MY FATHER'S WAY
My father only visited my school once. The day I was
admitted in high school. I vividly remember how he walked to the principal’s
office (they knew each other) to confirm if there were canes in that school. St
Anthony’s Boys High School otherwise known as KD was run by a small man whom
you could ignore but end up injured. COSMAS NABUNGOLO. He was sunk in his swing
chair when we entered in his office. When he saw my father, he stood up and
greeted him then offered a chair. I was neither greeted nor given a chair. They
started talking about farming and about my elder brother who was his classmate
in high school. Finally my father asked him if the school offered caning. I thought
it is a subject. Bush (Nabungolo) stood up and walked behind the door. He opened
a cupboard and called my father to see. My eyes followed them. What I saw made
my heart almost exchange position with my intestines.
Neatly arranged according to size and type were sticks
ranging from bamboo to cypress. I saw my father smile and shook hands with
Bush. He finally told him that if he (Bush) ever sent me from school because of
either poor performance or indiscipline, he would commit murder so to save him
from jail, he advised Bush to work on me thoroughly in case of anything. He told
him that I was a good boy who needed caning frequently to make me better. My fate
was sealed. That’s when they turned to me. They gave me a one hour lecture
without response. I was told that I was not in school to grow but to learn. He finally
left me in ‘’good hands’’ and went to his farms.
If there are disciplinarians I know under the sun, Bush and
my father rank first. The old man never went to bank to pay our fee. He would
give each one of us to bank for ourselves. After giving us, he would say
something like, ‘’Ici thie unyue’’ (go and drink this money) or ‘’uthie ute
mbeca icio’’ loosely translated that ‘’go and lose that money.’’ He never gave
us pocket money. He would ask if there is food in school and if the answer was
affirmative, no pocket money. He would only give us money for shopping. One day
I learnt a bitter lesson. I stole from him. He had sent me to town to buy
fertilizer. He knew the price but gave me excess money. I brought the
fertilizer and gave him some loose change. When the day to open the school
came, he sat me down next to him and told me to take a piece of paper and a
pen. He told me to write 2000 minus 1600. He asked me what I got and told him. He
took 400 shillings and gave me. He then told me that I had sorted myself with
1600 shillings when he sent me to buy fertilizer so I should know how to use my
balance for shopping. I feared this man that one day Bush wrote me a suspension
letter and I refused to leave his office. I told him to kill me himself rather
than send me to my father.
Under my father and Bush, I never contemplated burning the
school. I never even had a slight cogitation of arson or any form of indiscipline
except failing mathematics which Bush treated as treason but that is the story
for another day. But how could I avoid caning if my friend was Barake Arisi? He
was the best singer in SDA choir but also the cheekiest boy in the compound. Bush
used to address him as the son of the chief. Canes rained on us even when we
were just suspects. One good thing with Barake was that he would bargain with
Bush to reduce the number of canes from SIX to at least four. Or he would
request that the six canes be distributed so that we can come for one daily. His
sense of humour would sometimes let Bush forgive us after a lecture. He would
give us some exam papers and books to read. If one day I will write a book
about my high school life, Bush and Barake would feature each in his own
episode. Two different people but with big hearts. I hear Bush wants to be a
governor in Trans Nzoia. Try him. I am not campaigning for him but recently
when I was at home, my father told me ‘’my vote and your mother’s vote belong
to Nabungolo. Don’t vote in Nairobi again. Come and vote here for him’’ I am
still contemplating about that……………………….. There are two ways of doing things
according to me; MY FATHER’S WAY OR THE WRONG WAYa
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