At Christ the King Church at the lush suburbs of Sunpark in Malindi, a group of local men, women and children are converged for a common course - to raise funds for one hundred needy children in Kilifi County.
The master of ceremony, a very enthusiastic man, Mr. Dickson Chilango, is very persuasive. He is the kind that can make your pockets run dry - good thing it is for a good course. The Jirani Kwa Jirani CBO (JIJICO), in which my mother is part of, has organized to raise monies to needy school-going children. This is also one of the objectives of Lit Initiative, a CBO that I have founded.
My invite here, as a deferred student at Mount Kenya University, Malindi Campus, is courtesy of my biological mother. For me, this is both an empowering and enlightening session.
Save for my dreadlocked hair and the tee shirt and jeans that I am in, anybody would be forgiven if they assumed that I am a high school student as well. I am getting used to people accentuating my petite body size and making me look like a midget. Sometimes I feel like the female version of ‘antman' in the real world. But oh well, c’est la vie.
I found the session ongoing. You know what they say about time here in Africa. Oliver, who would have been the epitome of a late comer in this case, changed! I don’t know what miracle happened, and where it did, but I was shocked recently when he arrived at a meeting before me. It’s commendable! These days I take my time choosing what shoes to wear. It is my latest obsession. I mean it has always been. Otherwise I would have put the blame on make-up time if I were so girlish.
Talking of girls, I am seated next to a couple of high school students on my left. There are high school boys behind me. In front of me are a bunch of young presumably primary school children. I do not get the logic why they are in uniform on a Saturday. It is so until Jojo (nickname) tells me that she was at school for tuition before coming to where we are.
The girls and boys keep stealing glances at me and I pretend not to notice it. They are even talking about me - I can tell. It’s in their expressions. ‘Psychology lessons are very important,' I quip in my head.
I crane my neck to see if there are ununiformed people sitting near me. It is my objective to acclimatize as soon as possible and talking to either a college or university student might just do the trick. Much to my disappointment, I do not see what I am looking for. Well, I’ll work with what I have - I tell myself.
All this while Mr. Chilango, the MC, is encouraging people to give and indeed, there is a lot of movement. I notice my mother walk to the front amongst the crowd to put something in the basket and return to her seat. I am awed by her new maroon skirt suit. The CBO’s theme is a maroon and white color. Some adorn shirts with the groups name labeled on while others are in dira dresses with the same name printed in white. This must be a very important event for her then. The last time I saw her in such attire was at my foster father’s burial. I smile and appreciate this. Mothers are simply indispensable.
I muster up a little bit of courage and tap a boy’s lap with my finger. He is seated behind me on the left hand side. It doesn’t go unnoticed that his shirt is a part of a games kit and the badge shows that he is from Dr. Krapf Memorial High School, Rabai. This young man leans forward to listen to what I have to say.
I ask him when the meeting began and what has been done since then. He informs me that many people introduced themselves and all beneficiaries were asked to stand for all and sundry to see. Also, fundraising is what has been going on for quite a while.
He seeks to know if I am a student at the university. I affirm that and add that I learn at Mount Kenya University. He is pleased to meet me.
I am curious to know why he is not in school. He has two reasons. The first is that he has not cleared his school fee arrears. It is no wonder, then, that he is in this convention. Secondly, 'they' burnt their school. Everyone, consequently, was sent home.
Our talk takes on a different twist as I get more inquisitive and wish to know why students would burn their own dormitories.
I am grateful that this youngster is willing to share his story. There has been a wave of unrest in schools all over the country and hearing of a school up in flames is no longer news - What is new is that it may only be happening in a different school.
