When Kuya suspended Branton from school a few weeks ago in his attempt to embarrass me while boot-licking Bensouda so she could help him become a deputy HM, I decided to be the bigger person.
I, as directed, accompanied Branton back to school, and begged for his re-admission.
But there was a different reason for this. As you know, Branton is not a good boy. No one needs a calculator to know that he is not our blood. I know my blood is a little excitable, as shown by Ford and Pius; and a little loud, as evidenced by Caro, Mwisho wa Lami’s minister for Information Broadcasting and Communication.
But we are not thieves. A day before I took Branton to school unconditionally, I walked to Hitler’s for evening classes, arriving to find the place buzzing with activity. All Mwisho wa Lami’s who-is-who was present: from Rasto to Nyayo, Alfayo to Lutta, and Saphire to Tito. They were excited to see me, and they all congratulated me. I did not understand why they were doing that.
“Congratulations are in order!” said Tito, showing me a newspaper cutting with the headline: ‘TSC Promotes 16,000 Teachers Under Career Progression Plan’. I told him I was not among the 16,000.
Alfayo did not believe that there are 16,000 teachers countrywide. “You mean you people are this many?” He went on to say that if TSC did not promote me, then there was something wrong with the commission. I agreed with him.
“Don’t worry Dre,” said Saphire. “Just like some highly qualified judges are waiting to be appointed, you will soon be appointed.”
However, I did not get fooled by this talk. I needed no Log table to know that the praises were a tactic to soften my heart then raid my pockets. And the more I stayed, the more I would pay. After gulping two pick-ups in quick succession, I asked Hitler to give me my bill. I hadn’t been there for even half an hour, and it already had bills for three other people. I decided to pay and leave. I reached for my wallet.
To my shock, the wallet was missing some cash. I had put Sh2,000 in the wallet two days earlier, but there was only Sh300 remaining. You see, I had been avoiding putting my money in M-Pesa because I have some unfinished business with Fuliza, M-Shwari, KCB M-Pesa, Branch, Tala and all their cousins. Anytime I put money in my M-Pesa account, they would call each other and line up to take it away.
I immediately paid Hitler and left. This was clearly the work of Branton, who, like Fuliza, had taken money from my wallet without my permission. I started looking for him. He was not at home. But someone had seen him entering Kasuku Hotel. That’s where I found him, seated in a dark corner. He had a large plate of chips, half a chicken and two Stoney Madiabas!
“Bring back my money!” I shouted at him. To cut the long story short, Branton had been left with only 1,200, and after paying Kasuku, I recovered just Sh500.
Branton received a thorough beating that evening. Rather than take him back to school unconditionally the next day, I took him the day Kuya had assigned us. Had I overruled Kuya, Branton would have considered himself a good boy. I agreed with any punishment Kuya prescribed, and other than the beating he received, we ordered him to uproot a big tree stump outside class hours. He is yet to finish.
This seems to have got into Kuya’s head, and for the next few weeks, he was telling everyone that no one is above the law.
“If we can suspend and punish the deputy’s son, who do you think you are?” He was overheard telling Class Seven pupils. He has since been walking around with a cane, terrorising everyone. I asked him to tone down, to be at least friendly.
“It is your friendliness that has taken this school to the dogs,” he answered. “Under my leadership, high discipline will have to be maintained.”
“Mwalimu please go slow on caning,” Mrs Atika also told him, but Kuya ignored her.
Last Tuesday, he went to Class Seven to teach maths. A few minutes later, we heard children crying and wailing, but that was normal with Kuya’s classes. Shortly afterwards, a shocked Kuya came running to the staffroom and called Mrs Atika urgently. He was carrying a nyahunyo.
I followed them. We found Aggripa, Alfayo’s daughter lying on the floor, froth coming from her mouth. Mrs Atika ordered everyone out of the classroom as she tried to stabilise Aggripa. Once Agrippa was stable, Mrs Atika asked two girls to escort her home.
“I didn't mean to harm her,” said Kuya when we confronted him. “I swear I beat other pupils, but not this one. She fainted the moment I lifted my cane. I think she just panicked.”
He was still speaking when we heard some noise from outside. It was Alfayo, Agrippa’s father, walking toward the staffroom, carrying a big rungu.
“Huyu Kuya ni nani anataka kuua mtoto wangu?” Alfayo asked. He entered the staffroom and started beating Kuya. Being muscular, Kuya was able to hold Alfayo’s hand and stop him. But just then Nyayo arrived from nowhere, brandishing a machete, ready to attack.
“Huyu Kuya anajua bei ya mtoto?” Kuya panicked but there was nowhere to escape as Nyayo had blocked the door. Kuya jumped the table, and ran towards a small window opening. Miraculously, he escaped through the window. He left in a huff on his motorcycle as Nyayo and Alfayo pelted him with stones.
They came back to the staffroom, tore his books, and declared him persona non grata in Mwisho wa Lami Primary School. They also went away with his helmet.
With Kuya gone, I can now concentrate on my work as deputy HM with minimum interference. The worst is now behind us.