iSENENDE

iSenende.

A poem, a sentence, a word, a tag or an insult. It depends with the number of books you have read. To me, iSenende is a kind of accessory or an application. A USB if given mass. Or the name of a vaccine. It is in the iphone-ipad group. It is an advancement of a person once in the institution. It is not what Shivairu knows when he bends to chop a slice of poor ugali… archaic isenente kind of word. i is me. Senende is the world.

It is in Senende that I saw the first computer and broke from the village mentality. On the first day, I was told that students are only admitted in their primary school uniform. Mother had refused to by me a new short when I was in grade 8 at Kiptuiya Primary. What I did was to hustle and buy one. I still owe my sister 40 bob. It is not easy to pay some debts. By the time I was concluding primary, ready to give out my uniform to the needy- not needy; I had to borrow back on this day.

At the gate, I hung around as they hurried to the nearby market for a forgotten toothbrush, basin and handkerchief. A shopping that didn’t exceed 200/-.  The first person to see was Mwashi near the wooden and falling Canteen that used to be at the gate. He was an innocent mono hanging around as his brother struggled to take ‘ndunya’- a vocabulary.

‘Your cousin is a good student, will you be like him?’ That was Mr. Oti, the great Western Script writer at the admission table. ‘I’ll try,’ I answered. I never knew how to make a tie and there were no trousers for small people. I was lucky to have a pair and those who arrived late like Adwogo had to hang around in their small trousers for a week or so. ‘Clothes will come,’ boomed Couriffer on Parade.

The Language disk. The most despiced and talked about thing in school.

A week after, fat Derrick, the bushy entertainment prefect found me watching Sunday news with Form fours. He took me to Oti who was on duty. Oti didn’t strike me. He just embarrassed the poor soul on parade. I was famous that when the first result came out, I topped though I knew that Preston had scored greater than I. He had one of the subjects missed. Such had happened in primary school and the false number 1 attitude kept me screwing up books to maintain the place when I really knew that I was not the smartest boy around because Tikolo and Mamba waited me at the field for games. I disliked the compulsory forced running. Were they in charge of training soldiers or parents’ darlings?

What teachers fail to understand is that they are not greater than students. Everybody is perfect and well in his own period and time. If the student was given the same years, he would be far much ahead than the teacher. This does not oppose strictness and guidance. People like Mwendwa, showing his thing in class, a boy from Kisumu-Ndogo in Eldoret may have been influenced by the movies he had watched. He needed discipline. Secondary school was being filtered by so young and innocent boys; some never erected or watched television before. I changed positions and cursed Mwendwa.

The power or the cane could not be avoided. But I could count the number of canes I had received over a period. I used to try best not to be a victim. And so there was this day, Maingi on duty, a Sunday. I was busy hustling Juice in Meru hostel. The bell had gone. I was walking to the class when I met him with the Bunsen burner part. He had all the reasons in heaven and on earth to tell me that I was not just doing it quite right. It was one but painful. Like the one Mr. Madegwa in Primary gave me, having never caned me just because he thought I was losing track. It happens in life.

Better the cane than the electric and acidic cable that the first computer teacher threatened to use if you booted the computer without his consent. The computers, only twelve, with their big ass were so precious and golden than the deputy teacher had to respect the computer teacher for being ahead in time. Students of computer were also respected in some kind though they went in there only to play draught and have the lady strip fully round after round.

How I came to be the CU secretary, I know not. Shiguli had seen my smallness of body but convinced that the vocals would greatly help. One Sunday, I and Lincoln were in F2R skiving church session when Mr. Wamae passed by on foot and in a short. The Table tennis bats were hitting the teacher’s table too hard and he heard it. He opened the door and the two poor souls desired that the earth sink under them. To staffroom! I never again missed the church session, became a bonafied CU member and inwardly cursed Wamae and his ways. I used to ask Evans to do something. I cannot fathom my sister with someone whom I hate. It was then.

Having tested the goodness of outings and participating in every activity that opens the gates, I decided to join Press Club for Webster had inspired me big. Not my cousin. The one in specs. I was not a good footballer though I was a dependable striker after too much arguing in class. To go with footballers out, I was to be a press man. The trips were fun and it was the start of my reflective journaling. The daily diary is as a result of this.  Moments to hustle T-shirts, loafers, bags and other needed items were due. And to steal. Whoever said that I was second after the driver in terms of using the bus did not err. I utilized my 5000/- bus admission fees well. And used others’ too. This had a negative impact on education. I only did exams for the sake of. There is one I fully willingly missed and yet jealous because there were people never expected to outdo me in a paper.

I became responsible when a motorbike hit me near Lwandoni on the way home for fees. In my hands was the novel, ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’. It was torn front page. I never read it and recently couldn’t find it to read. When I arrived home, mom had been informed of the happening by the deputy teacher and dad phoned too. I lied there was nothing big without knowing it. Back to school, without fees, expecting to be sent home again, I was allowed to settle in. On parade, Mahelo cursed students who think that the road is theirs. He was terror in his leopard shirt and understanding to me. I did my KCSE with a weird balance, ever afraid not to tell mates the shameful balance. Like any male teacher, we suspected every female that crossed the field.

Sometimes after the botched strike that was expected to burn the whole school failed, many drama students had been sent home and Oti transferred. We were orphans to be picked by Tadayo Amadalo. His efforts were seen in Goibei when we failed all things. Embarrassment. Senende was in its back ugly reputation of bhang and failure- this time a little different. When we gathered to practice Mambo Kangaja, huenda yakaja of class 12J something, the voices were too weak. Couriffer had never liked drama club, we said.

