Having cleared the dirty cleaning work, I went back to the dorm to
prepare for the morning classes. I dressed very fast in my oversize,
trouser, shirt and shoes. Dad had insisted, against my will, on buying
the oversize attire with the notion that they will eventually fit me.
“You’ll grow in them” he insisted. As a building engineer, he had
obviously done a lot of cost-benefit analysis and he believed that the
same uniform would carry me through to form four. “Ne uru nyathini – lau
oruake” (Look at this kid – the clothes are putting him on) Odeny
shouted. That was to say, I had disappeared in the clothes. I had to
practice the art of pulling the trouser over and over again so as to
confirm its existence. That is how I started wearing high waist and
pulling my trousers – a habit which has refused to leave me to date.
The
Bully, Odeny had very queer behavior among them kicking his kombora mug
(Kombora is an empty drug/magarene container) right from the dormitory
up to the dining hall. This was the same kombora that Ja Boma a.k.a JB,
the strict cook, would serve him his porridge in. To fill a kombora
required JB to deep his service mug into the source of the rare liquid
four times – something he would never do easily. This was the point
where Odeny would refuse to move from the queue – his kombora had to be
filled before moving – a fact that gave him continuous problems with
Obunga a.ka Ong’a, Bungero, the Deputy Principal. Ong’a was everybody’s
nightmare; no one wanted to cross the paths of this huge man with eyes
exactly resembling that of Mark Henry, the WWE wrester. The phrase “Mr.
Obunga is calling you” could only be described as horrific for lack of a
better word. He had no facial expression making it difficult to scan
his mood at any given time.
I didn’t like the thick
white porridge; it had funny taste of thuth (beetles), cockroach and
other funny insects coupled together….but that was just for the first
week. On that first morning, I wondered why form twos were dilly
dallying in the dining hall. Since I did not see the need of joining the
bandwagon, I decided to take my porridge while sitting on my bed in the
dormitory. “Ja form one, kelna Makati akuota kanyo” (a form one, bring
me quarter loaf of bread over there), Odeny shouted. A full loaf of
bread was retailing at seven Kenya shillings but the traders across the
school fence would make a kill with two shillings and fifty cents for a
quarter loaf. I wondered why Odeny insisted on calling me a form one
while I was in form two – shame on him. Otherwise, I went and bought him
the quarter at my cost. Then another cartoon roared from a separate
corner “An bende kelna” (Bring me too). I went out and disappeared to
the classes. Then is when I understood why form two’s preferred staying
the hall forever.
In our class, we had a guy known as
Oile. He was short, fat and somehow difficult in a way. He surely knew
how to cram during the exam period and if anything would refuse to stick
to his pathetic skull, he would hit the wall, several times then get
back to books as if nothing happened. One of the things giving him
trouble was “Dichotomous Key” in Biology – a topic that I was too good
in. Another Character was Patric Omondo Ogwari, my desk mate; he would
shout a big “amen” during preps after reading a powerful point in the
“In Touch Kenya” bible materials. I had introduced him to the same
Postal Bible Study, which he used to enjoy very much. John Ombajo,
George Okeyo and, I think, John Omindo was also with me in the same
stream. The only person whom I can’t remember his whereabouts but later
featured prominently was George Orinda. He was nicknamed Unoka after a
very unfamiliar Character in Chinua Achebe’s book “Things Fall Apart”.
This was the literature book we studied in form two. Unoka was Okonkwo’s
father, of whom Okonkwo was so ashamed since childhood. By the
standards of the clan, Unoka was a coward and a spendthrift. He never
took a title in his life, he borrowed money from his clansmen, and he
rarely repaid his debts. He never became a warrior because he feared the
sight of blood. Moreover, he died of an abominable illness (maybe
related to coffee). On the positive side, Unoka appeared to have been a
talented musician and gentle, if idle. He may well have been a dreamer,
ill-suited to the chauvinistic culture into which he was born. Orinda
obviously did not deserve such a nickname but there must have been a
good reason for the name.
Ngere High had what we
referred to as Boma Leave. This was every Sunday Afternoon when students
would be allowed to walk freely outside the school compound without any
supervision. On one such Boma Leave, Odeny got hold of me and insisted
that I wash his old button less shirts and zip less trousers together
with those of his friends before I depart for the Boma Leave. I had
planned to go home and talk to mom about a few things including
additional pocket money. When I explained to Odeny why I had to go home,
he gave me his horribly smelling sweaty hockey shoes as an imaginary
handset to call my mom. He got hold of me and pushed the shoes across my
face so as to suffocate me with the terrible smell while insisting that
I talk. The laughter and joy expressed in the faces of his fellow form
fours gave him more energy to bully me. Reporting such cases to the
administration often landed junior students into even deeper problems.
Form ones and twos had no voice as we were there “to be seen but not to
be heard”.
I remember one day, Odeny committed some
“crime” which warranted some sort of a showdown. Mr. Obunga, came to the
evening assembly which was always held in front of the dining hall.
“There is this fellow who insists on playing against the team every
time. He’s a difficult person whom we would have loved to expel but we
do not want to do that.” Ong’a thundered in his usual rough tone. Mr.
Obunga would speak in thundering murmurs thus making us very attentive.
The next thing I heard was a loud shout “Odeny, run to my office now! I
said run!!” Obunga literally chased Odeny across the football pitch into
his office leaving us guessing at what would happen to the poor bully.
The bully did not return that night as he was beaten to a point where he
couldn’t walk to the dorm. He slept in the staff room courtesy of the
Deputy Principle. I managed to see him the following day slashing the
grass on the hokey pitch. He could walk only with the support of the
slasher. This made him more hardy as he was the only one in the school
who was never scared by the presence of Ong’a.
Another
silent bully was called James a.k.a Jemo. Jemo was everything and
everywhere. He was a CU Secretary, a singer in the school church, a
drumist, a preacher, name them. He liked giving some fake testimonies in
Christian Union Rallies while clad in very new form one clothes. It was
the in-thing for form fours to dress in form one clothes when going for
any outing. James was the second person, after Odeny, to slap me. This
fellow slapped me in a prayer meeting. My mistake – I touched an open
electricity socket ‘knowingly’. He stopped praying, slapped me and went
back to prayers as if he had done nothing at all. That was the last time
I called him Brother James; I stopped looking up to him and I, together
with Patrick Ogwari, started hatching plans of dethroning him from the
leadership of CU. We later found out that he was not even interested in
the “CU thing” in the first place.
I got a sigh of
relieve one day when my other cousin Elly Masudi, who was then a very
tough form four, came to my rescue. He took me from Ouko Omamo Dorm to
Ayoki Mboya after very heated exchange with my Uncle Okoko. I stayed in
that dorm peacefully until the Ouko Omamo Captain Complained to Mr.
Obunga. They wanted their donkey back. I think it was a coincidence that
when I was in Ouko Omamo, that dorm was always number one in
cleanliness and when I went to Ayoki Mboya, I took the number one slot
with me. The deputy decreed that anybody who had migrated to a dormitory
not assigned to him at the time of his admission to return to his
original dorm immediately. Even before I reached the dorm, somebody had
already transferred my belonging back to Ouko Omamo.
This
time round, I was a “son” of another fellow going by the nick name
Mourice a.k.a Mori Dhano. I didn’t meet him face to face until after one
week. Otherwise I could feel his presence, in the middle of the night,
daily.
Yours in torture,
Migingo Awat
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