Stepping Out

It was about fifteen minutes to eleven o’clock. The classroom was full and the air was filled with the smell of sweat and of different jelly we had applied on ourselves. A smell of Kimbo in one corner, that of Arimi's in another and a random Rune and Rays from a few girls. The noise was going out of control, and the class prefect gave her usual threat, ‘Nyamazeni ama nitaanza kuandika noise makers.’ Meanwhile, Mr Mugambi John (Jitu) the English teacher entered and the loud noises turned into a pin drop silence.

‘Good morning class’ He saluted.

‘Good morning sir’ we answered while standing.

After requesting us to take our seats, he turned to the blackboard and what he saw did not excite him.

‘Who drew this caricature?’ (It was my first time ever to hear that word) He asked.

His question went unanswered.

‘I am asking for the second time, who drew this caricature?’

No one opened their mouth.

‘Kneel down all of you’ He commanded.

Before anyone could kneel down, I raised up my hand. I did what Ezra Chiloba has refused to do amid all the demonstrations rocking our major towns across the country.

‘Kaburu! Kaburu! Kaburu! So it’s you? Get out. Go home and come with a box of chalk!’ He shouted.

I shed tears as I walked home. I knew mum would swallow me alive. How on earth could we afford a whole box of chalk? I knew it would not cost anything less than a few thousand shillings. A thousand in the early years of 21^st Century was quite some big money. Nevertheless, I went home and broke the bad news to mum. I told mum how I had collected a small piece of chalk below the blackboard and the teacher caught me doing a sum using the same on the blackboard and sent me home to buy a whole box.

Mum was in high spirits that day. She asked less questions and told me how it’s bad to lose lessons as a candidate. She said a few unkind words about the teacher, handed me a two hundred note and ordered me to go to the bookshop and inquire how much a box of chalk cost.

‘If it costs more than two hundred shillings, tell whoever is in the shop I will cover the balance later.’ She instructed. The bookshop belonged to a family friend.

Believe it or not I bought a box of Someni school chalk at fifty shillings only. I laughed all the way to Makena’s Ngumu shop the rest of the week. I cheated mum that the box was retailing at two hundred and fifty and the bookshop owner agreed to sell it to me at two hundred shillings after a heated negotiation.

You would see how I bounced back to school that afternoon, my ego literally went out of the roof. Having gone home earlier than everybody else that morning, I was the first to arrive in school after lunch. And for that no student saw me with the box of chalk, I dashed into Mr Mugambi’s office, handed over the box and went to class.

The look that my classmates gave when they found me in class was that Oh my God! Look. They couldn’t fathom how I would be sent to buy a box of chalk some minutes to eleven and there I was some minutes past one o’clock having bought a whole box of chalk.

‘’How much was it?”  One classmate inquired.

“Two thousand” I cheated him without blinking (Mimi ni nani!) They thought it was a whole big carton when in real sense it was a small box the size of a serviette pack. And just like that my name got admitted to the list of pupils who came from very rich families (Saa ngapi!).

This is one of the many incidences I so vividly remember about Mr Mugambi. He was a teacher and half. It is because of him I can construct an English sentence that makes sense. He is the kind of a teacher I would wish my kids to be taught by.  He so loved what he did, he was born to do it. I remember how we would go to school very early in the morning and he would teach us for a whole one hour before normal lessons would commence. In the evenings after normal lessons he would again be in class all this time without an extra pay.

Far from class, Mr Mugambi was a disciplinarian, he was a no nonsense teacher. He caned us and pinched our ears for various indiscipline cases among them using your mother tongue, having not tucked your shirt/blouse, noise making among others. It is while in class 8 that lateness became a capital offence. Mr Mugambi would send you back home to collect a Jembe that you would use to dig a 1ft wide and 1ft deep hole and plant a banana tree. Oh! And those banana plants plus the flowers outside our classrooms made the school look so green and beautiful.

Before I forget, I must add that Mr Mugambi taught all my siblings, all the six of us from the first to the last born. Several other teachers in the school did among them Mr Muthaa, Mr Mwika (Kabitutu), Mr Mugambi (Thirungu) and Mr Rukunga.

Far from being the discipline master Mr Mugambi doubled as the deputy head teacher, he deputised one of the best head teacher of our lifetime, Mr Muthaa. A true son of the soil. Mr Muthaa was to Muthara Primary School what Bob Collymore is to Safaricom.

Muthaa is a true visionary, he carries with him an ability to formulate and shape the future. Always with the willpower and patience to see things through. He inculcated into us the doctrines of honesty, hard work and obedience. He never tires to remind us of these virtues to date.

I remember his CRE lessons in class 8 and the good stories that he shared with us. The fun we made in class minutes to his lessons. We would take turns to write the words ‘What we have learnt’ and ‘what I am supposed to do’ on the blackboard before his arrival. These are the words he would always write after reading us a story from his book.

His wise counsel was out of this world. He always ended his address with his usual Kimeru phrase, ‘Buwikua luui chiana!’ This was maybe to ensure whatever he said sunk into our heads. I can’t forget how he called our names syllable by syllable while stressing the first one. The parents’ names would leave one floored.

NTO-A-ta-ya A-ta-ya

MA-ri-mba NTO-i-the-wa

Andrew MU-thi-mu

I celebrate these two teachers plus many others for their immense contribution to who we are today. May God grant them a long healthy life.

Disclaimer: Mr Mugambi if you happen to read this forgive my typos and the many ungrammatical sentences. They don’t at all represent what you taught me back in the day. The mistakes are my own and I entirely take responsibility.