Issa (not his real name), tells me a story from his own perspective. He tells me that on the eve of that fateful day, there was a major football match between Manchester and some other team. It was huge that missing to watch such a game was not an option at all. Be that as it may, the Principal was not on the same page with them. The school head decided that no entertainment would happen that night as it was not the day meant for it. As a show of their wrath then, the boys stoned all the bulbs and fluorescent tubes within the school premises. On the following morning, the Principal brought 'engineers' and all the damages done were repaired. Everything was anew. So this move added salt to an injury and that evening, they set ablaze the dormitories on fire.
I ask him if he was part of the rowdy lot. He says that he wasn’t part of it at all. In fact, as a sophomore student, he never had the slightest idea that his fellow students were to burn their school down.
I enquire what the teachers did at that moment. Issa says that they fled. None was ready to be stoned by the angry students. In fact, it was already in the evening and not many teachers were at the school.
I am curious to know what his parents said after such an incident. He says that every student has an amount they owe the school. For his parents, it is a journey made more difficult. There is also need to buy new school uniform and new beddings as well. He says that his learning has such challenges but there is nothing much he can do about it. In fact, half term break is around the corner and he is going to be at home for a while.
I shudder to think about the grim tomorrow of this young mind. I only hope that help finds its way. I imagine if, through Lit Initiative, we can engage heads of schools and learners and share the perks of negotiation skills, parenting and problem solving skills - all under Life Skills.
Our talk is interrupted by a request from the master of ceremony. He is mobilizing the boys to go take food from a point and serve the guests. Issa promises to come back to me and talk more.
I am glad that I am learning. I watch the officials seated gracefully at a long table with bottles of water near each to quench their thirst. These bottles also have names of aspiring politicians. It is interesting to note that most of the leaders are women and young women. In fact, there are Muslims too. This is a good way to debunk the myth about women not having leadership abilities and roles in a Muslim community.
Another table at a distant edge also hosts two women. They are officials and one of them is the secretary of the group. They are busy counting monies from a box and arranging them into another. It is also worth noting that they have books and pens and are jotting down whatever they are counting. Accountability and transparency are key.
The MC asks one person to bless the food and one man prays for it. At this moment, plastic plates heaped with pilau are going round. Someone is concerned that a girl near me and I have not been served yet. I joke about it and tell this high school girl not to worry as we are in the same boat. She’s seated next to two other girls and they have formed an arc, with their plates on one chair.
In no time, three plates, one on top of the other, are presented to me and I am asked to pick one. Food seems to be in abundance here. I have never seen so much being served in public occasions. In fact, many are times when you either do not get to fill your stomach or you miss out on the food altogether.
I decide to join the bevy behind me and they welcome me. One of them, a very jovial girl, says that the plastic chair is their dining table. I’m thankful as I get initiated into this sisterhood. Everyone on this ‘table' is excited.
The pilau is delicious. It is hot and the rice is soft as it should be. The spicing is well put and meat is in abundance. Also, it’s soft and easy to tear. I hear they have slaughtered an entire cow.
Music, the contemporary gospel kind, plays in the background and it puts me on cloud nine instantly. Good music, good food and good people. This is utopia. Pure bliss!
I ask what schools these girls are from and they passionately share. One of them, is from my former high school. She is dressed a bit differently in a manner that suggests that she has a leadership role. When I ask, she says that she just likes being different.
It is easier to relate with her because of my history and her present. This is one way in which bonds are formed. When you talk about something, and the other knows it as well, there is no struggle.
I did not suck at introductions this time round. I made it clear that I am a teacher of English and the founder of Lit Initiative as well. I did well I know because from that point onward, we were stuck to each other like new couples, moving to different points together.
From eating together, getting to know each other, washing our hands, to being introduced to others by our parents, telling stories, taking selfies and a million pictures, exchanging contacts and sharing personal dreams and challenges, our climax was honestly unmatched. There weren’t any other people who were excited as much - or they just didn’t show it.
But everything has an end and my mother, after helping out do one or two things there as is her norm, rang the bell to go home. Our departure was sad really, but we promised to keep in touch.
I have my fingers crossed though that something positive will pop out from that promising meeting.