Drama dead, Music fests was waiting and Mr. Odendo, famous for his beautiful kamba lady- I do not know what happened later if is true-everyone one wanted to be associated with. Andawa having killed spirits towards physics, here was a savior. Odendo never intended to hit on anyone. He was also loved by his father who came to help him in music teaching. It is this father that told me the truth about my voice. It is of a frog. Can’t, won’t, never sing. But Kugo had requested me to lead in the Senende anthem and I had done it quite well- If you believe and I believe….

In Kaimosi Girls Prison, during music festival zonal competitions, Analo, someone else and I strolled to the canteen for a queen cake to change diet. While we waited to buy, some naugty boys in the same uniform as ours walked in one class and greeted girls. One teacher, can’t remember the hell he is or was came towards them, rowdy. He confused them to us for they hurried back to the confined zone. He approached us ratting and fuming that we should be out. We obeyed and gave him strength. He told every teacher that we are from the hostels. Whoever looked at us saw real criminals- the face of Kaimosi Boys. Out, Out! We were sent out of the compound.

Hanging around the gate, we finally had our way in when the gate man was dozing. Knowing that we were in, it was announced that were needed in the staffroom. I refused to go. As others went in, caned as girls laughed I remain fixed, honest to self. In the end, Senende had the worse story of day. Our solo verses were poor to proceed. Things could end.

Sex and sex drive. Madam Claire had never known what went in boy’s mind when she came to class the way she did. She just extended her attraction to the class teacher, Mr. Muhalia to our class. Boys did what they did best with their eyes and during pre times, William had well drawn Lincoln on the board, one had closing one eye in sleep as the other hand somewhere in between. It is this William that had shouted in my face making me regret why I joined Senende the day I was taken out of the Mombasa-bound bus. Lincoln had long after been expelled. Couriffer told me that in future I will go to places. A prophet. Abdi, the class prefect since had just wondered how Christian boys could behave.

I wanted to end Amuriodo. It was not a friendly word as it had been used by dad at home to tease us. It had a different tag in iSenende. It was such a pain to be cautious and think of every word before you speak of it. The language disk. This was something that even form fours, fathers in the villages, were embarrassed in the staffroom every after two days. If form fours could be beaten, why not others? It was a way to demean us, keep us controlled like the water did at the single tap for the whole school. Even the weakest of the teachers, what is the name of the Geog madam? found it strong to kick us like small children. It was one of the things that made people like Adwogo to change. Having been a dear friend, giving me access to his cousin ended up sneaking to wherever. When I took the card for the second time, I locked it in the locker; Let Shikuku kill me if he wants. Things do change.

Changing to sit at the corner for peace and comfort as I waited for days to go by and forget the pain of early preps and late night sleep was all I wanted. Having Indimuli as a desk mate for the year helped me to learn much from him. Sometimes learning was such a god to give libations and sacrifice to by being a  bookworm. It seemed as if life rotated on the grades scored. He was largely funny as he saw me. We were jealous of another yet we wanted to excel alike. He took index two because his name tops mine alphabetically. Preston deserved not the first. No one deserved index one, I thought. He was the friend who made me know much of Senende area and the first in the class to talk of Facebook.

Friends; Friends as the Quaker church that sponsors the school or Friends as real friends? Of the greatest thing to gain from a place and its people are friends. Get the right ones and you will fly high up. Get the wrong ones and it will be hell. Preston’s clothes were mine. With Adwogo we designed a formula of buying bread from the canteen-Wewe leo mimi kesho. I trusted my pilot with the key to the box. It was fun. Most of a student’s time is spent with friends- not books. Analo was always there to discuss and borrow a novel from. Mmai, my assistant lab prefect was concerned when my moods were down. I am well...I lied. A friendly prefect would see to your issues and advise. It is the task of one to identify the best friends- whom he admires. You never know about the future. At the gate of KU, Denno has ever seen me enter his manyanga. He is a conductor.

Being both honest and dishonest as a student depending on the view of things may bring both fortune and misfortune. When I stole two thousand bob for shopping at home, dad could not hold his anger. He beat me up till I contemplated suicide. No. I wanted to hit him too. Good that I was heading to school the veru day. I faked a smile and Mr. Shikuku could not notice the bruises on my head. Honesty took me to reporting students who were not honest as a prefect. Dishonesty took me to skiving games time in the labs, stealing Ambaso’s phone and telling him that Mr. Maingi found it charging, stealing confiscated clothes from the store among other misdoings. There was always an early CU hall to walk to and pray for forgiveness. Pretenders.

I harassed the pilot instead of helping him to adjust to the first year as Ongeri and Keverenge did to me. I hated everything as I neared the end. On the last day, I was the one who took fire from the Kitchen to lit academic fire. The four years were such a mattress that if hard pressed would give salty water of painful past and bugs. Mahelo was right to say that the boxes we were loaded with back home were a significance of the life thereafter- of heaviness. The decision was not to be like Murugugu or Indimuli who repeated fourth year. Uvuyi did it cool by walking out empty handed, a baptizing condition that he was shading off all prison hood. Not even Kamudenyi could force him his mattress for he had neither a box nor an extra shirt. He is doing quite fine. The grade that will come, let it be, I said.

Others looked at me as a winner, having been a humorous pressman and prefect by exposing students and teachers on parade. It was just my way to hit back on life as it is to this day. During the last Sunday I had stood up for a thanks giving moment and thanked all who impacted my stay telling them that Journalism was my field of interest though I didn't know head nor tail of. Adwogo said he will miss me.

isenende.