We Were Going to Get an Education If it Killed Us

Maybe the memory of kneeling on kokoto is fading; wewe umechelewa may no longer set your nerves on edge. But yes, we were going to get us an education if it was the last thing we did!

The glory days of the raggy [for all you sophisticates that was the only backpack to have] It was a book bag that gave us the dash of military men and gals with the easy-go of commercial travelers. The utter genius of stuffing these book-bags with books that we took home, did nothing with, and carried back to school the next morning will soon be explained...by a philosopher.

The next morning when, had it rained, the rich would come in unscathed with gumboots and the richer still would be dropped off in their dad's Toyota. For the other unwashed masses who had to walk, the mud was simply afraid of us, else how would we manage the rugged muddy terrain?

Hata tu ni break time and we would be unleashed to buffet the poor canteen lady with jostling of warm bodies with hands upraised whilst levitating as needed. If your body, attached to your arm, clenching five kashatas and two mabuyus and five ten-cent buns has never felt the sheer thrill, you have not yet began to live. In this case as well the rich would send the 'less-rich' at a premium named by the former and would gladly miss out on the aforementioned rush of adrenaline.

We had struggling, undiscovered 'artists' who due to scarcity of art supplies, an uncouth sense of art, or something worse entertained one and all with their muses on the bathroom walls! One gets the fleeting idea that maybe even then artists needed to get a real job.

We were where the life was; as a matter of fact, fiction writers had nothing on us, we were stranger than fiction itself: Breezing through the pledge of allegiance on Friday assembly; singing "I am happy today" and "father Abraham, had many sons, many sons had father Abraham..."; sticking out our fingernails to the merciless teacher/inspector who for some reason forgot that after all, we were children and whacked us with a ruler for long/dirty fingernails...or was it because we had failed to apply the second coat?

Mrs. K, demanding that you splain' a math concept that you couldn't if your life depended on it, proceeded to beat you with that electric or water pipe as if that would jack up your IQ a few notches. We were forced to bear these teachers with a thousand servilities and bury our anger in dumb stoicism.

The class of wajinga and the class of waclever was an enigma wrapped up in another enigma...oh, the arrogance of it all!.

We had an education-in-a-can that was supposed to work for all and if someone did not measure up they were labelled as mwendawazimu or mujinga....and beaten some more. Within any human being, right beneath the surface is sterling stuff and it's not all subject to KCPE filters. Students were reduced to standardized tests and insults were heaped on the pragmatic, kinesthetic, artistic who in all honesty were a lot more than martyrs to their own nerves. Only the theorists and scientifically inclined were exalted as if everybody's dream was to one day sit in a lecturer's office or a laboratory. A cheerful, hardworking disposition not marred by any superfluity of theories and beakers is cheerful and priceless nonetheless-don't crush it!

If on closing day you were "wanted" you groveled at the mercy of the 'first-body' to save you from the 'second-body'. Of course this 'first-body' was saving you from silly things you said during the term like: "Asubuhi asubuhi kwenyu tu mnasosi magoti ya dede na maji moto". or "Kwenyu nyinyi ni wapoor sana mpaka mkipika chapo fathe yenyu tu ndiyo anakula original. watoi tu wanakula photocopy za hiyo chapo moja."

Yet in all honesty, asubuhi asubuhi we all came: Some were hungry others were full; some were clean, others did their best. Most of us walked to school to face our fears or our fear-generating teachers who would punish someone's child for not having proper shoes as if the child had anything to do with buying a pair of shoes! Look for the parent and punish the parent, you heartless cowards! You wise educators whose pedagogy managed to drown out primitive reasoning powers. We had teachers who did not have or care to feign a heart, or polite thoughtfulness for that matter, honest enough to look at different economic situations in their classrooms as a fact of life and not as a weapon to intimidate and harass children. These unreasonable teachers would enter the room and our entire nervous system seemed to be stirred up with a pole. I wonder if they are very proud of their actions today.

The same variety of teachers that, during class while you were struggling with those decimals from hell, would dine a few feet from you. With a cold heart of stone, they would unleash a thermos with piping hot tea, with masala, and bread with jam and proceed to prepare themselves a table in the presence of their enemies...enough said. Well, not quite enough- that, in my opinion, was bordering insolence.

Enter the préfet...ata Maina ana stars ngapi? It was bad enough that Maina was on the noisemakers list, but Maina's name was adorned with stars that depicted degrees of evil-doing. Mere noisemakers were not the thing to be, you've got to have your star on the noise-makers walk of fame!

And for the oblivious creatures who dared raise a hand to ask a question after bell ya 3:45pm ishaa ring, somebody save them from themselves! How dare you retain a teacher to elaborate a point about a sheep with an obscure English name after the official bell has rung? What did you say? Agriculture lesson? What is that? Knowest thou not that samo zitaisha canteen? We did not mean it our dear brainiacs, we were just hungry or restless but you should have known that the bell was almighty.

The tone of the week was set by whatever teacher was on duty. Mteeche mgani yuko on duty? as that could mean merely kneeling down or kneeling with your hands upraised above your head-and that was not to firm your triceps either! Or it could be the kind that cleared the hallway with the sound of their pumps. Too exalted to be magnanimous to you who had to walk home and wait for the mfanyi-God bless our maids, past and present, they were saints- to finish making the ugali. No, the teacher on duty would look at you with an indulgent air and in the rare occasion that she forgave you, her affected magnanimity would set your blood on fire. All that escaped your plight this time around, all your fellow student's watched, listened and felt your pain with silent applause.

Nigay, nigay, nigay hata tu kidogo, woishe tu, Njeri went the singsong chant between the borrower and the buyer and the beggar and the beggee'. It was a tear-jerking display that could break the will of the strongest and coldest of hearts. Of course the bludgeoning blow of poverty had not wholly scorched in us a human weakness for break-time snacks.

To say nothing of the ilk that would engage in the illicit comportment known as copying; that copied everything including the name of the copyee' in the test.

After the end of term exams, we spent the week before closing day in unimaginable self-importance and complacency. The bold among us did not even bring our back-packs to school and we went on to play endless rounds of 'start-stop'. We 'helped' the teachers mark our desk-mate's exam papers and we could be persuaded to divulge who got 92% if the price was right. During this brief rendezvous with freedom, we engaged in overly exaggerated school cleaning activities or anything-idle. After all, we were well-oiled, 'test-taking machines' and when the tests are over, what to do?

Those were the days, but today the untouchable washees na madems back then have become gorgeous women who hold their own and break a few hearts along the way. The 'first-bodies' and the fellas have transmuted into men in whose company we are all proud beyond degrees. We were the ones we had been waiting for-well before Mr. Obama ever coined the phrase- and thank God we made it men!...and gals!