The long hours

Blossom: Acrylics paints on tough durable canvas

The day seemed longer than usual. My focus had shifted to the one shilling in my pocket. It was worth an ice cream. The school allowed venders to sell ice creams by the gate. It was vital under the scorching sun. I wasn’t worried about getting punished for what had happened during the day’s PE class. Besides, PTs had no authority to punish pupils, so I guess that is why the PT with whom we had locked horns never followed up. The chances of meeting this mysterious teacher were extremely slim. So my mind was free to focus on interesting things. It was the frozen colored and flavored water. They still exist today, usually packaged in slim polythene bags and then air-sealed at both sides. I preferred the dark-red ones. They tasted like berries, toned down with a distant passion fruit flavor.

Usually, we used to get the money from my stepbrother’s elder brother. At the school, there were only the two of us from our large family and relatives. My two elder brothers had been transferred to another school in the rural areas. I never missed them, probably because they had been transferred before I joined St. Mary's, or perhaps I had a stepbrother who helped evade possible trauma. Life was really tough, but we seemed to enjoy it with my new brother, who was only slightly older. We knew how to ensure we could almost always afford ice cream. Sometimes we shared if we had only one bob.

Bro preferred other colors. I never paid attention. I think he chose brown, which could be because it was chocolate-flavored. I don’t know what blue or yellow taste like, but who cares? As usual, we placed them in our bags. We used to take them as juice after they had melted completely, unless we were sharing one. It was easy to break it into measurable pieces or even take equal bites when it was still frozen. We took it immediately when sharing an ice cream because it was small already. Besides, who could trust the custodian? The source of the money was not attractive either. Our patience to hold on until we got the juice version of it depended on trust, which we could only afford when we could buy one for each of us.

The money for buying us ‘snacks’ was hard to catch. It mainly came from my brother’s elder brother. He was working as a shoe shiner and repairer in the nearby town. The school was only about a kilometer away from the town center, where Big Step Bro and Mzee (dad) worked, but home was in the opposite direction. Just 100 meters from the school gate was the main road that connected the town with residential areas and the nearby rural villages.

Mzee did not trust us with the house key, so we were supposed to trek all the way to his office at the town center. Take the keys and head home. This means we always saw the school gate three times a day. By the time we were going past the school from the town as we headed home, most of the children would have had their lunch at home and started playing. We would have walked for more than 2 kilometers regardless of the weather. We often took off our school uniforms around 3–4 in the evening.

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A Reflection: Life, education, and art

Discovering Myself

Tense moment

At the time, I did not take it seriously when she said it while pointing towards me. I was deeply thinking, trying to make it look exactly as I had envisioned. Immagination has been the foundation of creating my artwork over the years. Together with other students from the nearby Teachers College, she was part of the college’s program aimed at indroducing student teachers to practical teaching.

My clay pot must have been outstanding to recieve that recognition. During this particular day in 1994, we were all excited not because we were playing with clay—all kids love to play with mud anyway—but because these practicing teachers—we called them TPs—were young, jovial, and wanted to make their temporary pupils happy.

St. Mary’s Boys was a beautiful school with nice classes. I think it still is, although I question why they added the "boys" tag to its name considering that my top academic rival in my stream was a girl called Lydia. In short, it was not a boys’ school; there were just as many girls.

I neither liked nor disliked the fact that we were a mix of boys and girls. I only hated the fact that girls could beat me in simple physical activities especially the class games. Although I enjoyed spending more time outside like all other kids, I generally hated all PE lessons. I felt they were long and boring. I preferred being in class, drawing or writing. Actaully before this wonderful art class, I had had an awful experience during a PE lesson in the previous day.

It was during a competition between the boys and girls in my class. We began the lesson with an exciting football match between the class 2 girls and boys. We won—the boys, I mean. That was not a problem. I would have been okay even if we were to lose to the girls. I don't know how the other boys could have felt if the girls won but the thing is, with my tiny stature, I was perfectly cushioned by the randomness of the game and the teamwork effort required. Therefore, I felt perffectly safe.

The last part of the lesson remained a nightmare for many years. I was physically tiny—almost the smallest in the class. So we were now being paired, a girl vs. a boy, in a race. The most excited fellows, main the tall and energetic ones, were eager to open the race. I knew I could only beat one or two when my turn. The self-motivated were quickly diminishing in number and the PT had to change his trategyy. It was his time to choose by pointing at particular individuals, so I thought I wouldn't noticed from the back. Unlucky me! He had seen me tiptoe towards the back. As if he was mimicking my silent sneakness, the huge man only murmured some words. His stern face and the seriousness of his gestures with his huge hands made it clear that I was in trouble. Even so, I pretended that he was referring to someone else.

"Yes, yes, you."

"You are next!" he said.

I slowly walked around the group. "Finally, I got noticed." I thought to myself.

"Who wants to challenge this little man?" he shouted.

The hands of almost all the remaining girls were up. Remember I were only supposed to compete against a girl. I almost fainted! I was the easiest to beat. But this guy was ready to scare me to death. He pointed at the tallest of the girls.

"Hey. let's see."

I wasn't ready to be beaten by a girl, whether tall or as short as me. So without thinking too much and in a firm tone, I said "no." This unique PT turned furious. The kids were cheering. lLittle did they know that as he boiled with anger, I was shivering in fear. I still remember how he looked scary as he looked into my face as he held his his knees to support his huge body, glaring at my small face as if he was searchiing for something. I, too, was looking straight up into his eyes all that time. Suddenly, the bell rang. We all ran back to class.

The day seemed longer than usual. My focus had shifted to the one shilling in my pocket. It was worth the ice cream. ... keep reading