Based on past history, Saphire could easily have been in a drinking den somewhere, and it was quite possible he was calling me to go and rescue him.
Following the debacle over Juma’s campaign that hijacked my Beyond 2046 conversations—and an event where I expected to make a lot of money but ended up making a lot of tears—I couldn’t wait for schools to open.
There had been a rumour that opening would be postponed to September 15, something I was secretly very happy about. Unfortunately, the rumour turned out to be unfounded, and the correct date was reinstated as August 24. If you remember, every term I am always the first teacher at school, and usually, I end up doing most of the work—taking care of classes, cleanliness and almost everything else that needs to be done – alone. Lena, her bad hair in tow, Sella and Mrs Atika would show up late on the first and second days; Nzomo would claim to have missed matatus from Ukambani. Anita would still be visiting her husband in Nairobi, while Saphire would not be seen in Week 1.
By the time we were in Week 3, we would all be like, “Ah, so now the school has officially opened!” As such, the average Mwisho wa Lami teacher knows that Dre will be in school on the first day and therefore does not worry too much about reporting early. After all, everyone knows Dre will handle things. Last term, something happened that really made me angry. If you remember, as usual, a lot of teachers came late. By the time they arrived, I was already mad and had sent several threatening messages. On the third day, I decided to come early and hide in my office. From there, I heard what the teachers talked about me. One teacher was narrating how she had rushed to school on Wednesday because she had unfinished business.
“I came because Dre was on my case, threatening me with further disciplinary action,” said Anita.
“And you listened to him?” Sella asked. “Kwani wewe ni muoga aje? You should have finished your business before coming. Why do you hurry to come to school in Week 1 when we know nothing happens?”
“I only come because it is boring in the house. Me na Mzee hatusikilizani,” Mrs Atika explained.
“Yes, I know nothing happens,” Anita said, “but Dre couldn’t even let me rest. He was sending messages every minute!”
“You know outside school Dre does nothing else,” Lena added. “He is idle, and the only thing he knows is school. All of us have a lot of things to do. So you should not let your staff stay at home just because you are idle at home is not a reason to ask everyone to come to school.”
When someone wondered whether I could actually do what I was threatening to do, they were told that there was nothing I could do. That was the day I decided that, going forward, I would handle the first week differently.
It was clear that the teachers had left me to handle Week 1—a role that a senior teacher like me should really not be handling. I decided that I would not be seen in school during the first week. And knowing that I would be tempted to come to school on the first day simply because I was staying in Mwisho wa Lami, I decided to be out of town. Sorry, out of the village. So I travelled to Nairobi. Other than visiting Xtash, I had nothing specific to do. I just wanted to watch things from afar, enjoy myself and travel back over the weekend. Come Monday, I continued with my day as normal, hoping that someone would call me asking for one thing or another.
The first person to call me, at around 10am, was Saphire. Now, Saphire had not called me for a long time. In fact, as far as I knew, he didn’t even have a phone. He has a SIM card that he keeps inserting into other people’s phones whenever he wants to speak to someone, which is itself a rare occurrence. We had not spoken on the phone for years. I assumed he had even lost that SIM card. So when I saw the calls coming in, I ignored them. I wasn’t sure if it was indeed Saphire. Based on past history, Saphire could easily have been in a drinking den somewhere, and it was quite possible he was calling me to go and rescue him. So I ignored the incessant calls. He then texted me.
“What's wrong with your school? I came here at 8.30am and found nobody here. Did you give everyone permission to be away?” he asked.
I believed the text was a mistake. Saphire could not possibly be in school on Day 1. I asked who it was
“What do you mean, Dre? Don't you have my number? This is Saphire.”
He then typed a message in the staff WhatsApp group:
“Where is everyone? I have been in school alone with the kids since morning. Kwani, where is everyone?”
There was no response for a few minutes. I called Saphire. It was him.
“This is unfair,” he complained. “You and the whole team cannot leave me to manage the school alone!”
I wanted to tell him that this was exactly how we always felt whenever he was not in school.
“And the teachers are not picking my calls or even responding to the WhatsApp message I sent an hour ago. Even you, as the HOI, have said nothing, meaning that you condone this situation.”
I then wrote a message in the staff WhatsApp group:
“Dear colleagues, it is unfortunate that none of us is in school, yet this is an official working day and I have not given anyone permission to be away. Can we all purpose to be in school today, or offer a proper explanation as to why you are away?”
Messages with reasons started streaming in. Or rather, excuses.
Sella had a personal emergency that morning and would come in the afternoon. She never explained what the personal emergency was. Nzomo was still on her way from Nunguni, Ukambani. Mrs Atika said she was still in Nairobi and would travel home during the weekend. Lena, her bad hair in tow, said she was attending a prayer session. Erick, Anita and Maru said nothing.
“All I am hearing are excuses. I don’t remember anyone asking for permission to be away,” I wrote.
Sella apologised for being late. Lena said it was an emergency. Mrs Atika and Nzomo insisted that they had asked me for permission and that I had approved it. I do not remember that conversation. By afternoon, only Sella and Erick had arrived. I sent another message saying that everyone would be expected to be in school the following day, without fail. I then added:
“I am away on official duty this week. In my absence, I am leaving Saphire in charge. Please accord him all the cooperation he needs.”
“Which Saphire?” asked Sella, adding several laughing emojis.
“Happy to see Saphire has seen Jesus and is in school in Week 1! Ready to support you Boss,” I nearly fell off my chair.
Other teachers also pledged their support.
“Thank you, boss. Looking forward to a seamless Week 1. Colleagues, let us all do what we need to do to make the opening week seamless and make Dre proud.”
Saphire has been updating me on affairs every day, and so far, it has been a great Week 1. The man has been in school. Early. Every day. Calling me. Sending updates. Managing things. Honestly, I don’t know what happened. Maybe he finally discovered the meaning of Week 1. Or perhaps, after all these years, Saphire has finally seen Jesus. I just hope this reformation is permanent. Because if Saphire disappears again in Week 2, I will know that the miracle was only temporary. Pray that it isn’t.
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