saphire and Madam Ruth. Alex, who was the acting deputy, took control of everything and I was at the staffroom meeting as a mere attendee – Alex prepared everything: agenda, invitations and led the discussions. I wondered why I had been wasting time having other characters act as deputy when I had a better man at it than even me.
With Fiolina home, I did not stay in school long, but left Alex in charge and went home. Come Tuesday, I reported late, 10.00am, as the teachers were having tea. There was only black tea, with a rumour of sugar in it.
“No one is buying escort for tea today?” I asked as I filled my cup. Usually, teachers would have bought scones, mandazi, or kaa ngumu from the woman who sells them at the gate. But that day, everyone was ‘whistling’ the tea away…
“Dre do you live in Kenya? “Who in this economy can afford escort?” Sella asked. “But I guess you and Madam Ruth do not feel the ravages of these economy because you have two salaries in your homes.”
Madam Ruth was complaining that the sugar in the tea was very far while some of us were happy it had some.
Kuya arrives as we were taking tea. He surprised everyone as no one had heard his loud motorcycle arrive. He walked in sweating, trousers tucked into his socks. “Welcome Kuya, I hope you are well,” I said. He said he was ok, but he did not seem so.
“We did not see you yesterday, what happened?” I asked, as if it was normal for him to report on the first day.
“Yesterday was a long day,” he stated. I planned to come to school but when I went to fuel my motorcycles, I was shocked at the prices and decided to use a matatu.”
“The matatu had double the price due to the fuel increase and took long to fill, not even by 11am! I wondered what I would be coming to school to do that late, so I went back home.”
“No, that fare is not sustainable. I used the bicycle,” he said. “Unless you are a rich teacher or an HM, one cannot afford to fuel a motorcycle daily.”
I told him that I couldn’t afford to use a motorcycle and had walked to school that day. “You are lucky you live near the school. I am so tired after riding for 25 kilometres, and I haven’t even started teaching - not forgetting I have a return journey.”
Before he left, Alex asked for permission to be away for the next two days.
“They have advertised over 20,000 teacher positions,” he told me. “I want to go and see if I can fix my cousin who just graduated.”I asked him if he could also help my wife Fiolina get the teaching job as she was currently jobless. He asked me to give him her CV. I went home happy, and asked Fiolina for her CV. All hell broke loose when I told her about the job.
“Of all the jobs in the world, you have looked and seen that being an intern teacher is what your wife deserves? Not even a teacher but intern teacher? Really? Do I look like an intern Dre?” she asked.
I said she did not, but reminded her that she trained as a teacher.
“True, but I have experience in other things. Last year I worked as a senior sales manager in a big company, and I was earning more in one month than what an intern earns in a year.”
“I know that dear, but we have to start somewhere,” I said, trying to calm her down.
“Never ever ask me to apply for a teaching job, not in Kenya. I do not want to die early. Are we clear Andrew?” she asked and looked at me until I accepted. Rarely does Fiolina call me Andrew; when she does, I do not need a calculator to know that things are elephant. And with that, we haven’t spoken since.
